An Italian Haircup

I have been getting my hair cut and my beard trimmed for over 30 years by an excellent Italian “Hair Stylist” (I am told they prefer that over “barber”). When you have been going to the same shop for that long, it is hard to change, and although he is now partially retired I try to fit my need for a trim into his schedule, and although his younger brother does an equally great job, I do like to go back to him when I can. Being away from home for over nine weeks, I had to get an especially short cut to make it last, and since my “hair stylist” was away in Italy, his brother did the job. As he is not so familiar with my beard, Regis said he did not cut it short enough. I had waited for the last minute to get this done, so it was a case of too late, so sad, it’ll have to do . . . .

A Handy Italian 'Hair Stylist"

Now if you read my previous post on “The People You Meet”, you will know that we are getting to know a lot of great folk on this cruise. Early on the cruise we enjoyed the company of two lovely ladies from Toronto, and have met up with them for additional dinners and events around the ship. We knew that Angela was Italian (She shouted that out in the Vista Lounge on the first evening), and we knew Jane was a friend and client, but we did not find out her profession until later.

Turns out that she is a well known hair stylist in Toronto, owning several salons and clipping, trimming, colouring, and making presentable some of the well known and famous in this city.

Looking Our Best on Gala Night

I was not privy to how the topic of Regis’ hair came up, but Angela and Regis decided that it needed a bit of a re-style and she offered to perform that service. She admitted that she did not have her best Italian scissors, but assured us that the ones she travelled with were more than adequate. An appointment was made and after lunch on one of the “Gala Night” (you want to look your best) sea days she came to our stateroom and not only gave Regis a “new do” but also trimmed my beard. Our balcony became her temporary salon, and a bath towel was used to catch the clippings.

I can just imagine the room steward coming to clean our stateroom the following morning, and discovering all the hair on the balcony flooring, “What on earth went on here?” We thought it would blow away on the sea breezes, but no luck.

What is 'Haircut' in Hungarian?

When I knew I was going to be away for a month touring the capitals of Europe, I arranged to get my haircut a day or so before leaving. Joking with my barber, I suggested that since I’d be in Europe, he might want to give me an “European” cut. “Art,” he replied, “I’m Italian, I’ve been giving you an European cut for the last 40 years.”

Don't take my picture, my hair needs cutting!

Regis is not so lucky, she has been searching for 40 years to find a hairdresser she likes, and the search is not over. As a result, she is normally trying to get an appointment anywhere just before we leave to get her hair cut. She is not usually very happy, and this time, after examining her cut in the mirror made the girl go at it again to make it short enough and thin enough to last a month. It didn’t matter; two weeks into the trip she was Marge Simpson every morning and her hair was driving her crazy, so she was again using English to explain to someone who does not speak English how she wanted it cut. This is always the situation, and it has made for some interesting stories, so when she came back yesterday, I felt a Blog Post coming on . . .

Don't know why the cut matters, she always wears her hat.

There was the time on the cruise ship, crossing the equator in the Atlantic Ocean on our way to Brazil, when she decided her hair was annoying enough she was willing to pay the cruise ship spa prices. As she chatted with the hairdresser, she commented about her accent, and asked where she was from. OMG, she was from Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, and Regis got the employee discount.

Then there was the scary punk-biker-tattoo-pierced hair cutter in Vancouver who turned out to be a real sweetheart, and actually did a pretty good job. The Portuguese Hairdresser had no one at all who could understand a word of English and she still went ahead with that cut and was almost pleased with it.

 

Don't look at my hair, look at the scenery.

Of course the best haircut story is the drop-dead-gorgeous 85 year old in Ottawa (Many of you have already heard this story, so you can tune out now). Needing a cut while visiting the children in Ottawa one Christmas, it was suggested she try a popular shop close to Ryan’s house. After several failed attempts to get in, she was told the only person available was the “Senior Stylist”, but “he was 85” she was warned. She said she did not care, and was given an appointment in 30 minutes. “Imagine”, she exclaimed to me, “that is blatant ageism – I don’t care if he is 85 and a “Senior” so long as he can cut my hair. 30 minutes later she was shocked to have a handsome young fellow working on her head, but was a little worried about what happened to her 85 year old stylist. Enjoying the expert attention and the attractive hairdresser, it all became clear when she got to the desk to pay and was informed that the bill was $85.00. Sometimes you need a translator even when speaking the same language . . . .

Love my new cut!

You know the really sad thing? It makes no difference; I usually can’t tell the difference between one cut and another, and I always get into trouble for not complimenting her on her lovely new haircut. Of course when I do make a favorable comment it is invariably when she really does not like the results of the cut. Oh, I think the Hungarian cut yesterday slipped into the top 10 best . . . .