We do not excel at early starts, so I booked us a dog-friendly hotel room in Ventura for our first night, anticipating correctly that Ventura was as far as we could reasonably get in one day of driving. I chose the Pierpont Inn, which has been in business since 1910, according to their website. In 1910 the Inn rejoiced in a green lawn stretching down to the beach. Nowadays that lovely beach descent is bifurcated by Highway 101, which has grown from the quaint wooden causeway of 1912 to the 24-hour truck laden six-lane behemoth of today. Oh well, I guess I shouldn't complain, since I enjoy the convenience of all the goods those trucks ferry up and down the coast.
I inadvertently booked an enormous suite at the Pierpont. It was an odd suite in that although the square footage was vast, the furniture was that of a typical hotel room. There were little islands of furniture on a sea of sensible low-pile carpet. Breakfast was included, and Larry and I took turns so that the fussy dog would not be left alone to howl in the suite. When it was my turn to breakfast, my fellow diners were two women in their seventies. The first was a very chic woman in a shawl, pressed slacks, and kitten heel pumps with a well-coiffed silver bob. The other was a wild-haired woman in a stretched-out sweatsuit and tennis shoes. As I ate my strangely granulated eggs, I mused: "One of these women is my future." And then I looked down at my bra-less pajama-clad self and thought: "Who am I kidding, one of these women is my present."
As I wandered back to the suite, I noticed some boys playing on a lawn with sports equipment that had been provided by the hotel. I looked more closely and realized that their game consisted of trying to hurl all the sports equipment onto the roof of the hotel. Boys.
Larry and I checked out of the Pierpont Inn and went downtown to Mission San Buenaventura. The mission church was in use for a Spanish/English bilingual Mass, and I was quite pleased to discover that I understood almost all of the Spanish! Those eight semesters of intermediate Spanish have finally paid off. I bought a few religious objects for my family room shrine in the gift shop.
There are lots of thrift shops in Ventura and I was excited to explore them while Larry and the dog did whatever in downtown. However, I quickly realized that the thrift shops near me have MUCH better merch, because Ventura is a thrift destination, and all the stuff is picked over. So the three of us found a nice patio and had tacos and margaritas. Then we drove to the desert.
This mountain was definitely the highlight of the drive. Larry told me what it's called but I've forgotten. We had booked a condo through AirBNB in La Quinta that turned out to be quite nice and centrally located to the pleasant Old Town La Quinta retail shops. As we sat on an outdoor patio, enjoying our cocktails and introducing our geriatric dog to the geriatric residents of La Quinta, I checked the schedule for the El Dorado Polo Club one last time to make sure I had the correct start time for the Sunday match the next day. (Equestrian Polo, the kind with hot Argentinians in tight white pants and beautiful horses)
"FUCK," I said. "El Dorado just cancelled general admission for the polo match tomorrow!" Polo was pretty much our whole plan for La Quinta. As we considered, though, we realized that sneaking onto the grounds and pretending to be El Dorado Club members would probably be simple. We decided to so some reconnoitering under the cover of darkness in preparation for our club infiltration the next day. Amy played polo in high school and we had been to her polo matches at El Dorado a few times, so we were familiar enough with the fields to find the correct one. Sure enough, we discovered numerous ways to avoid the official entrance.
The next morning we put some beers in the Yeti and set out. I told a few lies, entered through the exit gate, and parked in a field for club employees. We grabbed the dog and scooted out of the car behind some palm trees. We made an end run around the hitting cage and a pond and emerged at the field as if we were just another couple of club members with our dog in tow ready for the polo. Taggart helped a lot with our subterfuge. Everyone in polo has a dog, so people didn't really look past that. We enjoyed watching the polo matches and drinking our beers in the sun. It was a lovely afternoon.
After the polo we made our way to Shields Date Garden. This is an institution that must be visited if you are in the area. It has been around since 1924. They sell dates, of course, but there is also a biblical walk of 23 statues depicting the life of Christ and a film about the sex life of dates.
The next day we decided to drive to the Salton Sea. What, you ask, is the Salton Sea? It is a vast mistake. In 1905, during attempts to route some of it for irrigation, the Colorado River was inadvertently diverted to the lowest point in the desert, where it continued to flow for two years until the bank of the river was repaired, thus creating the Salton Sea.
Until about the 1950s the Salton Sea was touted as a family beach and fishing mecca. The Sea was stocked with fish. There were motels and boat ramps and restaurants and bait shops. The problem is that no fresh water enters the Salton Sea. The only water that enters is runoff from the Imperial Valley farms, water that contains fertilizers and pesticides. As the Salton Sea has evaporated over the decades, the exposed soil has creating blowing dust full of toxins. The salinity is so high that all the fish introduced for sport fishing have died. Occasionally a burp of gases from the Salton Sea releases rotting fish stench that can be smelled in Los Angeles.
So of course we had to go. We decided to visit the former sport-fishing town of Bombay Beach along the east side of the Sea. Every spring for the last few years artists have descended on Bombay Beach to create art projects that are left to weather in the blowing dust. There is one bar in town, the Ski Inn, that has been in business since the town's heyday. There are a few hundred residents there living off the grid. It was a very interesting place to spend a few hours. I would not want to spend much more time there, myself. We drove around and admired the art installations, had beer and corn dogs at the Ski Inn, and then were ready to get back to civilization.
We made our way to the Sideways Inn in Buellton. This is the former Windmill Inn featured in the 2004 film Sideways. It has been completely refurbished and is now a lovely place to stay. There is a great bar/restaurant with a patio and fireplace which Larry and Taggart and I very much enjoyed.
The next morning we set out to explore the Danish town of Solvang. We had some Danish pancakes and then stopped by the old Lutheran Church. I wasn't sure if it was open for visitors but I figured it was worth a try. Sure enough, there was a woman of a certain age in a flowered shirt and sun hat and sensible shoes loitering around the entrance. I approached and asked if I might see the interior of the church. At first she was wary, but then she looked me over, and, as Larry said, game recognized game.
The two of us in our flowered shirts and sun hats and sensible shoes had a nice time in the church where she told me about the architecture and the art work. I made my way back to the car where Larry and Tag were waiting and it was honestly a little hard to shake her off, which was kind of funny considering her initial wariness.
We visited the Jul Hus (Christmas all year!) store, the book store, a bakery, and a beer garden. It was great. Here is a nice picture for you of Larry posing with the a statue of Hans Christian Andersen near the public restrooms.
