Welcome to the beginning of what will probably be an ongoing new series.
I’ve been really, really bad at writing this season.
Partly because I’ve been so busy setting up house in a whole ‘nother country (and buying the same freaking things from IKEA that I’d bought in 4 other countries before and left behind in my haste to leave with limited luggage allowance and unreliable postal service. People, chronic expatriation is bad for the environment! Don’t do it!) and partly because everything going on for the past two months has been very quiet, very private, very domestic.
This is what happens when you neglect to trim a snazzy asymmetrical bob for 5 months: one side of your head is a lot heavier than the other…
I mean, seriously, I’m nearly 38 weeks pregnant: I’m not exactly going to be roaring around the countryside on the back of a motorcycle (though I’d really really like to) or out carousing and taking in the cosmopolitan nightlife of urban Leicester. I drink hot chocolate with marshmallows in pubs and am at home by 9. Tea features heavily in daily routines. I’m baking a lot, mostly experimental breads filled with hearty nuts and bolts and seeds and twigs. I’m reading books about how to get babies to sleep and ordering so much basic baby gear off Amazon that the kid has more stuff than I do (not a difficult feat, mind you, as I came over with just a 20kg suitcase).
Not exactly scintillating stuff of travel legend. No mysteries to unravel. No steep cultural or linguistic learning curves.
Thus, this series.
England isn’t exactly new or exotic for me. I’d lived here before, though mostly in London and a bit of the south-east. Most of the mid to late ’90s were spent tromping around in my Doc Martens and bleached blond buzz cut, working crappy jobs and living out of a backpack in cruddy, cramped, shared accommodations and being unable to actually afford to do anything beyond saving up to tromp around eastern Europe and Africa during my downtime.
It’s a lot easier now.
I’m a bit more grown up (kinda), with a lot more savings and life experience behind me, and so packing up and moving to the midlands of England has proven to be an exercise in recognizing how insanely easy everything is now compared to, say, Turkey or China or wherever else I’ve attempted to spend more than just a few weeks passing through.
Today, I’m going to start small, by telling you all about getting a decent hair cut in a country where I actually speak the language.
This is how my Turkish friends saw me in 2005.
I’ve had my hair cut in a lot of different languages over the past few decades. Spending 6 years in Turkey and nearly 5 in China necessitates such quotidian tasks (unless you want hair down to your ass– been there, done that, over it).
I can’t even complain coherently.
You never really realize how much thought and linguistic planning must go into something so simple as a haircut until you have to explain in, say, Burmese, that you need your bangs trimmed and the scruffy nape of your neck carefully clippered back.
My vocabulary for Turkish haircuts was a lot more precise than for Chinese ones (which mostly involved a lot of miming and saved Google images of short layered bobs) but what I wanted done to my hair at that time in my life (super short purple pixie cut) was frequently so far from what the hairdresser thought was appropriate for a woman that I also needed to be able to talk them through it, step by step, reassuring them that I did indeed want hair that was about an inch long. And purple.
I eased up on the purple dye for a while due to hairdresser pressure.
In a country where women’s hair tended to be long and sleek and far more glam than I could ever muster, my requests to just cut it all off were met with reluctance assuaged only when I promised that I was also there to get my eyebrows threaded into a sexy arch and my nails properly manicured. In the end, I gave up and joined the glamour club, growing out my hair and shifting away from the purple dyes.
Ignore the fact that in all my Turkish pictures I seem to have a glass of wine.
Doing all this in a language not your own, where you are painfully aware of your limitations and inaccuracies as you try to explain your aesthetic needs to someone who doesn’t actually agree with you in the first place, is stressful.
I used to practice phrases that could possibly come in handy for hours before embarking on a hair salon adventure.
In China, after a few curious disasters involving naked straight razors on my eyebrows, hair nearly melted by dyes meant for sturdier Asian hair, and awkwardly chunky mullets that would have better suited a thick-haired 19 year old wearing lensless red glasses and hot pink lacy short-shorts, I found my happy place in Shanghai: a little Japanese salon at the bottom of Shanxi Nan Lu, where for 120 rmb I could get the manager (a snazzy young mod who called himself Louis) to sort out my hair.
A poodle can get a good haircut in Shanghai more easily than I ever could.
After the first visit (which involved a lot of carefully leafing through the half dozen Japanese hair magazines at hand, separating what looked groovy on adorable, trendy 15 year old Japanese girls from what would actually suit me), all I had to do was mime the angle of my desired bob along my jawline and he’d give me the thumbs up. Three painstaking hours later (I swear, he cut it hair by hair), I’d emerge with happy hair.
I was terrified of going to anyone else after I found Louis, as it was immeasurably exhausting and stressful trying to explain in clunky Mandarin what it was that I wanted. Being over 25 (and hell, 35), I knew I had to fight to not end up with a middle aged Chinese lady’s boxy permed cut. I also realized that I couldn’t have anything besides my standard short layered bob with him, as it would involve starting the whole descriptive process all over again and my tones just weren’t up to it.
And then I moved to Leicester.
After a month or so of tolerating my awkwardly grown out, very precise asymmetrical wedding haircut (which had been gradually puffing out weirdly on the longer side since I had it done in Canada in August), I caved and found a hairdresser around the corner from our new home in the yogurt-weaving, studenty, middle-class bohemian neighbourhood of Clarendon Park.
I walked in, explained to the hairdresser exactly what I wanted (in English!), sat down in the chair and an hour later emerged with an excellent haircut. It was that easy.
Seriously, until you’ve had to memorize and rehearse reams of terminology in five different languages, you can’t appreciate how excellent it truly is to be able to do it casually and fluently and confidently.
When moving back to a country where you speak the language fluently, what strikes you as being delightfully easy?
32 Responses
After 14 years in Turkey I still get the same haircut because it is the only one I ever learned to ask for. I have at least now found one who doesn’t insist on engaging in hairdresseresque small talk.
I hated trying to make small talk in languages I wasn’t confident/competent in. I hate it in English as well, though, so no surprise…
Oh god, the trauma of haircutting in a different language! I was told off when I went in after the summer to get my sunbleached, split-endy mop sorted out because I hadn’t done anything to it for 5 months. I used the excuse that because I’d been swimming in the sea and sunbathing all summer I hadn’t seen the point – but really it was more the thought of having to go through the whole rigmarole of explaining – again – in Italian that really, no, my hair doesn’t need thinning scissors anywhere near it. And for the love of GOD put the straighteners away. No, AWAY. As far from my head as it’s possible to go. Please? Oh. No, you’re doing it anyway. Explaining the need for added volume to people who are used to squashing gorgeous, natural curls flat as pancakes is – shall we say – challenging.
Kate Bailward recently posted..January things
My sympathies! I think Turkish and Italian hairdressers must be related…
Thai ones, too. Every time I walked out of a Bangkok salon, I cried. Well, the two times until I began cutting my own hair.
Elizabeth recently posted..Tea and Paper Travels in China
I need an easier haircut. I really like short bobs with a finicky layered back…
Buying shoes that fit. I have huge enormous gigantic haole feet–seriously, my feet are bigger than a lot of men I know–and it’s hard to get them to understand, no, really I do mean men’s sizes. No, really.
They usually get it after they bring out women’s sizes that are about 4 sizes too small, but oh, the public humiliation that follows. Sigh.
I gave up on women’s shoes in China. It just wasn’t going to happen. Sales clerks would shake their heads as soon as I walked in. Kind of disheartening, really. I finally found a few pairs in the fakes markets, but they cater to foreign trade anyway so carry some laowai sizes. I’m looking forward to being able to replenish my funky shoe collection here.
OMG…I can totally relate to your situation! 🙂 In Istanbul, I was happy to my find Tiken bey at the kuafor but he only understood “cok altin” for highlights. So my hair kept getting blonder and blonder, so the once a year I went to the US, I’d have my old hairdresser from h.s. add some lowlights. It wasn’t worth the hassle of finding someone else.
Now, here I am in Poland, and luckily I’ve been able to get by in so-so English and hand gestures at the salon!
When I’m back in the US, I’m very overwhelmed by the gigantic grocery stores and being able to buy anything and everything!
Joy @MyTravelingJoys recently posted..Polish Hot Beer? Yes, It Does Exist!
I ended up going to a kuafor in Umraniye of all places, because a good friend of mine went there and she was super funky (short punky hair, unexpected dyed streaks, etc) so I knew they could handle non trad cuts… Mind you, being Umraniye, there was no chance of English so I had to work really hard to explain hat I wanted.
I totally hear you on the supermarket overwhelmingness… We’ve taken to shopping online or going to the local small shops, as both are much easier to cope with than mega supermarkets!
ahh, I can tell you what will be delightfully easy for you: preschool registration. It is apparently not that simple for an American newly landed in Flanders (waaaaah).
Kirstin recently posted..my history of living abroad
Why is it so hard? I haven’t even thought that far ahead,my goodness! I do know that childcare here is prohibitively expensive so we won’t be going there for a while… Eeep!
I had no idea I had to think about it so early, my little guy is only one and it starts when he’s 2 1/2. Apparently it’s competitive and there’s a whole system that I’m just not well acquainted with, with a big, fat language barrier on top of all of it. Luckily childcare here is subsidized, so I will hopefully be taking advantage of that very soon.
Kirstin recently posted..my history of living abroad
I’ve heard it’s like that in France too, with the subsidized maternelle daycares- you apply when still pregnant… Here in England, it seems pretty inflexible and expensive and privately run- so far, from what friends have told me when they tried to go back to work, it costs about the same as what you’d earn in a lot of jobs…
What ISN’T easier in a language you speak?! Banking, renting, clothes shopping, insurance, registrations were all so much easier in New Zealand. In fact, what took months abroad took about a week in NZ! For us though, it was not quite so much the language, but the cultural differences. That said, I do look fondly back on my memories of an entirely Spanish haircutting session. Enjoy the ease of settling in once more in a country where it’s easier to work it all out! 🙂
Goodness, yes- so many things are easier in one’s own language… I just hadn’t expected the little blisses (like haircuts). Renting a house, getting a doctor’s appointment, furnishing a house, etc- all so easy now! Funny thing is, I kind of miss the challenge of trying to figure out things I barely understand…
Public transportation!! I can never get over how easy it is not to get lost when you can ask the bus driver a question and clearly understand the answer. Gone the days of nervously wondering “is this where I get off?” Also, literacy. Literacy’s rad. Menus were a little overwhelming at first tho… 🙂
Totally! Last summer in London, we zipped around on the buses, absolutely giddy with the knowledge that we knew where we were going and if we had any doubt, we could always ask someone… Bliss! Also, yes, literacy! Especially after China…
Haircuts, waxes, medical procedures….all are a source of much indignation in a country where speaking the language is at best a challenge and at worse impossible. There’s only so much sign language a girl can come up with to try to get the point across.
It’s only when you go home, or in your case an English speaking country you truly appreciate how much time you put into doing seemingly normal everyday things. Why does every single move to a new country start with a trip to Ikea?
Nancy recently posted..Chinese New Year: the calm before the storm
Eavesdropping! Because I’m a terrible person (and my Mandarin is even worse).
Ha! I actually kind of liked not understanding what people were saying… because when I did, it was usually either really boring or unexpectedly bitchy (old ladies on Shanghai metro going on about my apparent fatness etc). Now that I can understand everyone pretty easily (hey, it’s Leicester- some of the English is still a bit tricky) I feel a bit weird listening in on conversations…I’m just so used to tuning it all out.
Ha! This is why I never went to the dentist in Shanghai. I was too afraid that instead of filling a tooth they’d simply yank it out! I was told so many haircut horror stories when I first arrived in the city, I bypassed all the trials and tribulations and headed straight for the pricey French salon where everyone spoke English. I got better haircuts in Shanghai than in the States!
Heather recently posted..The Best Meals We Ate in NYC: Northern and Eastern Europe Edition
Likewise- in the end, at the Japanese place in Shanxi Nan Lu, I got the best haircuts ever… and they cost 1/3 of what they do here. BUT! At least here I can change my style if I wanted to, and not have to rehearse a long explanation in Mandarin…
In Turkey, I’d get my hair cut about once every six months, then just let it grow.
Actually, I do pretty much the same now.
Paul Gallantry recently posted..Winding up?
That’s kind of how it worked out for me as well. I have two kinds of photos from those years: me with a snazzy new haircut and me with the awkward grow-out…
Hi MaryAnne! I am to a fellow Shanghai expat and we have a mutual friend, Dr. Reilly, I describe her that way to you to protect her identity/the innocent. 🙂 I am sorry we never met but Dr. R told me much about you. I have been following your blog and enjoy it immensely. I am reach out to you because I would like to wish you complete bliss and ease with the upcoming baby and congrats on your newly wedded state. I am moving to Brazil tomorrow and have begun learning Portuguese, you know, so I can get a decent hair cut! See you around the internet!
Hello! I know exactly who you are talking about (a wonderful, amazing woman)! So happy to meet you and I hope Brazil treats you well. It’s on my go-to list of countries. Have you learned the Portuguese needed for a hair cut yet?
Ahh, one of the easy things about being a guy who doesn’t require a fancy-schmancy haircut. All I had to say in Korean was, “짧게 잘라 주세요” (“cut it short, please!”), give a thumbs up regarding length, and hey presto! Haircut. Or just point in the style book, which resulted in them buzzing my hair off once, going straight down the middle. It was pointless protesting as it couldn’t be fixed. As for other countries, I had a haircut in Romania, which worked out pretty well. I’ve yet to get a haircut here in Taiwan.
Alas my female friends in Korea weren’t always so lucky. One of my friends wanted to go blonde, and wound up orange – and was frustrated by the fact that she could understand Korean and kept hearing the stylists saying things like, “is this right?” and “is it supposed to turn this colour?” She was not a happy bunny.
Tom @ Waegook Tom recently posted..The Best Things I Ate In January
It’s super risky for non-Asians to get their hair dyed in an Asian salon– the dyes needed to penetrate thick, black hair are strong enough to nearly disintegrate our wussy assed laowai strands! I swear, I could feel mine frying…
Yes, yes, yes. After years of elaborate charades in salons across the globe, I was totally unprepared last time I got my hair cut in Canada. I was at a loss when asked all these detailed technical questions like, “How much do you want taken off?” and “Where do you usually part your hair?” I just blinked in mute confusion for a minute before I could answer the questions!
Janice recently posted..Adventures in … Saudi Arabia?
Totally. Sometimes it just seems a bit too easy… like I should head back out there to somewhere more confounding in order to really earn my haircut…
Awesome! I can totally relate to your situation.