The first thing I learned when I set out to find Bohemia (or at least some fun things to do) in Phoenix was this: it doesn’t exist before 9 a.m.
I know this because I went looking for it when it seemed most convenient to me—after a Wednesday morning breakfast meeting. But I should have known better. That’s way too straight-laced. The Bohemian lifestyle has its roots in rebellion. Rebels don’t get up early.
In Downtown Flagstaff…
If I had left my meeting and driven the two hours to Flagstaff, where I went to college and where I know the modern-day hippies live—we call them “granolas” there—I would have had an easier time locating Bohemia at the local coffee bar, Macy’s, or later in the day at the vegetarian restaurant Mountain Oasis. I hear you can find belly dancers there sometimes.
Yes, in downtown “Flag,” as it’s called, I would definitely run into wanderers smelling of patchouli, wearing gypsy skirts and sporting tattoos. No doubt an easy source for bohemian, fun things to do in Phoenix.
But that’s not why I chose this assignment. I didn’t want it to be that easy. I like getting out of my comfort zone. When I think of Bohemia, I think of a mix of the exotic, the romantic, the natural. I would describe myself as only one of the three—and that’s because I don’t wear much makeup.
So it shouldn’t be surprising to know I am not and do not play the Bohemian part very well. For one thing, I don’t wear big hoop earrings or long-flowing skirts. On this day, in fact, I was dressed in slacks and a jacket, no jewelry to speak of. And generally, I’m good friends with a schedule. Not exactly befitting the lyrics from Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” which suggests you operate any way the wind blows…To top it off, I drive a luxury SUV—with a set of golf clubs clinking around in the back, my mountain bike lying next to them. No, not exactly the Bohemian girl image I have in my head.
Nonetheless, I had an assignment to complete, this was the time I had available for the research, and that’s what I was going to do. So my first stop brought me to the Town & Country Shopping Center in The Biltmore neighborhood, famous for its Wednesday morning Farmer’s Market. Surely, I thought, I’d find Bohemia and fun things to do in Phoenix where I’d find organic produce.
Yes, but not exactly. “The Biltmore,” one of the most expensive and lucrative neighborhoods in the Valley of the Sun (a nickname bestowed upon Phoenix because of its near perfect and sunny weather) was named for its landmark hotel built by the wealthy Wrigley family back in 1929 (yes, the chewing gum magnate). The reason I even thought I’d find gypsies and wanderers anywhere near hotel rooms available for $300 a night was simply for this particular Farmer’s Market where you pick your own vegetables. Isn’t that Bohemian enough?
Besides, I knew it attracted an eclectic bunch—moms with strollers trying to pick the best cantaloupe, street people trying to snag a free one, clean cut men in suits looking for something organic to take home for the wife to cook for dinner, hagglers, and people from all over the metropolitan area—who show up for the farm fresh and organic fruits and vegetables, wheatgrass powder, fresh tamales, local cheese curd, bags of herb-infused bread, and a woman with her table of colorful crystals, cut glass and ribbon; you can string your own necklace.
Just not before 10 a.m.
At the Bookstore…
So, instead of there, I began my search around the corner, inside the shopping center’s bookstore, to get the historical perspective first.
“May I help you find something,” the Bookstar clerk asked me right after I walked inside the glass door.
“Not yet,” I mumbled, heading straight over to the clearance tables, thinking that’s where I’d find what I needed. Bohemian by it’s very nature should be cheaper than normal, right? But poking through the discount books, craft kits and coffee table items didn’t net me what I wanted. So I walked over to her counter, mentioned what I was doing, and asked, “I’m looking for Bohemia, for books on the topic. Can you help?”
She tried. She really did. She searched on her computer, found a few items, flipped the screen around to show me, but every item on the list said, “trade paper,” not book, and they didn’t have them in stock anyway.
“Okay, I’ll just look around and see what I can find,” I told her, backing away from the counter to search the shelves. On my way, a guy stocking them kept asking, “Can I help you?”
I should warn you now to be wary of the help you seek; you just might get it. In my most unBohemian-like way, I walked out of the bookstore—$80 later—not with anything that defined Bohemia exactly. Things related to fun things to do in Phoenix, maybe. But I did buy a deck of cards with my first initial monogrammed on the face. In my favorite color (blue). With a floral pattern. It reminded me of henna tattoos—and it was a two-pack. A bargain! Isn’t that Bohemian? I also found a book about art—short chapters, one painting at a time. Bohemian types like art, don’t they? And I picked up this craft kit that teaches you about the science of circles. That reminded me of gypsies and dancing. I also found a book of travel stories written by a woman who calls herself a nomad. No history, but I figured I had all the inspiration I needed. By the time I checked out, it was 10:30. The Farmer’s Market would be buzzing with patrons by now, I figured, so I drove over to see what I might find.
At the Market…
Right away, I heard a woman in a long skirt and t-shirt walk by the man peddling Arizona-made chocolate. The sound came from the two dozen jewelry items hanging from her ears, neck and wrists. I followed her into the crowds and spent the next hour squeezing my way up and down the brick sidewalk in back of the shopping center, mostly browsing. I didn’t have much cash left.
“How many tamales do you want?” one man called out in a slight Hispanic accent.
“He’s been yelling that out all day,” a large woman in blue, selling fresh bread next to his table, told me.
“Yes, and he’s very effective,” I mentioned, showing her the four I had already purchased. I picked up a bag of her honey wheat bread just in time to catch a whiff of the soaps. If I didn’t find this place called Bohemia, I hoped I’d at least find the lady with the soaps. A must ‘fun things to do in Phoenix’ stop for sure. I’d purchased them a year before and had given all of mine away as gifts. At $5 a bar, I thought they made great stocking stuffers or last-minute hostess gifts. This time, I wanted only one—for me.
Sure enough, Little Mama Products had her table set up and ready to go. Four or five women were chatting with the owner, Sue Harris, by the time I showed up to sniff her colorful bars of handmade soaps—all of them made with essential oils, olive oil, avocado, and other natural ingredients. So Bohemian, yes?
I spent the next half hour doing what I’d done last time—picking up bar after bar, sniffing each one of the waxy-feeling cubes. Gardenia, lavender, honeysuckle, plumeria, coconut, lemon, rosemary, sage—so many scents! She had a little pot of coffee beans to sniff in between so you could neutralize what your nose took in. I felt like I was standing in the middle of an overgrown garden in the springtime—with coffee brewing in the background.
Last time I’d been at her table, I’d spent $40, buying six different soaps, a few of the mahogany soap decks, and lotions. This time, I wanted just the one called Celebration. Made of shea butter, cocoa butter and aloe vera, it had been a hit with my friends. Of course, since I’d never actually used the products myself, just smelled them, I turned to the customer who had three bars in her hand and was letting her five-year-old son pick out another.
“Have you tried these soaps before? Do they leave your skin dry?” I asked her.
“No. The opposite. I use them all the time,” this mother told me.
I purchased mine and then headed off for the produce.
Peeking at bin after bin, I saw green onions, shallots, big yellow onions, garlic cloves, bags of beans, Fuji apples, tangerines, large yellow lemons the size of softballs, small bags of limes, potatoes of all kinds, and a special kind of asparagus I overheard one woman squeal about.
“I’m buying some,” she said with way more excitement than I think a vegetable deserves—no matter how organic.
I watched a petite gray-haired woman pull off the green stems on the carrots, to make them weigh less I presumed. Both men and women stood in the line at least 20 people long to pay—on both sides of the aisle. They grabbed and stashed the produce inside cloth bags or baskets until half the bins were empty.
I don’t know. I guess I’m just not that into vegetables. At least not in the grab and stash kind of way. I like my shopping to be less vigorous and decided it was time to move on. I’d more quietly amassed my own collection of Bohemian inspiration but felt I was missing something.
Over to Melrose…
It wasn’t until I drove over to the Melrose neighborhood on 7th Avenue, about a 10-minute drive west, that I thought I’d hit the jackpot. Ladies with their girlfriends were walking inside antique stores. I saw a mother and daughter pair leave a vintage clothing shop. An art gallery had its door propped open. A café or two advertised 4 o’clock Happy Hours, and the parking lot for the coffee shop that had taken over an old service station looked full with cars parked up and down the street beside it.
Between closed shops, boarded up buildings, and street signs denoting the Melrose neighborhood, several street corners along the mile between Camelback and Indian School roads hosted a cultural smorgasbord of tastes, flavors and styles—most of it affordable. All of it interesting and fun. Finally, when I noticed the breakfast place called Two Hippies, I pulled into the parking lot and got out to walk around.
The owner of Frilly Frocks two blocks south turned out to be my best find. Leslie Christensen, a tall red-head dressed in a loose-fitting blouse and skirt, makes most of the clothing she sells at the shop she opened just seven months ago. She also works with local artists who bring in other items, things like handpainted cards, homemade necklaces, ceramic art. I wanted one of her frilly frocks—a lacy blue pullover that said one size fits all, but I opted to buy the magnetic calendar, instead. I couldn’t help myself.
Made of painted matchboxes with floral patterns and fabrics glued on, it called out to me because I collect matchboxes. At $140, though, I hesitated a bit before saying yes. Of course, the deal was sealed when Leslie informed me the artist is a mother of a child with Down Syndrome. She makes her living as an artist? Well, how Bohemian is that!
As I left her store with my pink tissue paper-stuffed bag in hand, on the way back to my car I decided I had redefined Bohemia. And about some of the most fun things to do in Phoenix. It’s not about finding a place on the map. It’s more about connecting with the free spirit in your heart. If you can do that, I think there’s probably a little more gypsy in you than you thought.
All photos copyright Jackie Disher.
Share
Email