A Visit To The Barber - Sights Set On Morocco (Under A Hot Sun) - CycleBlaze

April 29, 2014

A Visit To The Barber

Call me vain or what but I like my hair nicely trimmed. For me personally its no good when it grows, becoming difficult to keep tidy and to keep up appearance. I've heard people say a cyclist with short hair is very aerodynamic, a point not as relevant for helmet wearers, something I wear occationally, but any way, my hair becomes unmanageable when I let it grow. The only way is cut short, or cropped as they say. The last time I visited a barber shop before today, was in Istanbul, almost three months ago. Since then, I've cycled home to Ireland and during the journey, my hair grew and grew, becoming straggly and unkempt. Why didn't you have a haircut earlier? I hear you ask. I would have, but when the day came round, where the hair had become unmanageable and I was in need of a haircut, I was cycling across France where a simple short back and sides, can easily run to eighteen euros. Ten euros more than usual. Frugality leads me not to spend more than necessary by waiting.

Mr McCann cuts my hair when I'm home. But Mr McCann wasn't there today when I called in for a haircut. Instead there was an old man cutting hair and Mr McCann's a young man. I can only think it is his father, Mr McCann senior. As I always take my bike into the shop, rather than lock it up outside, the older Mr McCann opened the conversation once I had sat up in the barbers chair and he'd asked what way I would like my hair cut..., "D ya do much cycling?" It was only two days since I returned from my long cycle-tour to Istanbul and back, so I answer yes "....I've just cycled to Istanbul and back." He made no reply to this, and there followed a pregnant silence, only broken when he says "s-pose keeps ya fit.." It looked as though, he never quite twigged the enormity of what I had said, and for all I know, never heard of Istanbul before, not an uncommon phenomenon, as some people's knowledge of geography is rather shady. And Ireland being an Island nation on the edge of Europe, also the edge of the world, kind of means people are parochial, inward looking and fairly uninterested in places in the bigger outside world. So it came as no surprise when Mr McCann senior didn't quite twig I'd cycled across Europe. As the clipping-machine buzzed away along the sides of my head, taking the hair off like sheep-shearers in action, leaving a tuff from the back to the crown like a mohegan until he took that off too, we just talked about where we lived, the weather outside and whether it was going to rain.

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