fishydreams

Yesterday I returned from a few days in Reinosa which is in the far north of Spain in the province of Cantabria where Catriona and I had been staying for a few days. Work beckons again on Monday and so I made an appointment with Cristina who cuts hair in the local town and asked her to tidy me up a little.

I like Cristina. She not only cuts hair very well but she is friendly and there is a pretty good buzz about the little salon that she runs. There are two adjoining spaces here. One of these is for hair which is Cristina´s domain, and there is also a smaller room where nails are done. The nail lady was outside when I arrived with a head so thoroughly concealed by e-cigaratte smoke that she brought to mind a mountain whose peak was lost among the clouds.

I hope it is not considered demeaning or sexist to suggest that the hairdresser provides an environment within the town which serves a similar purpose for women that the local bars do for men. Each is a venue which predominantly peopled by members of one sex and where the tone and subject of conversation will reflect the biases and interests of one gender over the other.

When I arrived there were two women being attended to by the boss. One of these was having her hair washed and was looking up skywards and other was sat on one of the two mirror-facing seats where the real magic happens. The mirror woman seemed to have had her head wrapped in clingfilm or something similar and I realised, when I took a glimpse at her, that I know next to nothing of the rituals that are daily enacted in places like this.

Cristina apologised for being a bit late to get to me but I told her I was fine with that and settled into a chair to wait my turn. That was a good call. Lots of interesting things were going on. The woman getting her hair washed had a booming voice and we were all going to know what she had to say whether we wanted to or not. My presence didn´t deter anyone and so I was treated to the various opinions on what time of the day, and under what circumstances, the consumption of coffee was appropriate or even essential. I was hoping for something a little juicier but, hey, you take what you get.

Before long it was my turn in the mirror seat. Cristina knows what I want – just to take most of the hair off so as to appear respectable and to push my next appointment as far as possible into the future. My treatment is pretty much what a sheep might come to expect when the fleece needs to be trimmed in the summer (but with some consensus about just how much to take off). Out come various electric trimmers and before I knew it I was done. One of the things I appreciate is the discreet removal of hair that seems to emerge from nearly all parts of the body of a man of a certain age except, possibly, his eyeballs. I must emphasise that we are considering here only body parts above the shoulders. Errant hairs protruding from eyebrows were promptly removed as were those sprouting on the bridge of my nose.

All of this beautification was done in pretty short order although the procedure was interrupted twice. In the first instance a lady passing by popped in to confirm the timing on some social arrangement. Then later a kid of maybe five was spotted out on the street by Cristina. She had a message for him too but that exchange could only take place (and she made this pretty clear) when he ran over to her for a big hug.

So that was my haircut. There was a bit of small talk too but that is just a part of the deal and I will leave that back in the salon where it belongs. I left Cristina´s place feeling pretty good about life, the world in general, and the bit part that I get to play in it.

A haircut at Cristina´s is like dropping over to friends for tea.