“Ventura Highway, in the sunshine. Where the days are longer, the nights are stronger than moonshine, You’re gonna go, I kn0w. Cause the free wind is blowin through your hair, and the days surround your daylight there, Seasons crying no despair, alligator lizards in the air”
I have always loved America. I listened to them in college, there was something about the melodies and the lyrics that swept me up into daydreams and carefree reveries. I began to sing this song miles out from Ventura and continued throughout our time there. It drove Mark crazy. I’m still singing it. Weeks later. California sunshine. It’s addictive.
Back to the California Coast. From the beginning, I knew I wanted to visit my friend Samantha in her new home, Ventura. Sam and I worked together at Local First and became fast friends, we had a lot in common. We both loved to read and travel. We were both strong, independent females who held strong opinions on a variety of subjects. I recognized in Sam an old soul. She had an incredible work ethic and I admired that. But more so was Sam’s commitment to live her best life. She was intelligent and driven, she also desired change. Grand Rapids wasn’t providing her with the things she needed, to be outside, to live a healthy lifestyle. So she summoned the courage to make a major life change. I fully supported her decision, even though I knew it was a scary thing to do. Leave friends and family and all you know to start over. I had done the same thing when I was 26 years old. I knew it was possible and could be empowering, recreating a life in a new city builds resilience, adaptability and character. I was full of admiration for her determination and we had kept in touch since she left. It seemed California was the best thing for her, she was now an avid hiker & biker, cooked her own healthy food for herself, found a job and was supporting herself in a very expensive place. I couldn’t wait to see my friend and the life she had worked hard to create.
Sam had suggested we stay in Ojai, a sweet town set in the mountains with a distinctive hippy vibe. It was a long 8 hour drive from Yosemite and we arrived at the Ojai Resort & Spa late in the afternoon. Picture this: we pull up to the entrance in our mud mobile trailing the Cricket, also covered in large splotches of various shades of brown and we realize it’s valet parking. To the right of us is a line of bright shiny sports cars, groups of beautiful people milling about admiring them. I began to notice others standing at the entrance staring at our approch, everyone dressed in the most recent fashions, hair coiffed, everyone seeming to be attached to leashes at the end of which yapped little trophy dogs with bejeweled collars . Oh boy. No way was I getting out of the car in my stained hiking pants, dirt-caked boots, and greasy baseball cap. Go left, go left, I commanded through gritted teeth to Mark. He veered left in to the valet parking lot and realizing we were too big to fit in a space, went back to the entrance of the compound a mile down the road and unhooked the trailer. We left it looking forlorn and lonely.
The Ojai Spa & Resort was a trip. The first thing I did was take a shower and try to find acceptable, clean clothing to venture out to explore the grounds. Manicured and pleasing to the eye, the resort is apparently a haven for the LA crowd to escape, golf, and enjoy various treatments at the spa. The place was huge with several onsite restaurants and a pub. We sat on the patio overlooking the golf course and the distant mountains, ordered some wine at outrageous prices and proceeded to ogle and eavesdrop on the interesting clientele. I felt like an anthropologist discovering a new tribe and culture. To say I felt out of place is an understatement, Don’t get me wrong, I was not uncomfortable and I did not feel inferior, I’d felt like I’d landed in foreign place and I didn’t speak the language. The vibe was in serious conflict with the state of mind I had cultivated over the past weeks on the road. It became quite clear to me that my comfort level lay with the hikers, the campers and the poets of the outdoors. Nevertheless, we were here now and the landscape was something to behold. In fact, as the sunset behind us, we were treated to something called the Ojai Pink Moment, a cutesy term to describe the lilac glow on the mountains as the sun dropped past the horizon. Not bad at all.
We met Samantha in Ventura the next morning. Ventura is a sleepy beach town on the Pacific and I immediately took a liking to it. Sam lives a few blocks from the beach where she can walk and ride her bike. When she opened the door to her apartment, I could see in a moment what an impact the climate and change of lifestyle had on her. My friend was fairly glowing. Sam had picked out a great six mile hike in the Santa Monica Mountains near Malibu. It was a gorgeous day and the trail was challenging and ran through some pretty cool rock formations. It eventually led to a great lookout over the distant Pacific and the surrounding towns. We spent most of the hike chatting non-stop, catching up on life, work, current events, and the challenges of being a female in today’s world. There is something about walking and having a conversation. There is a natural ebb and flow that happens, thoughts and feelings arise more easily and matters of substance and truth seem to play out naturally. I have some of my deepest and most connected conversations with others while tramping up mountains and through woods. Mark was a great sport, I had been craving the companionship of the feminine persuasion for a time now and he let us yap away, interjecting every now and again. On our return to Ventura, Sam took us to a famous seafood shack off the highway directly across from a surf break. It was affirming to see the mix of customers; leather-clad bikers, impeccably dressed LA ladies, fishermen, construction workers, hikers, surfers. This is one of the things Sam mentioned that she loved about living here. The mix of ethnicities in coffee shops, on the street, in restaurants. Coming from Holland, a largely caucasian town, it’s refreshing to see a sea of faces that look different from my own.
The town of Ventura has several blocks of thriving small businesses and ethnic restaurants, tiki bars and brew pubs. Sam and I actually went shopping, I almost forgot the joy of hanging with a friend and trying on clothes and giving each other opinions on what looks good and what doesn’t. We spent a great Saturday night going eating Thai food and going to see live music at the old Ventura Theatre, built in the 1920’s in the style of the great movie palaces. The band. Devil Makes Three, was favorite of Sam’s. I had never heard of them but I’m always open to new music. An Americana band from Santa Cruz, they blend bluegrass, country, folk and blues into a rollicking and energetic performance. The venue’s acoustics were not great but we found a perfect place to stand with great sight lines. My ears were ringing for days after, totally worth it.
Time spent in Ventura with my friend was a renewal of sorts. Traveling on the road for a long period of time has immense rewards but there are times where I have felt disconnected to things that matter to me. Immersion in nature and the outdoors fills me up in ways that are deeply satisfying but occasionally, a longing pops up for a different connection, to home, to friendship, to community. It’s the conundrum and the reward of travel, I suppose. I have a new appreciation for the gifts of rootedness while holding myself wide open to the experiences of the road that still lies before me.
