Wednesday, July 2, 2008

0807011830 A Parisian Barber.

I had a haircut in Paris today. We found a nearby barber and after discovering that it is not open on Monday, I returned at a reasonable time of nine in the morning only to find that he is not open until ten. When I returned at the reasonable time of ten in the morning I stepped into the fine Parisian barbershop resplendent with two barber chairs that may have been used by Louise VII himself. There was one customer settling his account and in a few minutes I had the place to myself and the full attention of two Parisian barbers. “Do you have an appointment?“ was one of the questions. “I am sorry, I do not have an appointment”The Parisian barber looked at his magnificent leather bound appointment book and told me that I could have a haircut at four o’clock on Wednesday. “On Wednesday?” I said with surprise as my question echoed through the empty customer-less fourteenth century barber shop.I figured that this must be how barbers work in Paris, he has been a barber for years and this seems to be a successful formula. Turn away a customer because he does not have an appointment. I suppose it keeps out the riffraff. I left the fourteenth century barbershop with its two idle barbers, to wait for the next customer to keep his appointment.
I continued my solo exploration of Paris. The job of exploring is so much easier when solo - I can, walk at my own pace and look at scooters and other shops that capture my attention. I saw a shop that filled me with fear - it was a shop that sold shoes to clowns.
There a few words that I have picked up in French and one of them is “coiffeur” - the rough translation is “the person that can give you a haircut”. I started a random search of the local area - I am in no hurry, I am on holiday. I stumbled on to a coiffeur while taking a photo of a particularly interesting Vespa. Among the jumble of foreign words that I can not understand was “masculine” - that applies to me - this place does blokes.
I stepped inside and greeted the manageress in French and she seemed less hostile than the previous barber. Of all the languages that I have tried to learn, there is one that has baffled me - it is the language of hairdressers. It seems to me that no matter how hard I have tried to tell them that I wanted “short back and sides” they have all had a different interpretation. I have tried pointing to photos and although that approach helped a bit, the result sometimes looked like I was wearing Leonardo DeCaprio’s toupee. I have found it easier to show the hairdresser a photo of me with my preferred hairdo. I can now be assured that this technique works in at least three counties.
Things that I thought would be the same, but turned out different. Instead of wrapping me in a cape, the Parisian Coiffure used an interesting kind of smock with sleeves - which meant that I had the freedom to point at things and make hand gestures when speaking. They also used what I can only describe as a type of lead collar that is used by x-ray technicians. The purpose of which I can only guess.
The manageress described the delicate and complicated process of giving a customer a number one clipper cut to her young apprentice who dutifully said “Oui Madam’ regularly and often.

1 comment:

  1. A challenge for you..... On Saturday evening (Qld time) Australia will be playing France in a Rugby match at Suncorp Stadium. See if you can find a public place to watch the game, and see how the French react to a Aussie in their midst. Stir alot! Then run.....

    Alvan

    P.S. I seem to have no trouble with hairdressers!

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