Feeling the Cool Breeze (on my head)

Sometimes you just have to take the plunge. I am not talking about bungee jumping or getting a dog. I mean, you sometimes get to the point where your hair is a bit too long and out of control and you need to get it cut (and styled, hopefully). Although the past couple years have been playing havoc with people’s grooming habits – c’mon, how many of you have wandered from bed to a business meeting, maybe brushing your teeth (or not), or just kept up your profile picture for those days and meetings where you knew you weren’t looking your best (whatever that meant). Closures also meant no haircuts, unless you let a friend, partner, or spouse trim those beautiful locks. But those days are supposed to be kind of over. Many people have to show up to an office, or at least be physically seen in remote meetings. And barbershops and salons are back open. We are now supposed to all get cleaned up.

But this is a little intimidating when you move abroad. Walking into Supercuts or your stylist, you can describe what you want done – you know the length you want, the type of blending, color, and whether or how you want your beard trimmed. When you struggle with basic communications in a new language, these descriptions and directions are a bit beyond your wheelhouse. At least they are well beyond my and my wife’s, and we took language lessons – poorly as described in an earlier rendition.

I typically keep my hair a bit shorter with a small touch of style – nothing that will make the cover of any magazine or grace a Hollywood screen, but I try. We had been in our locale for a couple of months and my head was getting a tad shaggy. We weren’t going back to the States anytime soon and I felt a little trim and cleanup would be a good thing. So, I decided to take the plunge.

The First Appointment

There is one barbershop in Guasticce (the small town where we live). There is a also a salon, but I figured I better stick with simple – just a haircut. I was walking through town one day when I met Lorenzo, the barber, who was opening for the day. I thought to myself – “what the heck, here goes nothing.” I pulled out my trusty cell phone and typed “I would like to make an appointment for a haircut” into Google translate. Poking my head in the door I read the Italian translation to Lorenzo, to the best of my ability. The hard thing about relying on translation techniques like this is that when you get a response, the individual replying doesn’t use one or two words that you can hopefully understand or type in fast enough to find out what the answer. This was starting out similar to our attempts to make reservations at pizzerias.

Eventually, we understood each other enough to set a date and time – Thursday at 10 AM. Thursday came, and I went in and sat down in the chair. Lorenzo placed the cover over me, securing the neck with the little white paper collar just like has happened at all my previous haircuts (except when my wife cut my hair during COVID – I am sure many of us have those stories.) So far, so good. He started organizing the clippers, scissors, combs, and spray bottles. I was settling in and relaxing. But then he asked me a question – and Lorenzo doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak much Italian.

I quickly tried to type in a couple of the words he said to get the gist of what he was asking – I figured it had something to do with what do I want done but not much more beyond that, and I sure didn’t know how to explain just a basic haircut. He tried again, with a few less words – still no dice. Then he went and typed in his question into his phone, returning to show me what he was asking – the gist was “How would you like your basic haircut, how long on the sides, and would you like me to trim (or shave) your beard (I don’t have one, but I could have gotten a shave).” The beard thing seemed like a bridge too far, so I stuck with just the hair on top of my head. I quickly went to work on my phone – and passed on the information that come up. Lorenzo grabbed one of the clippers and started work.

Here We Go

I heard the buzz and the next thing I felt was a chilly stripe up the back of my head. Oh oh, maybe what I said (what actually came across) was a bit aggressive. There was no going back – unless I wanted a flat top or mohawk. Lorenzo did a great job, and we attempted to communicate (I could figure out the gist of what he was saying – he was patient and tried different phrasings, and I responded in kind. If we got stuck, either he would take a cutting break and go over to the counter to type and show me or I would pull my phone out from under the cover and do the same. While I was in the chair, a couple other gentlemen came in to sit down and visit for a bit – just like the old fashioned idea of a barbershop in the States. One big difference is that I didn’t share in the conversation – Lorenzo helped and pointed out that I wasn’t rude, I just couldn’t talk.

He did a nice job cutting and lightly styling my hair. A few weeks later, I made another appointment – this time dropping by and just asking if “appuntamento, domani alle dieci” (an appointment, tomorrow at ten) was possible. He looked at his calendar, said it was open, and penciled me in. This time I was a little more ready, and had a better idea what to ask for. The first cut didn’t result in a such a cool breeze. The experience went similar to the previous, with basic communications, punctuated by one or the other of us typing something into our phones. A couple folks poked their heads in the door to say something – this time I didn’t look as lost and didn’t have either try or pretend to be a part of the conversation.

I have been back a couple more times, each time getting a little better with how to ask, and our conversations are getting a little more detailed – once I figured out that he was going out riding horses on an upcoming Sunday after going to mass with his girlfriend, and that he hadn’t ridden for several years. Don’t be fooled, that one took a while to parse out. We also had a conversation about rap music – not necessarily my genre but something he enjoys and does (I think maybe for karaoke.) These both took a bit of typing.

Feeling Like A Local

I am getting more comfortable. My language skills are coming along (slowly) and sometimes I can almost join into a conversation – okay, I can answer a short question. But I am still struggling and trying to communicate without a quick typing or two into my phone doesn’t always work. The last time I was in the chair, Lorenzo’s mom came in with a small dog. They were talking and she looked at me a couple times. I would look back, when he wasn’t cutting my hair, and smile. Eventually, Lorenzo had to tell her I didn’t speak much Italian. I felt a little bummed – progress is slow. However, my hair is looking pretty good, Lorenzo knows kind of what I am looking for, but I am still not getting a shave. Lorenzo also waves or chats with me for a bit if I am walking through town.

My wife still hasn’t made the leap – but she has more at stake. A cool breeze on the back of her head after the first cut would be a bit more of a problem. She is debating whether she should try one of the salons that folks she works with go to or just waiting until we get home for a couple weeks in the summer. She is facing one of those dilemmas of living abroad – how do I get a haircut? Eventually, you might have to take the plunge. I have found that it isn’t that bad – and it helps you fit into your new home.