Szilvia GombolaTravel’s Fringe Benefits
March 2nd 2007 07:52
Extended periods of travel bring with it the vexed questions of: to cut, or not to cut.
Hair, that is. Sure, long, unruly hair usually goes with the territory of wandering the world but even the most carefree nomad will reach a point where the main question will be what to do with the mane? Do it yourself, get a friend to do it, shave it all off? For us blokes anyway this path more often that not leads to the experience that is the foreign barber shop.
Some of life’s most mundane activities can magically transform into exciting experiences when overseas, such as catching a bus, buying food, getting medical attention and even finding a toilet (these last two are often linked). Getting a haircut, for me, fits squarely in this category.
The usual rule of thumb with everyday experiences such as haircuts is that the more exotic the location, the more interesting the experience – hot towels, head messages, neck cracks, cut throat razors, wafting oil scents and smoke and all that.
However, even in the most mainstream destinations a visit to the barber shop always succeeds in delivering one of the great joys of travel – getting you deep into the everyday lives of local people. And who better than the local barber. The pulse of the local community. The keeper and imparter of the good and final word on all things.
As a dedicated devotee of the travel beard (there’s a whole other subject) my latest travels added an extra possibility for the barber visit – a beard trim.
This saw me waiting next to a priest in a Rome barber shop, complete with mandatory girlie magazines, and the priest not surprisingly being offered and accepting the next available chair despite arriving after me. The Italians know and respect the social pecking order like no others and Rome priests are way, way above ragged, cheapskate backpackers.
My fast-growing travel beard also took me into the world of a fat, scary looking skinhead barber in Derry in Northern Ireland. A real hard nut at first glance, he welcomed me into his spotless barber shop with genuine warmth and enthusiasm and proceeded to thoroughly inform and entertain me with his opinions on the emotion-charged local topics or politics, religion and football.
Bursting with pride at attending to the grooming needs of an Australian visitor, he also spoke passionately to me, and inadvertently to all others waiting, about his sadness at the passing of the only other Australian he knew, the Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin; as well as his desire to visit Australia and Australian’s hair, and beards.
He completed his highly entertaining performance with an act that made a mockery of my first impressions – he refused to take any money from me as he had enjoyed the chat and cultural exchange so much that it didn’t’ even seem like work to him.
As I walked back out into the soft Derry rain, the wind frosting my cheeks through my freshly trimmed beard, I couldn’t have agreed with him more. This hadn’t been a chore, it was a rare insight no money or open-top bus could provide.
We both went back to our lives with tales to tell.
Anyone else got any overseas haircut tales to tell?
Hair, that is. Sure, long, unruly hair usually goes with the territory of wandering the world but even the most carefree nomad will reach a point where the main question will be what to do with the mane? Do it yourself, get a friend to do it, shave it all off? For us blokes anyway this path more often that not leads to the experience that is the foreign barber shop.
Some of life’s most mundane activities can magically transform into exciting experiences when overseas, such as catching a bus, buying food, getting medical attention and even finding a toilet (these last two are often linked). Getting a haircut, for me, fits squarely in this category.
However, even in the most mainstream destinations a visit to the barber shop always succeeds in delivering one of the great joys of travel – getting you deep into the everyday lives of local people. And who better than the local barber. The pulse of the local community. The keeper and imparter of the good and final word on all things.
As a dedicated devotee of the travel beard (there’s a whole other subject) my latest travels added an extra possibility for the barber visit – a beard trim.
My fast-growing travel beard also took me into the world of a fat, scary looking skinhead barber in Derry in Northern Ireland. A real hard nut at first glance, he welcomed me into his spotless barber shop with genuine warmth and enthusiasm and proceeded to thoroughly inform and entertain me with his opinions on the emotion-charged local topics or politics, religion and football.
Bursting with pride at attending to the grooming needs of an Australian visitor, he also spoke passionately to me, and inadvertently to all others waiting, about his sadness at the passing of the only other Australian he knew, the Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin; as well as his desire to visit Australia and Australian’s hair, and beards.
He completed his highly entertaining performance with an act that made a mockery of my first impressions – he refused to take any money from me as he had enjoyed the chat and cultural exchange so much that it didn’t’ even seem like work to him.
As I walked back out into the soft Derry rain, the wind frosting my cheeks through my freshly trimmed beard, I couldn’t have agreed with him more. This hadn’t been a chore, it was a rare insight no money or open-top bus could provide.
We both went back to our lives with tales to tell.
Anyone else got any overseas haircut tales to tell?
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Comment by Lily
Ars Poetica
blessings on your journey,
~Lily