Evelyn has been after me for the last few years to let my hair grow longer.  I decided this past summer to hold off on another haircut for a long time to see how it looked.  As we approached this trip to Cuenca, I told Evelyn that I really needed a haircut.  She talked me into waiting until we reached Cuenca — while she went off to “the only hair stylist she trusted” back in Berkeley… !

For the past three weeks in Cuenca, we have walked past several barber shops.  Some are fancy, but usually empty.  One is a little hole-in-the-wall that only has one old man barber, but he almost always has a customer in his chair.  Passing him over twenty times, I have only seen his shop empty twice.  I decided this was the guy to go to.  Of course, I noted to Evelyn that we only know that people go there. It is possible he only knows one type of haircut and those that like that cut go there, so all bets are off…

The barber shop is in that tiny door between the cabs across the street.  Very loud from traffic, and tiny, but he was always busy!

A couple people at work said that I was starting to look like LBJ with long hair in his later years.  Sure enough, when we Googled “LBJ long hair”, I saw what they meant.

We were lucky when we arrived at the barber, as a customer was just checking himself in the mirror after finishing.  The chair was empty and ready for me.  I had prepared a few key words to say in Spanish, such as “Cut just over the shirt in back”, “Taper the back”, “sides short” and “top of the head long.”

So much for planning ahead. The barber didn’t understand a word I was saying.  He was pleasant and friendly, but clearly I was speaking gibberish to him.  The prior customer came back to the shop when he heard my bumbling my way through. He also didn’t speak English, but between the three of us, I mostly communicated what I wanted.

Finally the smock went over me, and I was in a panic.  What was he going to do to me?!

After half an hour of whacking, the floor around me looked like a jungle.

I checked myself in the mirror, and found I was right.  This barber only knew one haircut, and I had just gotten it!  Oh well, shorter than I hoped for, and he had no idea what the word “taper in back” (spoken in my best Spanish) meant, but I no longer feel like I need a band to tie a ponytail in back.

His price was $3, and I added another $1 as tip.  I walked out with a pretty darn good haricut (though a bit shorter than I would have preferred), and another example of how friendly Cuencanas are to us expats, even more so if we at least put in a small effort to speak the local language.

I’m keeping the moustauche for now.  A TEDTalks presentation “Healthier men, one moustache at a time” gave one more reason to do so…