Gem and Mineral Show, 2007
The Gem and Mineral Show in Tucson Arizona is getting under way. The weather has warmed up, the sun is bright and the sky a cloudless blue. It is a scene unique in the USA. Vendors from all over the country and the world take over whole motels turning the guest rooms and lobbies into temporary shops filled with beads, stone artifacts, and rugs. This is the largest Gem and Mineral show in the world. I have been attending annually for about 10 years. Hanging around my neck is a buyer’s pass, supplied by my friend through her business. It allows me entrance into the “wholesale” shows.
The show attracts the foot loose wanderers, the flotsam and jetsam of the world wearing dreadlocks, carrying backpacks, skateboards, and guitars, led by a nondescript dog on a leash. Sometimes they are single males but also can be couples, the girls in their tie-dyed skirts, sandals, sleeveless knit tops. I look at them thinking, “Your parents are worried about you. This life has no future.”
The vendors have their own look. The men greet each other, ready to exchange small talk or arrange a trade of goods. Almost all appear to have spent too much time in the sun for the good of their skin. Often there is the red flush of the smoker or alcoholic on their faces. Most are middle age or older, their pants too tight, a small to medium size stomach hanging over a fancy belt buckle. The men sport ponytails and I saw one black pompadour, an attempt to add two to three inches in height, over intense blue eyes.
I have my favorite “shops” to visit. Abdul is a must. He is Afghani and has a shop in Berkeley. He has a wonderful collection of ancient and merely old beads. I head to him first, wanting to get some findings to fasten my necklaces. The ones he has are made in India and are simple and beautiful. While I am in his shop I check the prices of some of his antiquities. A small string of gold beads catches my eye. “How much are the gold beads?” I asked.
“One hundred dollars a piece.” There are at least twenty of them. They glow as if warming each other. A small gold ring with a flat, but real diamond at its center is $325.00. My friend bought one from him about three years ago and I always admire it on her finger.
A dealer is bargaining for a selection of amulets. “You have $450.00 there but for you $420.00.” The dealer demurs and Abdul says that prices have “gone out of sight in the last year”. Abdul looks stressed and not as affable as usual. Oh well, we’re all getting older. Mrs. Abdul sits smiling in her usual seat behind the counter. She doesn’t speak much English but is unusually effusive this year. There is a beautiful young woman sitting outside the door to their “shop” motel room.
“My wife made three trips to Pakistan this last year,” says Abdul. Slowly it dawns on us that this is a new daughter-in-law, an arranged marriage for their son. “ She has been here 22 days.” The teenaged daughter-in-law looks like a doll, just out of the box. She has elaborate eye and face make-up, a scarf wrapped around her head, expensive French boots sticking out beneath her long skirt. She has an expression of anxiety and boredom, a strange mixture. Their son, waiting on customers from behind the counter looks disoriented, his hair awry. He isn’t paying much attention to his new bride.
“We should bring them a gift,” says my friend. In years past we have brought a large bag of fragrant Minneolas from the tree in her back yard. This year the crew from the landscaper service took every one from the tree. We settle on a Valentine box of chocolates.
There are the women too. They remember me from previous years. My favorites are the Nepalese women. They are setting up today but greet me saying “You’re alone?” They still remember my son Caleb and his wife Anita, a handsome couple who were with me two years ago.
The African village is unpacking. It is a city block with about 60 booths. I hope to find wastebaskets there, beauties from Burkina Faso. African merchants bring cloth, baskets, beads, carvings, and masks and spread them out on tables and the ground. Two women have set up a kitchen that caters to the vendors. They stand in bright cloth wrapped around their hips and heads, stirring large kettles of stew. I suspect it contains goat meat. There are large pools of grease floating on the top. There is a good aroma of spices in the air. I’ll go to the vegan concession in the next block north and buy a vegetable filled buckwheat crêpe.
If you hope to go, be sure to make reservations at least 6 months in advance. This includes airline tickets, accommodations and rental cars. The start is usually the last weekend in January and it runs for about 10 days.
The Gem and Mineral Show in Tucson Arizona is getting under way. The weather has warmed up, the sun is bright and the sky a cloudless blue. It is a scene unique in the USA. Vendors from all over the country and the world take over whole motels turning the guest rooms and lobbies into temporary shops filled with beads, stone artifacts, and rugs. This is the largest Gem and Mineral show in the world. I have been attending annually for about 10 years. Hanging around my neck is a buyer’s pass, supplied by my friend through her business. It allows me entrance into the “wholesale” shows.
The show attracts the foot loose wanderers, the flotsam and jetsam of the world wearing dreadlocks, carrying backpacks, skateboards, and guitars, led by a nondescript dog on a leash. Sometimes they are single males but also can be couples, the girls in their tie-dyed skirts, sandals, sleeveless knit tops. I look at them thinking, “Your parents are worried about you. This life has no future.”
The vendors have their own look. The men greet each other, ready to exchange small talk or arrange a trade of goods. Almost all appear to have spent too much time in the sun for the good of their skin. Often there is the red flush of the smoker or alcoholic on their faces. Most are middle age or older, their pants too tight, a small to medium size stomach hanging over a fancy belt buckle. The men sport ponytails and I saw one black pompadour, an attempt to add two to three inches in height, over intense blue eyes.
I have my favorite “shops” to visit. Abdul is a must. He is Afghani and has a shop in Berkeley. He has a wonderful collection of ancient and merely old beads. I head to him first, wanting to get some findings to fasten my necklaces. The ones he has are made in India and are simple and beautiful. While I am in his shop I check the prices of some of his antiquities. A small string of gold beads catches my eye. “How much are the gold beads?” I asked.
“One hundred dollars a piece.” There are at least twenty of them. They glow as if warming each other. A small gold ring with a flat, but real diamond at its center is $325.00. My friend bought one from him about three years ago and I always admire it on her finger.
A dealer is bargaining for a selection of amulets. “You have $450.00 there but for you $420.00.” The dealer demurs and Abdul says that prices have “gone out of sight in the last year”. Abdul looks stressed and not as affable as usual. Oh well, we’re all getting older. Mrs. Abdul sits smiling in her usual seat behind the counter. She doesn’t speak much English but is unusually effusive this year. There is a beautiful young woman sitting outside the door to their “shop” motel room.
“My wife made three trips to Pakistan this last year,” says Abdul. Slowly it dawns on us that this is a new daughter-in-law, an arranged marriage for their son. “ She has been here 22 days.” The teenaged daughter-in-law looks like a doll, just out of the box. She has elaborate eye and face make-up, a scarf wrapped around her head, expensive French boots sticking out beneath her long skirt. She has an expression of anxiety and boredom, a strange mixture. Their son, waiting on customers from behind the counter looks disoriented, his hair awry. He isn’t paying much attention to his new bride.
“We should bring them a gift,” says my friend. In years past we have brought a large bag of fragrant Minneolas from the tree in her back yard. This year the crew from the landscaper service took every one from the tree. We settle on a Valentine box of chocolates.
There are the women too. They remember me from previous years. My favorites are the Nepalese women. They are setting up today but greet me saying “You’re alone?” They still remember my son Caleb and his wife Anita, a handsome couple who were with me two years ago.
The African village is unpacking. It is a city block with about 60 booths. I hope to find wastebaskets there, beauties from Burkina Faso. African merchants bring cloth, baskets, beads, carvings, and masks and spread them out on tables and the ground. Two women have set up a kitchen that caters to the vendors. They stand in bright cloth wrapped around their hips and heads, stirring large kettles of stew. I suspect it contains goat meat. There are large pools of grease floating on the top. There is a good aroma of spices in the air. I’ll go to the vegan concession in the next block north and buy a vegetable filled buckwheat crêpe.
If you hope to go, be sure to make reservations at least 6 months in advance. This includes airline tickets, accommodations and rental cars. The start is usually the last weekend in January and it runs for about 10 days.
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