When I flew to California last September, I had discovered I could bypass the usual LAX traffic-and-logistics horror by flying into the wonderfully charming and convenient Long Beach Airport – convenient, obviously, because my destination was Long Beach. To accomplish this triple booking feat required one extra flight passing through Phoenix, Arizona. My only experience with the Southwestern state of Arizona was when I was a young adult and rode twice, by car and then by train, through the north of the state via Flagstaff. I recall the area being up on a plateau, fairly mountanous and surrounded by Ponderosa pine forests, and from the winter train I saw a lot of snow. This was far away from Phoenix, which is located nearly 200 miles to the south in the Sonoran Desert. As opposed to a snowy place Phoenix is famously very hot in the summertime. Air conditioning is mandatory there: I remember my friend Roger, who’d moved to Phoenix from California, describing how he had to wear gloves to drive because the steering wheel would be so hot it would burn his hands. At that time, although I did a lot of travelling, I had no desire to ever visit Phoenix. . | ![]() |