I hate having my hair cut, especially in Thailand. If it has to be done, please do it in five minutes with the minimum of fuss; but that’s an impossibility here.
First they have to wash you hair, even if you washed it yourself minutes before, then there is the cutting, then they wash it again, then the final styling; and every stage is accompanied by an attractive young lady massaging all areas from the shoulders upwards (and probably downwards in some establishments). I am all in favour of having parts of my body massaged by young ladies; but not when I am in a hair salon and just wanting to get the whole miserable process finished with. And the person who cuts your hair tends to be on the attractive side with larger than average breasts; and there is nothing more dangerous than fancying a quick nuzzle when the intended target is wielding sharp scissors and a pissed-off attitude because she has been stuck in this bloody salon even longer than you have. The whole stressful process takes hours, and then they have the cheek to charge you around 100 baht for wasting your time.
So, some months ago, she who must be obeyed decided I would look cool, and be less stressed, if I just grew my hair. She had visions of a troubled artist figure, a man who brushed away his flowing locks as they glinted in the sunlight of another dying day, before picking up his brushes and painting yet another canvas that somehow encapsulated the tragedy of the human condition. What she got was a scruffy tramp who looked like he had just had a particularly tough day sticking his head in dustbins.
So this morning I sat on the balcony and she gave me a haircut. Equipped with a pair of slightly sharp scissors, a comb, and zero experience; she set to work. The concern levels grew as first she came out with “oops” on a number of occasions. Then there was a bout of maniacal giggling, culminating in an “oh dear, how am I going to fix that?” Still, I did not have to worry about nuzzling if I felt the urge, and it was all over in a few minutes. The treatment finished with her rubbing in something that smelled like yak urine but was apparently made from grape juice.
Then end result looked OK from the front, I neither know nor care what has happened round the back. Enough hair had been removed to make a small furry jacket.
Something wrong with the colours in the photo though, I am sure my hair used to be a deep brown colour.