Montecito's La Casa de Maria.

It was too dark by the time I arrived Friday night to see much of anything except the narrow forest road that led to the entrance of La Casa de Maria, at the foot of the Santa Ynez Mountains. A sign pointed me to the office. As I drove across the property, my headlights illuminated a series of whitewashed Spanish-style buildings with red-tile roofs. Your typical wild-eyed burnout from the city, I parked and staggered into the office without stopping to appreciate the heady scent of flowers in the cool, damp air.

The ponytailed young man behind the desk diagnosed my problem instantly. "Relax," he said. "You've come to a powerful healing place."

Maybe. After all, even though it claims to provide a "nourishing place of peace, where persons of all faiths can search for truth, engage in dialogue and experience personal growth," La Casa and its companion, the Immaculate Heart Center for Spiritual Renewal, had evolved from a Catholic novitiate. Could a Jewish agnostic find inner peace in such surroundings--and in only 48 hours?

Still, I knew coming in that I'd managed to be simultaneously trendy and traditional--retreats have become totally '90s. Of course, as Don George, La Casa's director, noted, "Retreats go back forever. Jesus went off to the desert many times when things got to be too much." But in the last few years, a growing number of people have become aware of the hundreds of monasteries and retreats of all denominations that open their doors as vacation spots for stressed-out city slickers, including Santa Barbara's Mount Calvary Retreat House, Saint Andrew's Priory in Valyermo, the New Camaldoli Hermitage in Big Sur and the Mount Baldy Zen Center. I chose La Casa because it's located next door to the chichi San Ysidro Ranch, and here, for about only $50 a day, I figured I could get the same lovely scenery and three meals to boot.

After signing me in, Steve Jones-Browne, a jazz musician who lives on the premises, led me outside to listen to San Ysidro Creek, running for the first time in years after the rains. He then directed me to the comfortable, no-frills dorm room, where I was to stay because the rooms in the main house, the Center for Spiritual Renewal, were filled. Once inside, I switched on the heater, leaped into bed and, without the din of city traffic outside, fell quickly to sleep.

Saturday morning, up early and well rested, I joined the other La Casa guests breakfasting cafeteria-style in the large dining hall on fruit, French toast, scrambled eggs and kielbasa.

On my morning walk, I followed a main road that circles the lush grounds past a botany book's worth of flowers and trees. At the summit of a hill I found an orchard rife with avocado, orange, fig, apple, lemon and walnut trees. I encountered statues of the Virgin Mary or handcrafted Stations of the Cross in every woodsy nook and cranny, but despite its ubiquitous Christian iconography, La Casa's orientation is deliberately ecumenical. Don later told me that whenever Jewish groups conduct services in the chapel--with a life-size statue of Christ superimposed against an old oak tree outside the far window--they simply turn the seats in the other direction.

The centerpiece of the 26-acre property is the stone estate housing the Center for Spiritual Renewal. The mansion was built in the 1920s by an oilman who went bust and ended up selling the place to a high-living horse breeder, who imported teak ceilings from Bangkok and built a music room in which Leopold Stokowski once conducted. He also installed a pool and tennis courts, which often startle visitors expecting a more ascetic environment. When the breeder left in the '40s, the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart moved in.

The center actually became a retreat in the '50s, when a group of Beverly Hills couples, including Ricardo Montalban and Loretta Young, began holding meditations and discussions there. As its reputation grew, private dormitories and a dining hall-meeting complex were erected on the 26-acre property to accommodate more visitors.

Today, with its six huge bedrooms opening onto mountain or ocean views, the center is still run by the Immaculate Heart Community, which operates today as a lay organization working for peace and justice. Individuals or couples can retreat for two to five days; there is a requested donation of $45 to $55 a night. (For information, call 805-969-2474.)

Participants at La Casa stay in the dorms and come for regularly scheduled workshops and gatherings, everything from retreats for recovering alcoholics to courses on handwriting analysis, which range from $30 a day to $330 for five days. Overnight workshops include a shared dorm room and three meals a day at the group dining hall.

A sign in the paved front courtyard admonishes PLEASE OBSERVE GENTLE SILENCE. Guests here, I learned, may make conversation, but not noise. Noreen Naughton, who came to the house in 1953, when it was still a novitiate, runs the center as much like a home as possible. The kitchen is stocked with snacks, and except for dinner, meals are served buffet-style, so guests can eat when they choose. Noreen provides lots of good home cooking, and Follie, the resident golden retriever, freely provides affection.

"People who come here are searching for ways to make their lives more peaceful," Noreen said. "They have no demands made on them here. They arrive exhausted, and within two days they're entirely relaxed."

Among the eight guests present for the weekend at the center were a mom taking time off, two teachers, a law student and a graphic artist. In the library I met Michael Goodrich, a Seal Beach teacher who returns annually with his wife to take walks, read, meditate and experience the solitude. "At the end of a weekend here, you feel kinder toward the world," he assured.

By that night, as I chatted in the mansion's kitchen while eating homemade cake and swilling white wine, I did indeed feel a little fonder toward my fellow humans. Afterward, I joined Noreen and Follie for a walk under the first starry skies I'd stopped to appreciate in a long time. But the feeling of true spiritual replenishment I had been hoping for still evaded me. On the other hand, with each passing hour, I could feel my tension level lowering.

The following Sunday morning, after a good sleep and a quick breakfast, I took a solo walk and found myself sitting on a bench overlooking an orchard. The Santa Ynez Mountains loomed behind me, a riot of flowers and trees bloomed fragrantly, and the air resonated with birdsong. For a long while I sat and stared out at the luminous sea. A feeling of peacefulness descended upon me. For two days I had lived quietly, slept well, had time and space for reflection. Now I was drifting, contemplating. When I arose from the bench, my usual litany of worries had shrunk to its proper perspective--trivial in the greater scheme of things. For the first time in weeks, I felt clear-headed and calm.

Relaxed and rejuvenated, I hopped into my car later that day for the drive south, thinking of something Don had said about why people seek out La Casa de Maria: "It's amazing how they hunger for silence."

In my two days there, I may not have reached enlightenment, but in the abundant natural beauty of the spot--and the incredible quiet--I may have experienced something even more rare: For the first time in a long while, I truly heard myself think. And for that moment, it was more than enough.