Haircut

So I didn't anticipate writing again today but I really needed to get this down before I forgot. Today I took part in the inevitable-- that which I've feared since the night before my flight when I realized that I didn't have enough time to get done everything I wanted to before take-off. Today I went to the barber and got not just a haircut, but a beard trim as well.

My host father showed me where it was in the morning and told me to be there at 1:30. Walking up the stairs alone I wished I had called one of my Armenian and English speaking friends who could assure that I didn't end up bald or worse, beardless. As I sat down in his chair he asked what I wanted done. My response in Armenian, "more short," triggered a mutual understanding that the next half hour or so would be a difficult one. Through gestures and head nods the upper half of the head was completed gracefully, with a few brief intermissions to ask me if I was a Christian and whether or not there are Muslims in America.

As he started to untie the barber's apron (or whatever it's called), I stopped him by pointing to my face and took another stab at communicating in Armenian: "more short, much more short, but not to shave." He paused for a second and our eyes met in the mirror and he must have seen the fear staring back at him, electric razor in hand, because he then proceeded to trim a small past just a bit, then slowly trim more and more, pausing with each pass of my right cheek to ask "a little more?"

Beard trimmed to perfection, the barber pointed to the sink, to which my response of a blank stare was clearly unsatisfactory, as he then patted the back of the chair in front of the sink and told me to sit. Now in front of the sink I stared down into it's porcelain drain wondering what I was doing there until the kind barber put his hand on the back of my head and slowly pushed it until my eyes were inches away from the questionable drain. And then, I was in barbershop heaven; with a pat of shampoo in his hair, the barber worked my scalp, reaching every inch, even reaching forward to wash loose the trimmed hairs still clinging to my beard.

After drying my face, he brought me back to the barber's chair and blow dried my hair into a perfect male armenian backward-combed poof. He then declared "good," patted me on the back and called up the next customer.

All for less than 3 dollars!