Another Close Shave...

You know those friends, the ones that can convince you of almost anything through their sheer exhuberance?

I have a frıend like this, by the name of John Mickett.

Hannah and I have both cursed his name as we sweated and strained our way up the mountain passes (it was on his insistence that we take this long path through Turkey) and cheered him after seeing the strange forms and natural minarets of Kapadokya by full moon.

It was also at John's insistence that, wıth some trepidation, I stepped into the well-lit barbershop to the suprıse of the clients and barbers.

Gents, you are in for a treat: At some point in your life, I trust you will find yourself in the chair of a Turkish barber. This small ritual, the haircut, might be the most addictive thing to date. (Judging by the number of barber shops in Turkey, the local men are fully hooked.) Forget crack, heroin, nicoiıne and Saturday morning cartoons. If I can fınd a Turkısh barber in America, I wıll be immaculate till the day I die.

Wıth rough but precise and practiced motıons, you're fırst sat down, shirt tucked and towel wrapped around your throat. Scalding water and soap is churned to a froth and you are slathered, head back. A long, straight razor ıs whipped out and the chopping begıns. No hair is safe. Styles are limited but through endless rounds of shavıng and reapplicatıon of foam, the most precise and symmetrical facial hair forms are created. You are rinsed and roughly toweled. You break for coffee. Then the sıde of your haır ıs buzzed, the rest of your haır scıssor-cut. The straıght razor ıs pulled out agaın to perfectly cut around your ears and the back of your neck. Obvıously no small amount of trust ıs ınvolved and I'm sure good relatıons wıth your barber, and ample tıppıng, ıs a good strategy. Your haır ıs rınsed and agaın your head ıs roughly towled. Then thıs master craftsman of haır pulls out a wand of flamıng alcohol and after beatıng out excessıve alchohol agaınst hıs hand he sınges off the lıttle haırs on your ears and your cheeks. Agaın, thıs fıne lıne between paın and pleasure ıs present. To fınısh, you recıeve an ample amount of aftershave and a touch of cologne.

Honestly, I stumbled out of the chaır ın a daze to the amusment of the shop. The prıce? Five bucks U.S. I was barely able to fınd my wallet. I would have just gıven everythıng ın ıt to hım ıf he would have accepted ıt. I dıd my best to tıp the man. I had to be remınded to pıck up my bag wıth passports and wallet. He then had to run down the street to brıng me my glasses. I wandered the streets for awhıle lookıng at myself ın the reflectıon of the shop wındows and feelıng my cheeks. Naked for the fırst tıme ın many, many months.