This is not Narrowsburg, nor Manhattan island; this is another place altogether. The water stretches out to forever, and where it doesn’t, there are jagged outcroppings of mountain reaching up to the sky, lavender and pink and grey. Sometimes you mistake a cloud for a mountain, and vice-versa. The color of the water is harder to name, a kind of slate green when viewed as a whole, it morphs to a frog’s underbelly up close.

It is a green you want to melt into—a soft, forgiving color that is the color of life itself. It is the Pacific Ocean and I am in California.

The air in the mountains outside L.A. is dry and cool in February, but this week is unseasonably warm by day. The bougainvillea is verging on full bloom, tumbling over walls. Lavender and fragrant rosemary with its violet blossoms are abundant.

I needed this break, and wonder if you need it too, dear reader. Let me take you to the spa for some R&R. You look like you could use a deep massage, a seat by the pool, maybe even a mud pack to strip that February pallor off your face.

This trip was a compromise between friends. One wanted to drive the Pacific Coast Highway from L.A. to San Francisco; the other wanted to stay home and while away the mid-winter jicker in her home on the Delaware river. The compromise was better than either of those options. I had never been to a genuine spa before. The surprise was in not feeling out of place. “I must be a grown-up after all,” I thought. As we waited to check in, the face of the woman ahead of me began to assemble like a puzzle until I recognized a colleague from my work-a-day life in advertising, 20 years ago. Intrigued by the coincidence, I postoned my mud treatment (more, later) and we dined together with our friends on the patio overlooking the rolling green of the golf course, a spa staple. Though we were four married women, none of us had brought a husband along. Girlfriends are another spa staple, I found.

Though we often chose different activities, we both agreed the lavender body rub was intoxicating, and a full body massage with your choice of essential oils is a must-do. Every spa has its signature treatment; at the Ojai Valley Inn it is the “Kuyam” mud treatment.

You are covered by a satin-backed terry wrap, the color of the mud you are about to smear over your naked body. The only light is filtered through cobalt stained glass. After the smear, a guided meditation seeks to take your mind off the yuckiness of what you have just done. It is more successful for some than for others. After a rigorous showering and a cup of chamomile tea, your body is glowing and your mind is refreshed.

At a Qi-Gong class, a kind of tai-chi /yoga practice, I felt connected to my movement and my breathing in a new way. The instructor complimented me on my “focused energy.” “Hah!” I thought, “she should see me on an average Wednesday.”

This week was anything but average. The glimpse of life lived in comfort and the pursuit of pleasure was not only pleasurable; it was enlightening. A whole host of physical ailments took a vacation with me this week. If I’m careful, they may not return, as I have. Mud pack, anyone?