With partial clearing
at the Madonna Inn,
the volcanic cones glowering across the across the ranch lands,
Harriet and I breakfast
via the porte-cochere
in the warm and
garish surroundings
(perhaps a mirror to our crazy world),
taking leave and
and hitting the rain-showered road south to Gaviota Gorge
(non-tunnel direction,
merely a bit of rock overhang),
south of the rocky Santa Ynez Mountains (part of the Transverse Ranges), along the Santa Barbara and
and Ventura coasts,
to the Rincon Cliffs.
Beyond, it's over the Oxnard Plain, with views to the Santa Monica Mountains,
up Conejo Grade and into Los Angeles County (where Las Virgines Road beckons toward Malibu Canyon),
across the valleys to Riverside's Jurupa Mountains,
partially desecrated and
decorated (yes that's a mammoth on the extreme right),
to the way-moreso, mammoth-in-it's-own-way Mission Inn.
Lights on, this second eccentric destination is further enlivened, from the entrance arches
and lobby
Christmas tree, through the
abstract
geometry of
pool,
spa,
illuminated palms,
and entrance walkway of the outer courtyard in view from our
first room (contrapuntal pipes will merit a second);
an angel-and-
mariachi-band-bear
sandwich,
bespangled colonades,
giant figurine
clock, and
turrets
in the inner atrium (Spanish Wing);
to the surreal chapel
(looking out on the relatedly phantasmagoric dark-distant Jurupas),
further illumined foliage (in the back-of-beyond building),
austere above-the-chapel promenade
dome, and
dizzy rotunda of
the northwest quadrant of this very full city block.
