WanderingWhy…

Traveling down the coast of Peru, we decided to spend a night in Lima. We were here last year and decided to stay in the hip, trendy, Miraflores area of the city again.

Many of the little towns and villages we have stayed in on this journey may have just a couple of restaurants, and no supermarkets. If we were lucky enough to find a restaurant serving lunch, that’s what they served: Lunch—take it or leave it. The food was fine really, and at $2 for a meal you can’t go wrong, but the heavy diet of fries and rice (on the same plate) and no salad or real fruits and veggies gets tiresome after several weeks.

So we found our hotel, dropped our bags, and headed out in search of a change for dinner. The Miraflores area provides all the urban creature comforts one could desire. We settled on a middle eastern restaurant for some salad and kebabs.

I was so hungry after a day on the bus and so thankful for greens that I finished half my salad before I found a glob of mud in it. I sent it back and the owner came over and apologized. He rambled on in Spanish explaining something about rinsing the lettuce and there would be no charge for the salad. I guess I should feel better they at least tried to rinse my lettuce in the polluted water. This explains why I got serious food poisoning last time I was here. The rest of the meal was a great change anyhow.

We did some people watching while eating dinner and noticed all the hip stylish locals typical of any city. I started to realize how much I was covered in road. I think I was starting to regress and turn feral.  I’ve enjoyed not shaving and pissing Dawn off, and the beard has been fun in the mountains and cooler places, but having a beard in the desert heat has been miserable. Other than being a good place to store sandwiches while hiking, I don’t have much use for a long beard so it was time to lose it.

We’ve passed many a barbershop with the old fashioned barber chair that swings way back for haircuts and shaves.  I thought I’d have some fun and hit the barbershop for a shave with the straight razor since I’ve never had one.

Of course, now that I wanted to visit a barbershop I couldn’t find one. The hostel told me of a place around the corner that turned out to be a salon. I walked in and they had a section with a barber chair. Good enough. They told me to have a seat and wait. After a half hour I asked and she told me to have a seat for my haircut first.

We buzzed off 2 months of overgrowth and part of me emerged from the fur. I then asked about the shave and she said tomorrow. Huh? I’ve got a bus to catch in 1 hour and you told me to wait for the shave as it was the first thing I asked about—Was I supposed to sit and wait until tomorrow? I was pissed off now that the hair on my face was longer than my head and I was going to have to try and hack it off myself.

When I asked if she knew someplace I could get a shave she told me to have a seat in the barber chair. I guess they won’t let business walk out the door. She put the chair all the way back and out came the clippers first. She buzzed off the fur and made sure to cover my mouth and nasal passages with the clippings. I was starting to get the feeling she was out to get even with the gringo. Dawn giggled and told me I had a mustache. I looked up at the mirror and I did indeed have a mustache. I’m not a cop, child molester, or 70’s porn star so I made a mental note never to grow one as I’ve never looked more ridiculous. Thankfully she buzzed off the stash and started to mix up some shaving cream.

Now I admit, I had my own idea of what this would be like before I went. The mental picture was something involving a hot towel to soften the beard, warm shaving cream, a big super sharp straight razor wielded by a skilled barber not familiar with Sweeny Todd. In short, a fun pleasant experience.

What I got was a woman with no mercy out to get a few soles and a possible scream from me. Cold shaving cream was dabbed on three small spots on the right side of my face. Out came the straight razor from 1922 which is also around the last time it was sharpened. Next I heard “SCRAPE, SCRAPE” as the blade was dragged across my mostly dry face. I thought, “Holy shit, this is not what I signed up for.”

After about 10 minutes, I was starting to move towards the light but Dawn’s voice brought me back when she said “I think she went to change the blade” Gee… what a wonderful idea. I can’t say the new blade made much difference, but I soon learned the method to the Peruvian shave. You don’t need to use hot lather or much cream at all since blood provides a much more natural solution and is already warm. Once you shave with the grain and get a good blood flow going, you then shave against the grain for that oh so close feeling.

When she got to my top lip and cut half of it away the taste of blood brought me back to consciousness. I put my hand up and wheezed out an “Esta bien.” She tried to continue but I could handle no more, “No, really, that’s enough” I told her. She seemed a bit disappointed being denied the grand finale of slicing my jugular. I paid my $6 and stumbled out the door straight to Starbucks (yes, still $4 for coffee here too) to reward myself for surviving and indulge in one last urban comfort before catching the bus.

As we walked to the coffee shop Dawn said she had heard the razor scraping across my face from where she sat 15ft away. “We need to make a pit-stop” she said. She dragged me into a department store and over to the clinique counter to “sample” some of the aftershave lotion–a great idea for the right price. I asked her what she thought of the new look seeing as she absolutely hated the beard. “I don’t know if I like it” she said. I can’t win.

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