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If there’s an unofficial ambassador of this city’s latest chapter, it’s Sewell.
His lodge on the western end of town has rough timber beds, handmade soap, a tepee and shuffleboard by the pool, Desmond Dekker on the sound system.
Mom has Coachella-ready tricolor hair—platinum white, pink, and purple—and spiky metal-toed boots; Dad’s a young Jim Morrison: Here is hipster-family California.
A Ferrari and a battered biodiesel Mercedes are parked nearby: dueling-car-culture California.
Some 90 miles north of Los Angeles and 14 miles inland from the Pacific Ocean, Ojai has been a cherished place for any number of California cultures over the years: the Chumash Indians who first settled the valley; citrus and avocado ranchers; theosophists; Krishnamurti; and Hollywood stars, who’ve long owned discreet retreats here (Emily Blunt and John Krasinski recently moved in).
All of them are drawn at least in part by the town’s famous “pink moment,” a fleeting period before sunset when the jagged Topa Topa Mountains that frame the northern edge of this fertile valley take on a dusky-rose hue: It’s an enchanting time that draws the eyes up and clears the mind.
He’s a big-wave surfer, erstwhile model, boar hunter, and all-around badass. That tells you something about the comparative peace of Ojai.