when you see the manshon you know you're almost done

About a month ago I finally took the plunge and went to get my hair cut. I dragged Hylton along, knowing in the face of such an activity I would be rendered Japanese-less. If there is one thing besides convenience stores (which, I cannot emphasize enough, are literally everywhere) that Japan is well-stocked in, it's hair cut places. I don't use the phrase "barber shops" because that sounds like it belongs to a geriatric generation of grizzled Southern men. But on second thought I could actually say barber shops, as there seems to be a gender division here (and this is a country I could get away with using the word "gender" instead of "sex"). Basically, the cheap places with the white, red and blue pole outside are for men and men only. Which leaves the expensive places where it is "stylists" working and not "barbers" (much to the confusion of my junior high students) to the women! Hooray! So after a few failed starts Hylton and I entered "Bliss," where I received what was absolutely the longest hair cut of my life.

We entered, I put my name in and then had to fill out a form, presumably to track me down if I failed to pay. After that it was a few minute wait until the receptionist led me to my chair where I haltingly explained my trim situation to the interested stylist (male). I had been anxious about getting the deed done, worried that my unquestionably talented stylist would put their own slant on my hair style, which I wanted simple and clean. In the end I did kind of get razored ends instead of a straight chop, but I figured that was a small price to pay after the tremendous amount of attention that was put into the ordeal. I shouldn't say ordeal because it actually was quite nice most of the time, though my glances over to Hylton in the "waiting area" proved I was the only one enjoying myself. I don't know much more skilled the hairstylist was than one at a comparably priced place in the U.S. (that is to say, a relatively expensive place). The thing that set this experience apart was the attention paid to getting my hair clean. It took not one but two rounds (one pre-cut and one post-cut) to get rinse away my hair filth. The first round was about 20 minutes long, and then the next was a bit shorter, but accompanied by a head massage. It was really nice, though I felt bad because the washer girl kept trying to talk to me, and I had to keep asking "What? what?," half because I couldn't hear her through the faucet-noise and half because I couldn't understand her Japanese. Eventually I just started saying daijyoubu desu to everything... "yes, that's okay." This happened again as my stylist tried to make chitchat while the blow dryer was at full blast near my ears. I felt bad because they did seem nice and like they were making an effort with me... though I guess they would do that for anyone. I wonder if my hair was strange to work with, as most Japanese hair is a bit different from mine.

Anyhow, the whole thing ended up costing me 4,000 yen, but at least I was spared wondering how much to tip because you never tip in Japan! I love it! Taxes included in the sticker price, no tipping... it:s great.

In other news, I came down with a nasty cold a few days ago, but I think (hope) I'm on the mend. The first day I really started to feel bad I was able to leave early since all my classes were done (and I had accrued enough overwork hours). I don't know if something stupid is going to happen as a consequence, like my pay getting docked, but whatever. I was feeling terrible and I couldn't imagine sitting at my desk for the next five hours "lesson planning." I had hoped that Hylton would be able to pick me up and throw me home before he had to get to his next school, but it turned out he didn't have to commute in the middle of the day that day. So since I had gotten a ride from him in the morning and was therefore bikeless, I got to walk the hour home. It crossed my mind to call a taxi, but I don't know what I would have said, even if I had had a number. And it seemed like a frivolous thing to spend money on.

It started drizzling by the time the manshon was in sight, but in the end I was glad I had done it because I took the opportunity to try a few possible shortcuts which actually ended up working. They might not actually be "shortcuts" as I don't know if they will save me any time, but they are off the main roads which seem increasingly dangerous as it gets dark earlier and earlier. The backroads are such a maze of fields and twisty residential streets (all unmarked, of course) that I am amazed when I don't get hopelessly lost. The routes I take to and from my three different schools are all at least half in backroads, but the more I can find the better. Simply following schoolchildren biking home has led to some pretty good finds.