So in my attempt to find normal, I decided I would get my haircut. I needed it, it was getting out of control big and the wind around here doesn’t help much. I should have gotten a cut before I left NY but, things were too hectic, and while I did think I could manage a bit longer, I should have.
From the beginning I thought I would get my haircut on visits to London, as I had yet to see any good hair styles on my previous visits to Porto. But mostly because I thought how cool would it be to say yeah, I get my haircut in London, or when I go back to New York. I mean- that is pretty freakin’ cool right? Obviously cool does not always equal practical (it rarely does) and so a Portuguese haircut was inevitable.
I was happy to find out that Gabriella, my friend here goes to a Salon run by a friend of hers who trained in London. For some reason, this made me comfortable. Throughout the week I kept asking about making an appointment and it seems that they don’t do appointments here in Portugal. Everyone just goes to the Salon, you anticipate waiting around and chatting with other women, until you can get seen. And so the two of us went to her friends to get our haircut. The salon was packed, tons of women getting their washed, cut, styled, and others patiently waiting their turn. Eventually I was up, it all happened so quickly, I was taken to the wash station, my hair was quickly dowsed, shampooed, conditioned and then I was ushered over to a chair, for the haircut. I decided I would also get my nails done, and so while in the chair, another women came over and got to work on my nails. Then the women who cut my hair came over and asked what I wanted done. Panic struck me.
Wait. What I want done? My hair is soaking wet, how can anyone cut my hair without having looked at it dry? If I tell you my hair is thick and big, and wavy and particularly full of body at the top you will not see this. Because right now my hair is wet! My hair is wet, and straight and stringy and in no way does it show the volume that I both loathe and love, the waves that curl up around the sides of my face, but fall flat in the back, but mostly you can not see the massive pouf of hair that sits right at the top of my head. All of this runs through my mind and I say
“umm…. Just trim it a bit”
The trimming occurs in record time, and I think, maybe I am wrong, maybe this woman is like Edward Scissorhands, and in I will walkout with a magnificently modern coif. My hair did come out looking pretty good, but I still wonder how anyone would cut someone’s hair without a discussion of said hair, while looking at the hair dry. I told my friend this and she told me a consultation is expensive. Consultation? No this is just a normal chitchat with your hair dry. Apparently this is not normal here. Gabriella told her friend that I wanted to talk about my hair before it was cut and then jokingly I was asked if they talked to me enough about my hair. No, no you did not. I guess a haircut in London isn’t too far off in my future after all.