Rain in the Valley of the Sun
--- A Visit to the Hermosa
Inn
by
Robert McGarvey
The leak made my stay at the Hermosa Inn in Paradise Valley, AZ. That’s
not to say I had any complaints beforehand. I had checked into my casita, a
spacious 600-square-foot room complete with a fireplace and a patio, and
immediately smiled with satisfaction. This wasn’t a sterile hotel room—in
look and feel it was nearer a wealthy friend’s guestroom. The centerpiece of
the room was a comfy King-size bed in a massive four-poster wood frame, and off
the main room was a charming tile bathroom and dressing area with his and hers
sinks. Southwestern art doodads—antiqued bells on a desk, a Western painting
on the wall—gave the room a relaxed air, so it was easy to just fit in, kick
back and say thanks to Lon Megargee, a legendary cowboy painter (and,
supposedly, the logo in Stetson Hats derives from one of his paintings).
That’s because, a half-century ago, this was
his spread—in the 30s Megargee built it
as his home and studio space, with some accommodations added for a little
guest ranch he ran as a side business. After Megargee’s death, the property
fell into disrepair until a few years back when a developer bought it and, in a
spiffy remodeling, produced a small resort with 35 adobe accommodations spread
over six acres marked by austerely compelling desert landscaping.
Oh, I was cozy in my little casita and, as I surveyed my surroundings, I
knew I had come to the right place to get my volatile blood pressure down the
few notches that my physician deemed prudent. “Get it lower, pronto, unless
you plan to explode like an overfilled balloon,” he’d said to me after he
reported a reading 45 points above
the healthy norm. “No more 80-hour work weeks,” he added. “Take a
vacation.”
That warning was what had
sent me to the Hermosa Inn and, immersed in this nest of Southwestern luxury, I
could almost feel the diastolic reading tumbling.
This is not a place to come for hustle, bustle, and glamour. Scottsdale
has plenty of those places—complete with manicured golf courses and spas. The
Hermosa Inn is different—small, quiet, relaxed, and tucked away on a peaceful
residential street in upscale Paradise Valley. It seemed the ideal cure for
stress.
That night I slept away the
seven-hour drive from LA. In the morning, I grabbed a buffet breakfast (free to
guests), with fruit, bagels, coffee (decaf, please, it’s better for the blood
pressure), then drove into Scottsdale to explore. Until it started to rain, hard
(Phoenix bills itself as the Valley of the Sun, but it gets seven inches of
annual rainfall, nearly twice as much as falls on Las Vegas). I drove back to
the Hermosa Inn and, when I opened the door, there stood a maintenance man in
the casita. “You have a leak,” he said, and he pointed to a bucket on the
floor for emphasis.
“We’re going to have to move you,” he said.
Displeasure crossed my face: I was perfectly content in this casita, and
I felt my blood pressure cresting at this order to vacate.
The maintenance man called the front desk, got the number of my new room,
and, with a scowl, I followed him across the walkway to my replacement
accommodation. He opened the door for me and, before I stepped in, he said,
“anytime we have to move a guest, we give an upgraded room.”
Good thing he’d prepped me because I’m not sure my overworked ticker
could otherwise have taken the shock. When I walked in, I nearly shouted with
joy—“upgrade” was a spectacular understatement. The new room—a
“Hacienda” in Hermosa Inn parlance —had a bedroom, a huge living room,
dining table, a kitchenette, and two patios, one in front and another in the
rear, well over 1000 square feet. I plugged in my laptop and knew I didn’t
want to leave. I had everything here—down to a coffee maker and a
refrigerator. The bathtub doubled as a Jacuzzi. This, I decided as I took in my
new spread, was as good as hotel living gets. As a kind of proof I could almost
feel my blood pressure falling.
Here,
there was no pressure of any kind. And no people for that matter, at
least I saw few. This was peak season and, on some nights the hotel was
fully booked, but somehow the casitas and haciendas are arranged so that I had a
delicious sense ofbeing alone. Except for the rabbits. In my three nights in
residence, I saw more rabbits than people—many more rabbits because as the sun
set droves of bunnies came out to munch on the green grass in front of my
hacienda. One night, as I sat on the patio nibbling good Irish cheese (Kerry
Gold, from the Trader Joe’s in Scottsdale), I tossed a few bits on the lawn to
enliven the rabbits’ diet. Next morning the cheese was still there, at least
until a yard man swept it up. Whatever the rabbits were finding in the grass
apparently was better than Irish cheese.
Even if the bunnies scorned Kerry Gold, I doted on it and most nights I
ate alone in my hacienda, feasting on goodies bought at Scottsdale deli
counters. But, good as I was
eating, I knew that before I left the Hermosa Inn I had to dine at Lon’s, its
only restaurant. Lon’s had won my attention because, night after night, I saw
the parking lot fill as locals and guests from nearby hotels flocked to the
tables in this rustic house with white-washed walls and wood beam ceilings.
Lon’s ambience screams “in” (a status underlined when Travel
& Leisure ran “Phoenix
Rising: The New Food Stars” in 1996 and Lon’s got prominent play). But it
nonetheless is a casual place where folks come not to parade their stylishness,
but to eat chef Michael DeMaria’s clever take on Southwestern cuisine.
When the waitress came to take my order, I opted for a simple lettuce and
tomato salad (made special with the addition of bits of smoked mozzarella), and
a woodgrilled filet mignon (superbly tender and though barbecuing usually
overwhelms the delicate taste of filet mignon, in DeMaria’s kitchen the
smoking gives a suggestive accent that preserves—even highlights—the
gentleness of the meat). But the best bit was the horseradish mash potatoes,
where the bite of the horseradish interplayed with the smoothness of the spuds.
I’d have ordered a second helping of the potatoes, but the waitress told me a
dessert special was crème brulee with a carmelized banana slice. It was
gorgeously done—just sweet enough to top off the meal. And, blood pressure
ignored, I ordered a strong cup of coffee to finish. As I sipped it, I watched
the room—every chair filled with happy diners – and I felt contented.
The next morning as I headed home, I put in a last stop, at an Osco’s
Drugs. I went straight to the blood pressure machine by the pharmacy counter. I
slid my arm into the gizmo, pressed the button, and waited for the reading. When
it showed, I couldn’t have been happier than if I’d gotten three cherries at
a Las Vegas slot machine. Systolic, diastolic, heart rate—all normal. Yes, I
hoped I would return again to the Hermosa Inn. Maybe it won’t always cure my
blood pressure woes, but for sure I
will always leave it feeling more relaxed, even cheery. Even if next time there
isn’t a leak.
Hermosa Inn, 5532 N. Palo Cristi Rd., Paradise Valley AZ 85253. Rates
vary seasonally. The smallest rooms, ranchos, range from $95 in the summer to
$245 in the winter. Casitas are $140 off-season, $315, peak season. Hacidendas
are $275 off-season, $415 peak season. Dinner at Lon’s runs over $25 per
person, plus tip and drinks. Reservations are strongly advised.
This
article initially appeared, in slightly different form, in Avenues Magazine.
Copyright by Robert McGarvey.