The Valley of Abundance

There’s a moment of disbelief when the sprawling Southern California terrain of Los Angeles gives way to a single country road. Where once there were palm trees punctuating the skyline, there is a sudden shade of majestic oaks. As I manoeuvre my car around the curves of dusty, jutting hills, I suddenly see a valley below. It’s an awe-inspiring sight – the enormity of the Topatopa mountain range in the distance, their sunlit bases clouded by Pacific Ocean mist. I think to myself, “Have I found Shangri-La?”

My answer lies on the side of the road. There, overlooking a sea of verdant green, are two signs that read: “Ojai Valley…Dreams Come True.”

Located northwest of Los Angeles, and just east of Santa Barbara, the city of Ojai is both an artistic enclave and a mountainous respite from the commuter lifestyle of its neighbouring cities. Its legendary Mediterranean climate, bohemian roots, local produce, and friendly atmosphere entice visitors to stay – sometimes forever. Touted as a “spiritual vortex” due to its calming geomagnetic energy, there’s also a sacred connection to the indigenous Chumash tribe. It was the Chumash word of Ojai, meaning “moon” or “nest”, that was chosen to name the land, a place that lures those in search of spiritual retreat into nature.

It’s what drew me too. Like most city dwellers, the warmer months come with a longing for outdoor living, the promise of sweet stone fruit, picnic spreads, and lingering sunsets. Though I’ve passed through Ojai a few times, I felt called to return for a solo trip, one steeped in nourishment and rejuvenation. I’m a recent cancer survivor, one who spent months confined to the required rest of my bed. Though I’m healed and on the other side of that mountain now, I have longed for real mountains and meditative environs, blooming wildflowers, and a communion with birds. I needed to taste a famed Ojai Pixie orange.

In the post-Covid years, Ojai has become a significant culinary destination, its rustic-casual restaurants a draw for enthusiasts near and far. From the Lebanese French rotisserie chicken platters at Ojai Rôtie, served on a patio shaded by olive trees, to the unctuous Burmese curries at The Dutchess, there’s an ever-evolving interpretation of California farm-to-table cooking inspired by homeland roots.

On the day I arrive, the sun already blazing, I stop for lunch at Rory’s Other Place, the casual sister café to Rory’s Place, a neighbourhood kitchen and oyster bar owned, incidentally, by sisters. Both are part of the new wave of restaurants in Ojai showcasing seasonal-driven cuisine. I sit on the sun-dappled patio, the heat an enveloping hug, and bite into a vegetable sandwich. It’s simple and delicious, the heirloom tomatoes and sprouts mingling with punchy beet hummus, all nestled in between the delicate crunch of seeded bread. I splurge on a buffalo-milk soft serve affogato drenched in ceremonial-grade matcha and topped with edible purple flowers almost too lovely to eat.

I take in the main street view: white Mission-style buildings with terracotta tiled roofs, explosions of bright fuchsia bougainvillaea creeping over walls and spilling out of eaves. As if cued by a film director, a woman in a white blouse and long black skirt skips boldly and gleefully down the street. She looks utterly unbothered, wholly content. I make a note to myself: “Skip whenever you’d like, no matter your age.”

I stroll over to Bart’s Books, the world’s largest outdoor bookstore. An Ojai mainstay, serving the community since 1964, it’s a meditative series of outdoor and indoor rooms dedicated to books both old and new. The city itself has always attracted writers and those interested in new thoughts and ideas – including British author Aldous Huxley, a proponent of “mental silence,” who spent so much time in Ojai, he eventually co-founded a school in the nearby hills. I find my own mental silence, giving into the slowness of an afternoon spent perusing books in the quiet company of others doing the same.

As the sun sets, I head to the newly renovated Hotel El Roblar. Recently brought back to its former Spanish Revival glory, its California Mission façade gives way to an intimate lobby layered in warm woods and deep leather couches where guests read by lamplight or sip cocktails by the stone hearth. This being Ojai, the hotel also has a resident poet whose typewritten poems encourage taking a moment to unplug. It’s an astonishing property set within a lush Spanish garden that is also home to two endangered Aldabra Giant Tortoises from the nearby Turtle Conservancy.

I nestle into a booth on the cosy patio of El Roblar’s Condor Bar. The bells of a local church chime into the evening, and the outdoor fireplace comes to life. Helmed by Ojai resident Chef Brandon Boudet – whose beloved restaurants are known throughout the region – the bar and eatery’s California cuisine focuses on Santa Maria-style wood-fire cooking, a technique from the 1800’s centering around a hand-cranked, open-fire barbecue grill.

“I was thinking about techniques going back to early California,” Chef Brandon explains. “This is a community with a small-town feel, but it’s only an hour and a half away from Los Angeles. It’s slower-paced here and has this sort of mystique. You’re surrounded by local farms, the Pacific Ocean, and a Mediterranean climate year-round that produces ingredients to get excited about.”

A grill was specially built in Santa Maria for the Condor Bar’s kitchen. You can smell it faintly on the breeze, the sort of welcoming scent that conjures backyard barbecues on a summer evening.

Everything the kitchen makes is turned on the grill or roasted in its embers, from sweet potatoes glazed in tamarind and stuffed with hazelnut butter to King Salmon dusted in chilli, grilled, and served with handmade flour tortillas. Another standout, the Bluefin Tuna Tostadas served with three different salsas, are fresh and bright, reminding me that I’m only twelve miles from the ocean. I converse with my server, Emma, a local studying at a nearby college who grew up eating warm tomatoes off the vine from her mother’s garden. Her effusiveness for her hometown is warranted. “This is the valley of healing,” she says. I believe her.

I awake the next morning in the modern minimalism of the Capri Hotel, a quintessential roadside wonder, surrounded by towering palms and painted the perfect shade of sunblasted pink. I shuffle to the lobby to grab a cup of coffee, marvelling at the mist curling around the mountains in the distance. I sip my coffee with fermented oat milk and sit next to the fire to listen to jazz while writing in my notebook. When thinking about the California Dream, what is often depicted as beaches and sunshine, I know that it’s perhaps this instead – sitting cross-legged on a couch the shade of rusted orange, the door open to a breeze with the promise of warmth, and flip-flops crunching on gravel in time with the music. Slow summer mornings like this are a luxury.

Eager to set off on a walk before the weather warms, I stop into The Dutchess for a breakfast samosa before driving down to Taft Gardens & Nature Preserve, a sanctuary accessible only by reservation that sits on the ancestral territory of the Chumash people. I meander down desolate roads and through creeks to emerge in a forest teeming with birdsong. Founded by John Taft in the 1980s, the more than two-hundred acres of canyon land showcase a stunning array of exotic plants as well as open land that serves as a wildlife corridor in the foothills of the mountains. Peppered with wooden structures that recall the work of Andy Goldsworthy, the gardens also offer onsite studios for their Art in Nature residency program.

“We consider ourselves a sanctuary,” says Executive Director Jaide Whitman, who is also John Taft’s granddaughter and the current steward of the land and programming. “We want visitors to feel like they can immerse themselves in the natural landscape.” I set off up the path, walking through enveloping South African and Australian foliage, past a water lily pond, and up to an outdoor amphitheatre. In the distance, a mother deer and her babies munch on leaves. Every now and then, a yellow Oriole makes itself visible in my periphery, as if it’s following me or keeping watch. They’re a highly protected species migrating south, stopping at Taft Gardens to feed on palms and aloe.

I pass by one of the studios and meet Russell Crotty, a local contemporary artist and self-described “amateur astronomer” whose detailed drawings juxtapose nighttime landscapes suffused with text. He’s exhibited all over the world and is a past Guggenheim fellow who also hosts stargazing tours in the mountains above the gardens. He, too, talks about the draw Ojai has as a place of artistic inspiration. Jaide adds, “Growing up [here], I always had a companion with nature. It gave me a sense of comfort, belonging, and confidence. That’s the mission we’re on now and what’s missing in our culture – nature connection. Nature is a sanctuary for our souls.”

This sentiment stays with me as I end my time in Ojai high up on Meditation Mount, a group meditation centre that also welcomes visitors to take in the scenery, particularly during what is called the “pink moment” at sunset, when the sun makes the mountains blush. I join other visitors gathered on a grassy lawn at the edge of the property and take in the panoramic view. I sit down on the inscribed “Bench of Dreams” as the sun dips slowly behind the mountains, igniting the valley below.

It is a magical sight. The mist hangs onto the mountain peaks. The sky, once turquoise, fades to a cloudy shade of quartz. My shoulders drop at the swell of birdsong. A young woman sits cross-legged on a giant rock; an older grey-haired woman sits opposite on another. We take in this moment of resplendent beauty – a world bathed in pink – together in our shared nest, marvelling at the miracle that is the passing of time.

Words by Andi Teran.

Photography by Hamish Robertson and Andi Teran.