Wednesday, November 4, 2009

My first haircut... in Marrakech



Waiting for my hairstylist to finish with a client, I surprised myself and read a whole magazine article in French. Granted, I didn’t understand every word, but my reading of French is a whole lot better than my pronunciation and grammar. So when my hairstylist was ready, a quick introduction occurred. Our conversation ended as soon as my French ran out. Some global sign language ensued and then I was relaxing with my neck bent over a basin.

What a head massage! I was feeling a little apprehensive about describing my desired cut in French, but at that moment I was satisfied with the head/ neck/ face massage which was being carried out. ‘I hope this is included in the price… should I tip?’ was racing through my mind. ‘Just enjoy it!’ So I did.

With a printout of the desired haircut in tow, the snipping began. He seemed to know what he was doing. My thick, curly hair – the bane of my existence, and also the source of many compliments, was being cut into shape. With some mousse, drying and some finger work, I had an afro. Not good. My face must have said it all. I couldn’t even think of the words in French, except for malade. So with some tweaking of my own, and some extra scissor work, my mane was now complete.

I was feeling a frizzed, but cast my mind back to that head massage. I tipped the guy for his exceptional handwork – not with the scissors, but with the relaxing 20 minute massage.

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