The Phoenician, Scottsdale (AZ)

During the late '90s, I dated a lovely woman named Lisa for three years. She worked for a major health insurer, and — because she did her job extremely well — she regularly was awarded all-expenses-paid incentive trips for two to an assortment of remarkable locations. I got to go with her three times, once to the Caribbean island of St. Thomas, and twice to the magnificent Phoenician resort in Scottsdale.

I have been fortunate enough to experience my share of luxury in my time aboard the planet — in fact, I may well have experienced some of your share, too — but these two Phoenician trips were, for me, about as decadent as it's ever gotten. We went horsebacking riding in the desert, we went rafting, we lounged by the pool, we roamed through the extensive cactus garden behind the hotel, we climbed Camelback Mountain, we ate wonderful food, we attended chic parties — and, every evening, a surprise gift from the company awaited us in our room.

Great fun in a great place — twice. Thanks, Lisa!

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