Phoenix used to be America’s Cancun. You’d fly in and check into a resort, where you’d presumably spend the next three days sipping 1,000-calorie daiquiris poolside, along with a cohort of divorcees on Eat, Pray, Love-esque journeys. Maybe you’d venture into Scottsdale once for tacos, but you wouldn’t actually bother to explore America’s fifth-largest city, at all.
It’s not your fault. For most folks, Phoenix boils down to one thing: an endless mass of desert sprawl and 110-degree shadeless pavement....
