Dave Gilbert | 
03 31st, 2006| 
The time had come, I realized the other day, for a haircut. My black plummage had stretched its way so far from my scalp that it was starting to harass passing birds.
One can understand my trepidation in getting a haircut here in China. Not only would I be unable to tell my esteemed coiffeur what kind of style I desired, but there is also the fact that my hair is significantly different than most Chinese folk. My thick and tightly curled follicles would no doubt confuse and perplex the most battle-hardened of barbers, who would waste no time in poking it to see if it would bite.
So I had put it off as long as I could, but since I was beginning to have trouble getting through doorways it seemed like getting a little snippy snip was best course of action.
I happened upon the appropriate establishment in mid-afternoon. All the signs were in Chinese, but it had the required swirly pole out front and pictures of cool-looking people inside, so I figured I was in the right place. I stepped inside and the three staff members inside leaped to attention. I pointed at my head questioningly and they nodded in unison.
One man stepped forward to the fray and gestured to a chair. I sat down and he proceded to place a countless number of towels around my shoulders. I tried to explain what sort of cut I wanted, and he nodded like he understood. He gently pushed my head back against a neck-rest and then began to tap my head.
Yes, tap my head. With his thumb. He placed his thumb under his forefinger and lightly flicked it out against my head. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but apparently this was considered normal so I just ignored it and figured it was part of the service.
Once he decided he had tapped enough, he reached over and took a bottle from a shelf. Holding the bottle over me like a Sword of Domacles, he began to squeeze a warmish liquid over my scalp. It emerged slowly, pooling on my crown and gathering mass. Whatever it was, it was very dense. I was expecting it to turn into rivers and run down the side of my head and into my ears, but it remained in place like a tiny helmet. Finally, he put the bottle away and began working the liquid into my noggin with his fingers, gently giving me a relaxing head massage. I realized that all this must be part of the deal, and I settled back to enjoy it.
He squeezed and prodded and pushed my dome for twenty minutes, and then brought me over to a sink where a Chinese lady with purple-highlights washed me off. Then she was brought over to another area where she gave m skull box another thorough squooshing.
I spent about 45 minutes in that place, where my head was buffed and squeezed and shimmied into various shapes. It cost only 10 quai, or a little over a buck. I left feeling great, but then realized something very quickly.
I had utterly failed to get a single fiber of hair cut.
Oops.
Humbled, I located another building with a swirly-pole out front. This time, I made sure to confirm that they were, in fact, in the haircut business before sitting down. I managed to do this using the fool-proof method of pretending two of my fingers were a pair of scissors and then cutting my hair with them. My cunning plan worked, and within twenty minutes I emerged a less hairier person.
This experience was, on reflection, one of those delightful mix-ups that make travelling so worthwhile. I am only thankful I didn’t wander into a dentist’s office instead.
p.s. Some of you have asked me how to leave comments on these blogs. The instructions are in the “about” section, but here are the instructions anyway for you lazy folk. Look up at the entry title (”Hair lazing experience”), and you’ll a little number next to it. Click on that and you’ll be taken to the comment page.