A Hairy Subject

The other great excitement of my week, aside from meeting Konstantin and being taken on a tour of the Armory, was getting my first haircut in Russia.

Now, I know that doesn't sound terribly exciting, but before anyone asks me why I am writing about this, please try to picture getting a haircut when you and your barber or hairdresser literally do not speak the same language, and you have little ability to tell him or her what you want. That's what I finally experienced this week.

I had last gotten my ears lowered a couple of weeks before I left America, thinking it would be good to present a reasonably professional appearance upon arrival. But a combination of lack of money and not knowing where to find a good barber had prevented my getting a haircut in Russia thus far. A week and a half ago, I asked one of the Russian staff at my school where I could find a good haircut nearby. She had mentioned a place a couple of buildings up the road, and the following Sunday, I went there only to find it closed. When I returned on Monday, I discovered, first, I needed to set an appointment to have a haircut; and second, that it was the kind of high-end salon where a haircut might well cost a week's salary. I decided to pass.

Looking around my neighborhood, I had seen other hair salons, but I never seemed to find one that was opened when I passed by. I thought I might end up in the same situation I was in during my stay in Taiwan--when I failed to get a haircut until just before leaving, because I didn't know where to find a barber and didn't know what to ask for once I was there. I did not relish the thought of going three months at a time between haircuts, but neither did I relish the thought of trying to cut my own hair at home in the bathroom.

Wednesday morning, however, luck intervened. I had just finished teaching my first Business English class and was on the way back to the Metro when I spotted a hair salon that was unmistakably open. Being sick of having messy hair--I tend to get a haircut when I look in the mirror and wonder, "what's that animal on top of my head"--I decided to go in.

I managed to arrange a haircut on the spot for a mere 250 rubles (about $12 American), much less than the place I had been told about on Novoslobodskaya. While I was unable to tell my hairdresser much about what I wanted done, I did get across "short, short," and she started snipping away.

While she worked, we talked a bit. She got to learn that I am American, that I have a high opinion of the beauty of Russian women (I actually have no particular opinion about the beauty of Russian women one wayor the other, but I have learned Russians expect Americans to admire Russian women, and so I play along), and that I have been in Moscow a scant six weeks. All of this I got across to her in fractured but comprehensible Russian.

When she had finished cutting and shampooing my hair, I took a good look in the mirror. I was pleased with the results, though my standards are low; I justed wanted to look roughly the way I do when I get out of the barber's back home. This she had achieved. I paid her and returned to my school's resource basement, where several people complimented me on my haircut and one other male teacher even said he would go to the same barber I had used.