Don’t Be So Quick to Write Off Phoenix

When my husband and his mother decided to go to Costa Rica, I figured I’d venture somewhere on my own. I used to travel solo quite a bit, and I liked it. But where? Anywhere too appealing and Adam would feel left out. And I didn’t want to fly. So I landed on Phoenix, a city about which I knew very little—and I could visit my parents in outer Palm Springs en route. (Plus, my last trip to Arizona went over so well.) After I wrote about the plan a while back, a lot of people gave me good suggestions. And then J. chimed in:

My only advice is don’t go there—save time and gas and go to Palm Springs or San Luis Obispo instead! I’ve searched and there is no there there in the whole Phoenix area. It’s so spread out that everything is a half hour away from everything else. The locals consider shopping malls their cultural town centers, and there’s Old Scottsdale, which is kitschy. The Botanical Garden is limited since it’s mostly cacti and you could see more by just going to Lotusland. And the food? Nothing to write home about.

That was my fear. But it was also a dare: nearly five million people live in the Phoenix metropolitan area, so there has to be something interesting to do—besides play golf or lie by a pool—for a few days, right? I booked a hotel and sketched out an itinerary. As the trip got closer, however, I wavered. (The cost, the hassle….) And that became a double dare: I do not want to lose the ability or desire to travel alone.

So I went, and I rather enjoyed myself. I’m not going to try and give an overview of the city—I drove many miles, exploring nonstop, and I had a hard time telling one part of town from the next. (Zoning, schmoning.) While there’s a lot of dross, plenty of cool stuff is sprinkled throughout—with far more character than whatever image many of us conjure up when we think of Phoenix. But then maybe I was destined to like it.

Part of the reason I even considered the city was because of The Global Ambassador hotel, for which I seen had ads on Instagram. I didn’t think of Phoenix as having a top-notch city hotel (vs. a resort), and it looked posh. The location struck me as strange—it’s in Arcadia, an area out toward Scottsdale, at a commercial intersection (E. Camelback Road and N. 44th Street) surrounded by residential. The entrance is off the street, behind what would normally feel like the front of the hotel, and the neighbors are J.P. Morgan; Clayco; Banner University Medicine, Urgent Care, Imaging, and PT; and The Bergen, an apartment building with “serviced” rentals.

The 141-room hotel is very new, having only opened in December. Local restaurateur Sam Fox is the driving force, which may be why the emphasis is on food-and-beverage outlets (five total) as much as lodging. I don’t mean that dismissively: the hotel is impressive, and that’s not something I say often. The massive lobby bar only looks empty because I took the photos early in the morning. The place is a hotspot, with a dress code that bans wigs, “excessively exposed undergarments and lingerie,” “excessive display of skin,” and even nudity.

My room, a Camelback king, had a view of Camelback Mountain, behind the strip mall across the street. (Other rooms look out at an office or apartment building.) It was just about perfect; the only thing I didn’t like was that the thermostat wouldn’t go below 69 degrees, even if you set it lower—and to get to 69, the fan had to be on high, which was loud. I complained to no avail, then gave up and slept without the duvet. Not a massive hardship, of course, but irksome at this price. (The nightly room rate averaged $900, once you factor in taxes and the “property fee,” and valet parking was another $35 per day.)

The TV was on when I arrived, and I was surprised to see an adult pay-per-view section. I wouldn’t think hotels would bother in the age of laptops and smartphones—or maybe the big screen makes it more vivid, especially if you’re watching 11-Guy Group Sex & More. I worried that the gay section confirms some straight people’s worst fears, but the hetero stuff was just as weird, albeit in different ways. Perhaps relatedly, the minibar includes a vibrator, lubricant, and 10-packs of condoms.

As a man of certain age, I’m more excited by coffee. The hotel café only charges $6 for a cappuccino, which is admirable, but it wasn’t special. (And there was a Nespresso machine in the room, if you’re not me.) Anyway, searching out cool cafés is my modus operandi in a city, and I found two: Futuro, in a creative hub called Palabra, where the barista brings the coffee to you, and Aftermarket, which shares space with Belhaus gallery and has neat stuff for sale, such as “dumpster fire” candles by artist Carly Slade.

Both cafés were cooler than I am, which is how I like it. But the edgiest thing I did was walk to the Phoenix Swim Club at 5:15 a.m. to drop in on a Masters practice. What looked like a normal residential street on Google Maps was actually an unpaved alley, and it was much darker than in this photo. (I had to use my phone flashlight to see.) But the swimming felt important: like traveling alone, getting up that early and hanging out nearly nude with a bunch of strangers takes gumption.

The second edgiest thing I did was drive a lot: no matter how hard you plan, everything in Phoenix truly is at least 15 minutes from everywhere else, and you will encounter many speed demons, tailgaters, headlight avoiders, and even people who pass you in the broken-line island typically reserved for left turns. Come nightfall, I relied on Waymo, and I continue to love it. A robotaxi was definitely safer than my attempting to drive around Phoenix at night, and it was interesting to be driverless at 40 miles per hour, considerably faster than the 25 m.p.h. that we maxed out at in San Francisco.

The third edgiest thing I did was walk to a restaurant at night. “Be careful,” warned two women at the hotel bar before I set off, and they said it like they meant it. The walk didn’t strike me as especially dangerous, except for when I spent some time admiring this Chase bank branch and a few trucks descended for a meeting I felt unwelcome at. (Completed in 1956, the building was designed by Frank Henry of Weaver and Drover, and it’s fabulous. Modern Phoenix‘s post filled me with regret for not going inside.)

My night walk also included a canal, just like in Venice; pretty silhouetted palms; a full moon rising; and a church steeple that resembles a bug zapper. None of it seems edgy until you factor in the stream of cars flying by at 55 miles per hour and the total absence of other pedestrians.

But walk I did! Downtown is a mix of old and new—again, a fair amount of mediocrity, but some real gems, too.

I loved the chimney painted like a veladora candle and the adopt-a-street sign dedicated to Fanatic, who was an audio engineer and artist manager.

Phoenix has a lot of murals, and my favorite was this miniature one running under a shop/café called Dialog. I was tempted by a T-shirt in a nearby window, but I couldn’t quite imagine the occasion where I would wear it.

The city is a crazy mix, which may be why it’s hard to have a visual of it. One minute, I was appreciating the craftsmanship of Trinity Episcopal Cathedral’s mosaics…

…and the next I was obsessing over this futuristic sunshade.

One of the more prominent buildings downtown is the Westward Ho, built in 1928 as a hotel (with a restaurant called Top of the Ho) and converted in the 1980s to housing for the elderly and mobility-impaired. What was once a TV antenna is now a cell phone tower.

Not far away is Janet Echelman’s “Her Secret Is Patience,” which lights up at night. “Some internet users have likened the sculpture to a jellyfish or a vagina,” says Wikipedia.

And next thing you know, you’re walking by a lowest-end hotel with a sign saying that all visitors must check in before proceeding.

But Phoenix has solved a problem that plagues other cities: getting people to be orderly with their scooters.

A friend of a friend said that if I wanted to walk around a residential neighborhood, F.Q. Story was the place. Frances Quarles Story once owned the land and had the idea to develop it. The 600-plus homes, built from the late 1920s to the late 1940s, come in every conceivable architectural style. It’s heaven for anyone who likes to look at houses. I beamed the entire time—except for when a pug growled at me and when I had to cross the 13-lane interstate that cuts right through the neighborhood.

I did visit a couple of traditional attractions, too. Nearly everyone who wrote in with suggestions mentioned the Musical Instrument Museum, insisting that it’s worthwhile even if you don’t care about the subject. And I’d agree with that. Founded by former Target CEO Bob Ulrich, the museum appears to have every instrument that ever existed from all over the world.

Visitors wear headphones that play sound from the monitors as you approach, which worked most of the time, but since the only instrument I play is the tambourine, I was more interested in them as gorgeous objects—some of which resemble faces.

The room dedicated to certain artists and their instruments was unconvincing, with one exception.

At a performance by the automated “dance organ” named Apollonia, I was naturally hoping for something along these lines, but instead I got the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” The Experience Gallery was more satisfying: you could try your hand at various instruments—shaking a tambourine, for instance, if you don’t have one at home. I was thrilled to noodle around with a theremin, lack of aptitude be damned.

Alice Cooper, you now know, is on Arizona license plates because he lives in Phoenix and he founded an organization that runs free faith-based creative centers for teens.

And I also enjoyed Cosanti, a five-acre complex founded by Italian-born architect Paolo Soleri in the 1950s.

Soleri experimented on a large scale with his “earth-casting” technique in 1956 to create the innovative structures found at Cosanti. Built almost counterintuitively, from the roof down and outside in, many of these unusual spaces were created by first forming a concrete shell over mounded dirt. The soil beneath this shell was then excavated out (usually by hand) and what remained became a structure’s walls and—roof.

The hour-long tour of the facility, which now makes bells and wind chimes in ceramic and bronze, is just the right length.

The details are extraordinary! I asked if the metal garland was for sale, and the guide said it would be prohibitively expensive to produce—clearly not comprehending that I would’ve paid a fortune for it.

I had arrived early for my tour, so I killed time by walking around the area. This part of Paradise Valley was once the Doubletree Ranch; now it’s fancy-ish houses surrounding Cosanti, a relic of another time.

This one, for sale for $5.95 million, is a doozy.

Many folks said I should tour Frank Lloyd Wright Taliesen West, but I didn’t have two architectural tours in me. (And the tour of Taliesen in Wisconsin bordered on hero worship.) Instead, I wandered around the Arizona Biltmore resort, “generally recognized as a collaboration between Wright and Albert Chase McArthur, a former draftsman in Wright’s Oak Park studio” (as described by the FLW website). It’s remarkable.

The only part of traveling solo that I’ve never loved is dinner. Happily, I found three restaurants, all serving modern Mexican food, where you can reserve a seat at the bar. When I vetted the menus, I didn’t pay attention to prices, or I might have realized that two of the establishments serve entrées designed to be shared—limiting the options for anyone dining alone.

At Bacanora, I ordered an entrée (razor clams for $55) anyway, and while the flavor of the dish was amazing, some of the clams were sandy. But the cucumber salad was outstanding, and the place has electric energy. (I was easily the oldest person in the room, a rare sensation given that I live in Montecito.) If I go back, I’ll bring someone and split the roast chicken platter.

Spreading out the risk out a bit, I ordered three appetizers at Santo Arcadia. As the friendly bartender predicted—he practically chose the dish for me—the birria dumplings were the standout. I’m not sure I’ve ever had so much umami at one time. The bartender also insisted I save the remaining sauce to use on the shrimp tostada, and he was right about that, too.

At Chilte, the salad was the problem—it tasted great, but there was enough frisée for three people. I was quite content, however, with the mole negro, served with braised lamb flautas.

If I had to choose just one highlight from my trip, it would be the hiking. I can’t think of another city with two world-class hikes a 10-minute drive from a great hotel. Both were more crowded than I’m used to in Santa Barbara, but when you’re hiking alone, that’s not such a bad thing. If you fall off the side of the hill, someone might hear you.

I Waymoed to and from Camelback Mountain, which meant I could take the Cholla trail up and the Echo Canyon trail down, avoiding a repetitive out-and-back. Cholla starts out like a normal steep trail and then turns into a scramble two-thirds of the way up. Note the trail marker below.

And I had a blast descending via Echo Canyon, because much of the trail is large rocks you walk on or around. There’s something fun about having to think about every step.

And the reward is a groovy structure.

The second hike, Piestewa Peak Summit Trail, is also what I think of as an accomplishment hike: it’s not meditative or all that scenic; the point is to conquer it. The city Parks Department calls the trail “infamous,” noting that “while short in length, a little over one mile, the trail is steep, jagged, and consists of multiple switchbacks and modified steps with integrated sections of gravel and rock.” The nice thing about being alone is I didn’t have to waste any breath talking. And again, marvelous views of the sprawl.

My trip was further proof of something I’ve always believed: everywhere is interesting when you have the right state of mind—along with time, energy, and/or money to throw at the problem. Phoenix may never rank among my favorite cities, but when you want the thrill of being somewhere else, it does the trick, especially when you factor in the quick nonstop flight from Santa Barbara.

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Previous travel coverage:
••• The Most Magical City in the World
••• One and Done in Sedona
••• A Proper Visit to Santa Monica
••• A Quickie in San Francisco
••• Dipping a Toe Into Southern Corsica
••• The Exquisite Luxury of Taking Paris for Granted
••• Santa Rosa Island in One Day
••• Soaking Up History at Castle Hot Springs
••• Driving Through the Heart of Hokkaido
••• Tokyo Is a World Unto Itself
••• Paso Robles, Pinnacles National Park, and Beyond
••• A Review of the Inn at Mattei’s Tavern
••• Another Quickie in L.A.
••• Sitting Pretty at the One & Only Mandarina
••• The Mysteries of Istanbul
••• Palm Springs: Midweek at the Oasis
••• Exploring the Sea Caves of Santa Cruz Island
••• A Summer Swing Through the Northeast
••• Why Is Everyone Going to Portugal?
••• Patagonia Made Easy
••• A Quickie in L.A.
••• From Penthouse to Pavement in Mexico City
••• Do Greek Islands Live Up to the Fantasy?
↓↓↓ Splendid Isolation at Utah’s Lodge at Blue Sky
••• Three Reasons to Visit Paso Robles Now
••• The Rebirth of the Cuyama Buckhorn

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