When I step out of my front door and turn my head to the right, this is what I see:
I've lived and worked all over the world, I've flown millions of miles, I went years spending more than 200 nights/year in hotel rooms. I love many of the places I've been fortunate enough to visit. Korea? Fabulous. Southeast Asia (Hong Kong, Singapore, Kuala Lumpur)? Fascinating. Australia? I definitely could live there. Europe? I like Spain the best (reminds me of Arizona, but with better food and wine). Stockholm was a blast. The closest I got to Finland was a girlfriend (first name: Aino; last name: never could spell it). South America? Venezuela was fun. Brazil was dangerous. But my Spanish is poor and I have no Portuguese. So where?
Like Bapu...exactly where I'm at. I picked Flagstaff as my final destination. I was born on Route 66 in 1951. I plan to die on Route 66, I just hope it's quite some time from now.
Flagstaff has almost the perfect temperature range (it does get windy, though!), a vibrant music scene, 7 local brewers making some of the best beer I've tasted anywhere in the world, the Grand Canyon, the largest Ponderosa pine forest in the world. By car: 6 hours from Los Angeles, 2 hours from Phoenix, 4 hours from Tucson, 7 hours from Santa Fe, 6 hours from Durango, 12 hours from Denver, 9 hours from Telluride, 3 hours from Las Vegas. I could go on.
What's not to love?