More often than not I'm your Randy Newman nightmare come true. I find LA to be a fabulous feast of flash, fusion, eccentricity and ingenuity; and the eye candy can't be beat. But there comes a time when we need to turn the lights down and take a breath. Reconnect with that part of us that lit us up in the first place.

I had been to The Ojai Valley Inn & Spa before. Three times to be precise; three hundred if daydreams count. But since my most recent visit I have made pilgrimage to Provence - the Mothership - homeland where my spirit flourishes and my soul peacefully resides. Would this Francophile's voyage taint all other adventures to follow? It was a reasonable fear.

Figuring out where to begin when encapsulating a weekend at The Ojai Valley Inn & Spa is wonderfully challenging. The enchanting nature of this resort is so pervasive it rests in the air. Or maybe that's the lavender drifting; the tumbling petunia perfuming the easy wind; or the ancient oak trees cradling the property like a proud patriarch. It is gorgeous here, intoxicatingly gorgeous.

We were welcomed to our room by an abundant burst of local wildflowers. They set the tone for the Spanish Colonial palate spoken tastefully throughout: sun washed linens, Moroccan banquettes built into the lanais, enough natural light to illuminate every corner of our generous abode. And the amenities . . .anyone who has ever traveled with me knows I'm a firm believer in judging a resort by their bath products. As hidden cameras might incriminate, I've been known to find a temporarily abandoned housekeeping cart impossible to resist. But you tell me - how is any slave to apothecary (present) supposed to defy the lure of lemongrass geranium moisturizer? Matching lavender shampoo and conditioner? Lavender and orange body wash, Eucalyptus bath soap, and hand soap so closely resembling a tangerine you want to lick your hands when you're done? Come on. Adam was almost perfect and even he bit the apple.

An extra deep Jacuzzi tub, a separate dual-headed shower putting the force of Niagara to shame, and the aforementioned veranda with al fresco chaise built-ins (whatever you're picturing, I promise, the reality is better) make it challenging just to leave your room. But this, I found, was a sentiment that followed me throughout the entirety of my stay. Late afternoon libations under a canopy of winding and weeping bougainvilleas, cedar-infused saunas with an accompanying tray of iced minted washcloths, and a gym that promises to make you hate your current one (they bring you Arrowhead as soon as you finish your first bottle, and the elliptical machines are equipped with individualized full feature cable television, headphones provided). There was never anywhere I went that I didn't want to stay another week. Even the gym. For God's sake, even the gym.

Tear yourself away if only to visit the Artist's Cottage. Do not mistake this for some spiritual hut of who really needs it. My husband and I had a field day at The Apothecary, creating our own signature scents through an olfactory tour of essential oils guided by their resident deity Renate, who exudes serenity from her very pores. You'll want to pack her in your suitcase and take her home with you. Alas, you'll settle for fragrance.

Next we nested at The Leisure Pool, with its padded chaises, cucumber water and canary yellow canvas umbrellas; only our 4pm couples massage could force us from those curiously comfortable cushions. After the massage we opened our eyes and had to laugh. Move? Seriously?

And Maravilla, her majesty Maravilla. This signature restaurant is so special I found myself wondering if driving up from LA, just for dinner, would be out of the question. Lobster three magical ways, a market vegetable composition to make Genghis consider converting to green (Bravo Farms cheddar and smoked tomato fondue will do that do a person), single family grown French press coffee, served with steamed milk (no need to request, they do it as a matter of course), and warmed china, so not to cool your brew. And dessert? Dessert is prepared by motif. We chose lemon/thyme/mascarpone, but Tim (insider tip: absolutely ask for Tim. I am certain all the wait staff is wonderful, but Tim will have you wondering if he's mistaken you for some level of royalty) insisted on encoring it with a sampling of strawberry verbena sorbet, salted caramels, and a goody bag of French lemon macaroons.

Dine outdoors at The Oak Terrace and it's a far less formal affair. Kids wiggle out of their chairs and tumble down the grassy knoll. Patrons leisurely make their way back from the spa. While the showcase of Central California Coastal cuisine is pleasant, it doesn't hold a candle to magnificence of Maravilla. Enjoy one, write home about the other.

Dare I forget Brian. Part the waters for the earthy and elegant martini bar, where Brian - Monet of the martini - creates imbibeable art, nightly. This self-proclaimed mixologist, a little kooky, but can he ever walk the walk. Note: this is coming from someone who doesn't even fancy martinis; I fell hard. Ask for the unadvertised flight. You almost have to. Otherwise you'd be left choosing between the Key Lime Pie Martini (rimmed with graham crackers), the Lavender Martini (oh sweet sippable Provence), the Espresso Martini (java junkies, prepare to buckle), The Pink Moment (first and second edition, all masterpieces warrant an ovation), and the one I'll return for because I need to be reminded that it was real, The After 8:30. A chocolate mint martini served with Stolichnaya Vanilla, Godiva Chocolate Liqueur, finished with a touch of green Crème de Menthe and crushed Oreo Cookies. A roaring fire keeps the company of the playful pianist tickling Here, There, and Everywhere, as you sit deep in the embracing leather club chair, sip from your flight of fancy, and on my honor, want for nothing.

Following a $90 million renovation, it's hard to find an award this resort hasn't earned. Frankly I wish I had one to give it myself. This gem is polished to a soft-spoken sparkle. The treatments are top drawer, the service; state of the art, and the ambiance, medicinal. While spa retreats are generally groomed for girls' weekends, this place is pan-idyllic. Take your husband, your grandma, your golf-obsessed cubicle mate (please do, those sprawling greens, while gorgeous, completely wasted on me). And Tom the tennis pro will better your backhand in under an hour, as my husband will attest to. I am hard pressed to believe there's a soul out there who couldn't benefit from this humble Eden.

Like my return from La Provence herself, it has taken me a day or two to recover from my weekend. Weepy, nostalgic, and waxing thoughts of a return trip, without the jetlag, the missing luggage, or the inability to recall the last meal I had without brie. One more reason to love LA. A little outside of the box, and lavender is the language of lavish, roses ride the wind, and lemons turn to lemon macaroons. And no matter what time of day it is, it can always be After 8:30, if you want it to be.

By: Jolie Loeb

OJAI VALLEY INN & SPA
905 Country Club Road
Ojai, California 93023
805.646.1111
www.ojairesort.com