Seeking decadent a holiday balanced by high-energy activities, Benjamin Parker flew to Arizona’s on-trend desert gem to see what’s going on years after the likes of Humphrey Bogart and Marilyn Monroe graced the city. Liquid gold sunlight splashed over the desert not long after dawn. Above me, the baby-blue canopy of sky was brushed with the faintest wisps of cloud, dissolving into the warming air. In the distance, craggy silhouettes of mountains looked like the edges of a torn map, their outline blurred by the morning haze – a silent promise of the adventure that can be found in Arizona.

I was absorbed into stories around the saguaro cactus, native to and a symbol of the Sonoran (its blossom is the state flower of Arizona). They live long – some can reach 150 to 200 years – and are woven into local Native American myths: that they embody the spirit of ancestors, that a lost boy became the first saguaro. In a surprise to myself, I was actually thankful to have woken at 5.30am. This was the juxtaposition I’d been promised in Scottsdale. I was seeking a rejuvenating escape – but one that didn’t spare holiday indulgences. A friend familiar with my pseudo-healthy life – occasional gym visits between late-night bars and long hours working – suggested this invigorating Arizonan city. I was told of delicious dining and potent cocktails balanced by getting active outdoors, all at the end of a direct flight from London.

Scottsdale could easily be swallowed by the nearby metropolis, Phoenix; it’s that bigger city you will fly into. But head around 10 miles north and you find a place where modernism sits beside Spanish Revival architecture, home to around 240,000, and an unhurried pace that makes it feel more like a laid-back resort town. As my visit unfurled into a whirlwind of martinis, tostadas and cacti, it became a firm favourite.

The natural beauty is undeniable. Long, straight highways that take you out of town become winding roads, which end at trailheads – from there, it’s on foot or bike. It was setting off from one of those points in the McDowell Sonoran Preserve that I battled jet lag, taking a three-hour loop – a beginner’s lesson on the desert, you might say. It’s not the sand-swept, barren landscape one might imagine. Its palette shifts from bruised purples to dusky oranges, and it’s unexpectedly lush. All shades of green burst from the flora as wind bristles the leaves of ocotillo and mesquite trees. The stillness is punctured by little more than the raspy call of cactus wren. At the end of my walk, I know more than I ever thought I would about the desert.

The reward for a morning hike was heading south to the city for a cinnamon roll from The Thumb. Its slogan is heavily tongue-in-cheek: “Just your average gas station”. It’s a barbecue restaurant and wine cellar all wrapped up inside a petrol station and car wash, run by a former surgeon. Rich aromas, courtesy of the meat they smoke in-house, hit you first, but it’s the enormous cinnamon rolls that make it worthy of a stop: a slab of golden, buttery dough in a tight spiral, a gentle crisp on the outside but soft as pillow inside, the sweet glaze dripping down all sides.

Later that week, I tackled another patch of the desert that covers 100,000 square miles across Arizona, California and Mexico, heading off-road in an all-terrain vehicle (ATV) into parts I was promised “few people ever go”. My new-found knowledge prepared me in no way at all. Read more: I went on the Graceland tour that allows you to get closer to Elvis than ever before. Every rock or dip could be felt rattling through the suspension and up into the steering wheel, rising into my shoulders, my knuckles turning white with tension. Dust swirled as I attempted to tame the ATV as I took blind corners and revved up steep inclines, urging the vehicle – a military-grade Tomcar - to stay under control on the descent. Hurtling into a deep gouge on the track, the wheel yanked 180 degrees anticlockwise with my left hand still gripping tightly, taking my arm with it – and at the time, ripping it out of the socket. Or so I thought; feeling returned after a minute or two. The ATV came off worse, hindering my steering on the drive back to base.

If any remained, dinner at the hotel’s Talavera restaurant banished the rest. The best seats in this Spanish steakhouse are outside, facing the weathered desert mountainside as you dine on thick cuts of rib-eye or a smoky seafood paella. Imaginative desserts from pastry chef Yudith Bustos top it all off: the brie and mascarpone cheesecake, cosseted in a chocolate shell and paired with figs and honeycomb, was a sweet, creamy highlight. So far, so as promised: this Arizona city is a mix of the outdoors and the indulgent.

It was the centre of town where the other side of Scottsdale – an urban complement to the abundant nature – began to reveal itself. Downtown is a lively jumble of Old West charm and contemporary living, brimming with art galleries and boutique stores, and it’s a compact, easily walkable size. Despite a growing list of hotel options – Caesars Republic Scottsdale, a Grand Hyatt and the Scottsdale Resort and Spa all opned in 2024, with a Ritz-Carlton on the way – I checked into Hotel Valley Ho and followed the Hollywood stars of the past.