Got to Portomarin at such an early hour that we had the whole afternoon and evening to relax and enjoy what little this town had to offer. I have always wanted to see what it was like to get a haircut in Spain so off I went to see a peluquero. I've always wanted to say that I went to BoS, the Barber of Seville.
Well, unlike Rossini's Barber of Seville, Figaro is an old woman. She has a strong nose that support very thick glasses. I ask her the price and she says 8€. I coax myself that this was going to be a fun and cheap experience, at least cheaper than going to the opera.
Trouble began the instant I sat on the swivel chair. She started asking multiple questions and I do like I normally do when I don't understand anything, I say si when I really should say que. I recall nodding when the word motor came up and realized that motors just speed up possible mistakes like chainsaws vs regular saws. At this point, I'm not sure whether Laura is in the back seat hysterically laughing or real worriedbut anxiously curious.
Out came the electric clippers, the exact ones you find at Petco. Did I say yes to taking the gray out? That's all of it. She went at it with a combination of wild abandon and a careful "Oh! Let me fix that." Just when I was about to let go of the tight grip on the arm chair, she starts soaping up the edges with a fifty year old paintbrush and a straightblade magically appears. Did I also say yes to a neck shave? This comedic opera had quickly turned into a Sweeney Todd horror film and I wasn't watching it, I was the victim in it ready to be made into the next meat pie. Just like the scariest Disneyland rides, just when it's about to get really exciting, the ride ends and I was asked to get off the swivel chair. Bad haircut 8€, the experience-priceless.
Haha, I don't think it looks bad at all!
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