Scottsdale, Arizona

 UNTIL NEXT TIME

A dreamy desert, filled with Mexican cuisine and a blissful balloon-ride made for the ideal adventure to Scottsdale.

I am a firm believer in the saying, “West Coast, best coast.” Growing up in Southern California, I’ve always been just a stone’s throw from the eclectic energy of Los Angeles and the iconic shores of Malibu. Now with Santa Barbara as my backyard, I take full advantage of the superiority of the Pacific. What can I say? Perfect weather, rich diversity and endless opportunity have set my geographical standards high. It’s a wonder any of us bother to venture out.

However, I’ve decided to broaden my horizons and do just that. After a sunny lunch on the patio of the Santa Barbara Airport, I board a 12:35 p.m. flight for Phoenix Sky Harbor to allow a new western city the chance to sweep me off my feet. The wheels touch down after only an hour and a half, and my Scottsdale retreat begins.

I catch my first glimpse of raw Arizona beauty, filled with the promise of untouched adventure and desert grandeur. Jagged mountaintops line the horizon with a watercolor purple and towering Saguaro cacti rule the Sonoran uncontested. Only ten minutes have passed, and I’m already head-over- heels for this majestic brand of the West.

THE FAIRMONT SCOTTSDALE PRINCESS

Checking in to The Fairmont Scottsdale Princess, I can already tell it’s the darling of Scottsdale. Fresh yellow flowers, wood accent tables and bannisters shaped into winding branches seamlessly bring the outdoors in. Floor-to-ceiling windows and sunny breezeways lead me to the open-air Plaza Bar and nearby luxury pool; its dramatic elements of water and fire add an exotic sophistication. The smell of sizzlingly fresh Baja Mexican cuisine from the Fairmont’s own La Hacienda calls out to me as dinner nears. I join new Scottsdale friends for the Spanish-style restaurant, just a stroll from the lobby, and we dine on Tacos de Longosta made with lobster so fresh and succulent that we consider ordering a second round. However, we figure that our homemade chips and guacamole would pair perfectly with one of their 240 tequilas, so resident “Tequila Goddess,” Katie, gives us the rundown. For our Snake Bite Flight, she brings each of us a plate with three shot glasses, a sprinkling of black Himalayan sea salt and an open-mouthed rattlesnake (dead, of course), seemingly frozen mid-strike. I give its rattler a shake for good luck, and it’s bottoms up.

My next day’s wandering brings me to the sanctuary of the Fairmont’s Well & Being Spa for a 60-minute Deep Tissue Odyssey Massage. I walk into the sunlit atrium—wooden beams span the glass ceiling to support hanging aerial yoga ribbons. Below, women are chatting quietly and dining on a beautiful arrangement of fresh shrimp and edamame succotash. As I pass native red sandstone walls to the group fitness wing, I notice a studio wall projecting a rush of ocean waves; the Rip Surfer class is wrapping up the last few minutes of intense core work on their surfboards. I continue my self-guided tour and stumble upon the locker room, where a cozy robe awaits me. Feeling even more relaxed—and quite curious—I tiptoe into a stunning corridor, fashioned after a Grecian-bath oasis. Soft ethereal light shines down from its dome ceiling and onto a therapeutic whirlpool; and below, several women have decided to melt all their troubles away. I spend (not enough) time in the surrounding eucalyptus inhalation room, Swedish steam room and Swiss shower. I’m completely relaxed by the time my masseuse calls my name that I’m surprised she finds tension to work out. She of course does, and massages me with natural oils of sandalwood and lavender. She opens a back door to a private patio, and the soothing trickle of a nearby waterfall rounds out this perfect day of pampering. I say goodbye to the chirping birds at the close of my massage and head back to the eucalyptus inhalation room for good measure.

HOT AIR BALLOON EXPEDITIONS

I’m up early the next morning to take to the skies via balloon. We’re scheduled to take off just before 7:30 a.m., the calmest part of the day, which is comforting for those of us who are climbing into the oversized basket with hesitation. Our Captain Todd jokes that everyone should see a sunrise at least once in their life. We muster up a couple laughs as we wipe the sleep from our eyes. Within seconds, our balloon, an astounding 10 stories in height, floats off the ground, and we’ve begun our flight. Adrift at over 5,000 feet, we are graced with a majestic overlook of the city and a stillness only found among the heavens. My basket-mates and I savor this rare moment of complete serenity and are nearly awestruck for the remainder of the flight. As if right on cue, the sun reveals itself from behind the mountain silhouettes and the dark blue sky warms into a golden yellow. Surely, this Scottsdale sunrise will be one to remember.

ARIZONA COWBOY COLLEGE

I sense that this day holds the potential for another outdoor expedition so I enroll in a session at Arizona Cowboy College, where I’m sure to walk the walk, talk the talk, and perhaps carry a piece of wheat in the corner of my mouth. My fellow cowgirls and I exit the van onto the front edge of the property when a beautiful black and white speckled horse heads in our direction with elegant steps, casually parading by as if being judged by a panel. “Oh she’s just showing off,” says Lori, one of the owners of the family- owned cattle ranch, who then introduces us to a couple of wobbly baby goats. We meet horses Lashes, Rocco and Gus, among others, and receive a guest appearance from Myron, the resident Vietnamese pot-bellied pig. We’re then taught how to groom, saddle and ride our horses (piece of wheat optional). Feeling completely empowered, my horse Rocco and I confidently prance around the show ring with a trot so steady that I legitimately consider the carefree cowgirl life. Fresh air, wide open spaces and a majestic horse as my trusty companion? I’ll take it. A neighboring donkey shrieks an enthusiastic “hee-haw” our way, and we’re then taught the appropriate wrist twist for a lasso wind-up and release. Armed with just a couple of practice twirls above my head, I release my rope with heightened anticipation and held breath. It’s far from being Gene Autry-approved but it somehow catches onto the horns of the iron cattle, and I’ve symbolically earned my badge here at Cowboy College. Then, along with my trusty sidekick Rocco, I ride off onto the unchartered desert highways of Scottsdale (or at least fully plan to on my next visit).

TALIESIN WEST

After a rough and tumble morning, perhaps I’m due for an afternoon of refined architectural genius. I visit Frank Lloyd Wright’s famed winter home, Taliesin West, and join the next available tour. We explore the home’s courtyards, gardens, private rooms, and common spaces—all painted with wild accents of Cherokee red and other iconic motifs of Wright’s celebrated work. Our tour guide notes the heavy use of horizontal lines and triangles to symbolize the vast Scottsdale desert and its sprinkling of jagged peaks. Wall art crafted from desert rock, weathered shells and reclaimed wood continues to reflect the Scottsdale surroundings. And as if Taliesin West didn’t feel enough like a living and breathing ode to Wright’s legacy, it hosts an onsite School of Architecture. Our guide leads us into a grandiose drafting room overlooking the entire city like an air traffic control tower, and we tiptoe around focused students hovering over sketches and scale models. I leave Wright’s western mecca with a deeper appreciation for the land he so loved.

DOWNTOWN SCOTTSDALE

My new friends and I kick off a quintessential night downtown at the edgy and elegant Living Room bar at W Scottsdale. To start, we order their signature zesty cocktail, the Vitamin W, made with Ketel One Oranje, Chambord, oranges, and muddled raspberries. We meet W Insider, Rachel, and settle into one of the Living Room’s posh leather sectionals as she tells us about the complete revitalization of Downtown’s lively districts, now lined with fresh novel eateries and themed bars all within walking distance (even for us heel wearers). We then convince our social scene guru to join the group as we head over to locals’ favorite, Second Story Liquor Bar. We climb an almost hidden set of stairs in the heart of downtown and walk right into a prohibition-era speakeasy—tufted leather chairs, dark cherry bookshelves (one concealing a secret room), classic red carpets, and a dazzling chandelier overhead. All we seem to be missing are layered pearl necklaces and long cigarette holders. I decide on the whole grain gnocchi; it’s warm and homey, washed in a delicate chile-thyme beurre blanc and peppered with salsify, beets and tender brisket. The mixologist shakes a steady rhythm of cocktails all night as the atmosphere picks up. We continue dining and pairing our drinks with far too many pieces of savory beer bread and melty house-churned butter. When we finally decide to call it a night, we say our farewells to the who’s who of the joint, as well as this fabulous evening of flapperspeak and spirits.

SINGH FARMS

My final morning in the Scottsdale sunshine brings me to Singh Farms. Greeting guests beneath a whimsical stained glass entrance with his weathered beard and comfortable smile is farmer Ken Singh—his simple handshake somehow exuding unparalleled kindness to each of his visitors. We take our first steps inside the boutique farm and it’s nothing short of magical. I follow a meandering footpath of wildflowers and rows of purple cabbage beneath a wooded canopy of shade trees. Adirondack chairs and tree-trunk benches encircle a huge fire pit like the truest form of Mother Nature’s own living room. Ken insists we return on Saturday when the Farmer’s Market rolls around, cheerfully enticing us with the promise of nutritious food, live music and the warm sense of community that keeps him doing what he does. “Life is your adventure,” he reminds us as we part ways, uplifted and equally challenged—the perfect ending to a sojourner’s stay in Scottsdale.

I awake to the gentle reminder from the flight attendant to fasten my seat belt as we begin our descent into Santa Barbara. Was my Sonoran Desert getaway but a dream? The peaceful balloon ride, passionate flavorful combinations of Baja Mexican cuisine or my empowering afternoon as a seasoned cowhand? Fortunately, it was not. The unparalleled beauty and excitement that looms on this western horizon does beckon a speedy return. Until next time, Scottsdale. *