Traumatised

Traumatised I am, completely traumatised. Why you may ask? Well, I thought it was a good idea to get my haircut as it was getting very long and needed a wee trim as I haven't had it cut since I left the shores of Ireland.

Well, frig sake, if anyone ever wants to get a haircut in South America, my advice is to do it yourself! Myself and my friend Grainne got a tip from her host family to get our hair done in a 'salon' in the centre of Cuzco. So off we set. It took us 25 minutes to find the place (from a crappy map drawn by her host parents). Probably should've known it was going to be an experience as we couldn't find it and no-one else had a clue where it was either. 

Eventually found the place, so we went in and sat down - one tiny sink in the corner with a couple of chairs and about 3 long flourescent light bulbs on the ceiling.  My haircut was going to cost 10 Soles (the equivalent of $3 or 2 pounds 50 p - what a bargain!)  Grainne wanted her hair dyed and cut and I wanted a wee trim.

The lady proceeded to hand me a book of hair models (that looked like something from the 1970's) to choose a style, whilst Grainne sat down to get her hair cut and coloured.  Of course I was in stitches laughing at her as the 'hair stylist' or maybe I should say 'butcher' took out a huge pair of scissors (something similar to what a teacher would use for art or to cut cardboard boxes) and cut it dry in the shape of a triangle! Whilst this was going on, some other woman was getting her 'tache waxed in the corner with the wax being in a hot saucepan on a tiny cooker thing on the floor. Another hairstylist was busy trying to open a bottle of some sort of shampoo - she didn't need to open it with much force, as the top blew off with the contents flying all over the salon.  (Salon makes it sound posh here, more like a tiny box room with the most ancient seats, dryers etc).

Still I sat sitting in stitches at Grainne`s experience whilst trying to find a picture so I could show her how I wanted my haircut. I also had my Spanish language book and learned the phrase for "Please could you cut a small bit off my fringe and layer my hair".  On the wall was a picture of a woman with a decent fringe and a nice layering to her hair, so I thought that pointing to that also would be a good idea as she couldn't speak English.

Next it was my turn after Grainne had her hair dyed and covered with plastic clear bin liners.  Explaining what I wanted and then pointing to the picture, she understood what I wanted (or so I thought). No such thing as a wash in this particular place - just a spray with a bit of water and off she went.  First she trimmed the back - happy days I thought, this is going grand and she understands.

Next came the 'layering'...no layering scissors here, oh no, just a kind of razor - the woman was razor happy, shearing away at my hair. Eyes were bulging in my head and panic had set in by this stage. I was saying 'gracias' and making signs that it was enough..nope, she didn't stop - hair (that I'd been growing for months) was falling onto the floor. Next came the fringe - well  you'd think that a child had just been let loose on my head.  Effing fringe is every damn shape with long bits and short bits all over the place.  So did I look like the model on the picture of the wall - eh no, not in the slightest. I look as though I have been butchered. Instead of probably screaming as I should've done, I burst out laughing, with Grainne in stitches too.

My God, it's a mess!  As my hair has been chemically straightened, the short bits are sticking out all over the place. My fringe is a sight and even after washing it and drying it myself today it's awful (from a distance you can't notice it so much, so at least that's a good thing).The funniest moment came after when we met up with the others in the pub later (after they all had a great laugh at our expense, calling my new hairdo 'retro').  I was ordering a drink at the bar and some American dude started speaking to me. He then asked me if I was Irish and of course I said yeah, how did you know..his reply "It was your hairstyle that gave it away".  Of course I nearly died of embarrassment and explained the story to him. He was sitting at the bar with a hat on his head and had his own traumatic experience and hasn't removed his hat for days. Glad someone else went through the same experiences as myself and Grainne.

On a more positive note, I'm so happy that hair grows as I can't wait for mine to. God only knows the state it will be in by the time I hit New Zealand.  Another lesson learned here...never again will I get my haircut in a developing country again!



Grainne getting her wig dyed!



My hair from a distance, in a bar with my friends