Peluqueria (Hair Salon)

There are so many things I could post about, including our new (very good) friends, "descanso" to Carlos Paz (for my own well-being, I will write about that someday), getting the package my mom sent from the post office (total miracle – seriously), Johnny’s conversation with “blah-blah” the stuffed rabbit that was in the package my mom sent, our 3 hour worship services that begin at 7:00 pm, crossing the street, hang-drying the laundry of 3 dirty boys and 2 semi-clean adults, getting wi-fi service, using a bidet (just kidding – no attempts yet), feeling the profound loss of not being “home” with suffering friends, feeling extreme thankfulness for the abundant provisions God has given us in new friends, amazingly delicious (and cheap) vegetable stands and carnecerías within walking distance from our home, the trash service that picks up our trash bags every night, my thoughts upon learning that people love the irony of The Simpsons here, or the amazing taste of the water from the Sierras straight from the tap. BUT, since I’m not going to write about any of those, I am going to post about the boys’ haircuts and my trip to the peluqueria today.

There is a man in the church named Gustavo. He has greatly benefitted from the micro-finance program that the church started and that we plan to continue. (Which will happen whenever God chooses to grant us a miracle and allow us to speak Castillano - pronounced “Cah-stee-sha-no”. All “ll” and “y” sounds are pronounced “sh” or “je” – it’s so much more difficult than I could have ever imagined.) Gustavo was given a loan and with the money bought a scooter in order to go to peoples’ houses to give them hair cuts. He paid back the loan, was given another, and opened his own peluqueria (the one I will be writing about in this post). Later, he paid back that loan and hired another employee and now owns 2 salons. He’s great.

He came to our house today and cut the hair of each of my boys. First, Andrés.

It’s very short and he wore it in a faux-hawk all day. As I’ve stated before, I don’t want to fight with the kids about simple things like their hairstyle. However, it was a little difficult to sweep up the massive amount of hair that Gustavo cut off.

The same goes for Johnny. He has a little Argentine flair in the back that I’m not sure I can handle right now. Chris likes it. I don’t know if Johnny does and I’m not sure if I’m going to ask him if he likes it or just cut it off. As Gustavo said, “It’s the modern look.” ¡Tiene cinco años! I don’t need (or want) him to look modern.

David just had a little cut off. He HATES getting his hair cut. “Está bien” was what he kept saying. Gustavo did a great job.

Entonces, Gustavo returned at 5:15 – as promised – to pick me up for my “appointment” with his wife, Carina, who I was told was mejor (better) at doing tinturas (color). As I rode in the car with Gustavo and his friend Fabio (who was driving), I was able to see the engine work (literally – I could see the engine from my seat in the back) its way through the streets of Córdoba Capital. I got to the peluqueria and was immediately overcome with feelings of homesickness and fear.

I’m going to be completely honest here. I don’t care a ton about how I look and do not spend a lot of time primping or getting ready (I often forget to look in the mirror when in the bathroom and then have feelings of insecurity when I exit – like I have a booger hanging out of my nose or something). However. I do care about how I look. Regarding my hair, my roots were revealing themselves and I have been feeling extremely ugly. Stupid and mundane and worldy, I know. But, it’s the dang truth.

I had no idea what was going to happen in the “salon” but I kept telling myself that it’s just hair and even if the color doesn’t look right or even if all my hair falls out, I’d be able to survive. Chris will still love me and would buy me a nice new scarf or hat or something to hide my huge, bald head. The boys would probably laugh and think it’s sad, but funny and cool.

I waited for 2 hours. During that time, we chatted about George W. Bush. I am totally serious. I said with a laugh in Castillano/Spanish: “I cannot believe I’m talking American politics in Spanish in Argentina. I barely speak Castillano, I don’t understand politics in English, and I doubt I understand George W. Bush.” His wife finally said, “¡Basta, Gustavo!” (Enough, Gustavo!) It was hilarious.

Carina let me pick the colors for my hair and then colored my roots and made the rest of my hair a little more dark ("más oscuro, por favor"). I was praying I said the right thing. When the color was on, I swear I thought it was going to be white. I just tried to listen to the Spanish and learn while I waited una media hora for it to turn the right color.

I freaked out a little when after Carina was done straightening and totally transforming another woman’s hair into a shade of copper (it was amazing and really pretty, but copper is not quite the right color for me) when she said that was the style she was imagining for me. She washed my hair, combed it, cut it, and dried it. Here is the result:

I am not going to have straight hair. (It took her 30 minutes to dry it straight.) I know that the thing these days is straight hair. I happen to like my curly hair and will continue to embrace it here. The unruly curls suit me, don’t you think?

When I got home at 8:45 to Chris, Karina and the boys, here were their responses:

Chris: Are you okay? Wow, you look nice.

Karina: Wow! ¿Te gusta? ¡Es lindo!

David: Hi Mom! What? Oh. You look different. I like it.

Andrés: Sorry, mom. I don’t really like it. I like your curls.

Johnny: Hmm. You look nerdy.

I’m going to drink a nice big glass of delicious Argentine wine now. ¡Bueñas noches!