i cut my hair last week. there are man/woman/man-woman hairdressers every ten steps and i was wondering how it feels inside. some of them are always full and those have to dry towels outside their studio otherwise they run out of them. almost every hairdresser designs his working place unique. the best are the most sincere ones, of course. unfortunately i didn't have my camera with me, but i'll try to describe it as detailed as i can.
on the window is written kuaför orhan. i can see him from outside. he's an older man with long white hair and black mustache he's chatting with his friend who immediately returns back to his shop when he sees a new customer. i say merhaba and using pantomime ask if he could cut my hair. tamam! he almost jumps out of his armchair and offers me to seat on the middle one of the three old pink leather seats.
he steps out to get a towel. i look around. velvet-like textile of electric blue colour covers walls. there are posters hanging on one of them. i look at them again. they're showing orhan! first one is addressing him as 'kuaför orhan, the legend'. on the second one he poses proudly, with wind in his hair and the third one is suggesting whole world is coming out of his chest with harem girls, flowers and music!
he covers me with black and white striped fabric. there is sink in front of me and unlike in other european studios i put my head on another towel and lean forward. he's mainly man hairdresser so he washes my hair with man shampoo.
we use gestures again to say how much he can cut. i try to answer his other questions. i cannot understand them even if he speaks very slowly because language is not similar to any i know. so i tell him where i come from and why i am here. i suppose he's asking me this. meanwhile he combs my hair, takes his scissors, cuts twice and puts them back again. it's done.
because he's already finished half of his work he lights a cigarette. he offers me one as well. i take a sip of tea he prepared for me in the beginning. i lean back. i expect him to start drying my hair. instead, he puts a fresh tissue on little machine he takes from a shelf. 'massage' he smiles into his moustache. he massages my face, hair and neck. it feels so relaxing..
next, he dries my hair. he doesn't put tons of strawberry or cocos or other fruity smelling balsams and waxes on them, nor any of weather protection or lack of vitamin sprays. i feel amazing, i promise him i'll come again and pay, according to his price list, 10 turkish liras (4 euros).
prejšnji teden sem se šla postrižt. že dlje časa me je zanimalo, kako je, glede na to, da so moški, ženski, moški/ženski frizerji na vsakih deset korakov. vedno so polni in zunaj sproti sušijo brisače. vsak izmed njih si po svoje uredi svoj salon in najbolj iskreni so seveda najbolj izvirni. žal mi je, da nisem imela s seboj fotoaparata, ampak ga bom poskusila podrobno opisati.
na izložbi piše kuaför orhan. čez okno vidim, da je starejši gospod, z daljšimi belimi lasmi in črnimi brki. stopim notri, klepeta s kolegom, ki se nemudoma vrne v svojo trgovino, ko vidi novo stranko. pozdravim merhaba in ker seveda ne vem kako se reče postriči lase, primem majhen šop svojih las in z drugo roko nakažem škarje. tamam! vzkline in me posadi na že precej oguljen usnjen stol svetlo roza barve.
stopi ven po brisačo, jaz pa se ozrem naokoli. vse stene prekriva žametu podobno blago električno modre barve. na eni izmed sten visijo posterji. pogledam še enkrat, če prav vidim. nato spet njega, ki se zdaj vrne. osebi sta isti. orhan je očitno zvezda! posterji prikazujejo njega v frajerski pozi z vetrom v laseh in ga naslavljajo z 'orhan kuaför the legend'. na enem izmed njih se mu iz prsi vije cel svet, poln lepotic in rož in glasbe!
ogrne me s črno-belo črtasto prevleko in se ves čas smehlja. pred mano je čisto navaden umivalnik in v nasprotju z evropskimi frizerji, kjer glavo nagneš nazaj, se tukaj skloniš naprej in jo nasloniš na brisačo. ker je večinoma moški frizer, mi lase umije z moškim šamponom.
zopet se s kretnjami zmeniva koliko me naj postriže. vmes mu poskušam odgovarjati na njegova preprosta vprašanja. tudi če me vpraša počasi in skoraj po zlogih ne razumem, ker besede niso podobne nobenemu izmed jezikov, ki jih vsaj malo poznam. vseeno na pamet odgovorim iz kje sem in kaj tukaj počnem.
v tem času mi razčeše lase, dvakrat razpre in zapre škarje in jih odloži. to je to.
ker je na pol že opravil svoje delo, si prižge cigareto. ponudi tudi meni. čaj, ki mi ga je pripravil na začetku, se je med tem primerno shladil in naredim prvi požirek. naslonim se nazaj in čakam na fen. ampak!
na pripomoček, ki ga vzame s police položi čist papirnati robček. 'masaž' se zahahlja v svoje brke. zmasira mi obraz, lasišče in vrat. tako sproščujoče..
nazadnje mi torej posuši lase. ko konča, me ne polije s sladkimi vonji jagode, kokosa in ostalega sadja, niti ne polepša s sintetičnimi laki in sto zaščitami proti vremenskim vplivom in pomanjkanju vitaminov. počutim se odlično, obljubim da pridem spet in za opravljeno delo po ceniku z veseljem odštejem 10 turških lir (4 eure).
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| one of many kuaförs..but none like orhan! |
