“Do hard things.”

Why write about barbershops? Like grocery and convenience stores, gas stations, laundromats, libraries, and churches, barbershops are woven into the fabric of any  community. Looking and feeling good is important. A good, fresh haircut contributes to me feeling upbeat and ready. Ready for what you ask? Ready for the world. Ready for action. Ready to go. I’m excited to share my findings on different barbershops as we transverse the world. I’ll start with home base ….

Hair One, Springfield, VA:  I’ve been visiting my friends at my neighborhood barbershop in Springfield every two or three weeks for the last ten years (minus one six-month period when I was growing my hair and beard out for a role – check it out on IMDB). In fact the ladies who work there are more than friends, they are family. Over ten years, folks go through life and share experiences. Friends and family go through the highs and lows together – console one another, make one another laugh – the whole enchilada- which doesn’t really fit in this instance since all the employees are ‘sisters’ or maybe ‘cousins’ from Vietnam. However, one thing that is consistent is that every couple of weeks, I’d go in and get the same cheery greeting, hear the same cackling, same bad jokes, same warmth, same lollipops for my kids, same love. The last action of significance that I took before our departure from Virginia was to visit Hair One to get tightened up just right. I will miss them, their jokes, their chatter, and their friendship. And yes, as always, I left there looking “ten years younger.”

Cartagena, Colombia: We had been on the road longer than three weeks. I was getting shaggy and was in need of a shave. My host escorted me to a beauty parlor around the corner from his apartment building. I felt a little awkward walking into the front of the shop since it had all the smells, decoration, and sounds of a beauty parlor. My discomfort went away as soon as I was whisked to a back room that was separated from the rest of the shop by a door and walls of glass. The inside seemed as normal as a men’s barber shop could be. Sports on TV. Comfy chairs along the wall. Magazines on side tables. Familiar smells. Barbers, with their hair styled just so, in smocks. The haircut was quick and drastic. The shave was slow and deliberate – short scrapes with a handheld blade with the barber at extremely close range. Once complete, he gave me a once-over with a simple Bic disposable razor, which cracked me up. I was then escorted outside of man-world to get my hair shampooed and head massaged. In my 50s now, my hair isn’t as quite as thick and luxurious as it once was. However, that was the longest shampoo and scrub my noggin has ever received. Overall a great experience and I walked away revitalized.

Rosebud, Victoria, Australia: We stayed in Rosebud for a solid two weeks and fell in love with the community. I searched the internet for a barber and found a listing near the gym where I worked out (more on that in a separate blog). However, not all things found on the internet are accurate as this shop had moved, closed, or had gone out of business. In the end, I went to a barbershop in the local mall, which I was trying to avoid based on my personal biases, and ended up having a very fine experience. No wait. The barber, who was originally from France, was quick with the conversation and the scissors. Cut. Cut. Cut. Fair price. Cut. Cut. Cut. Positive experience. Cut. Cut. Cut. Would go again. Done.

Cairns, Queensland, Australia: So far, the highlight of my barbershop experiences occurred when I visited Quick Trim Men’s Barber in Cairns, Australia. As I pulled up in my right-side-drive rental, I hoped to be inconspicuous while attempting to cleanly park into a left side parking slot. It took three attempts, but I parked the van cleanly and within the lines. There was no sneaking in and avoiding the scrutiny of my lack of left-side driving skills as the proprietor, Steve, called me out before my second foot passed the spinning red, white, and blue barber pole at the entrance of his shop. Steve’s shop was more than a neighborhood mom & pop shop. Every square inch of the walls and ceiling were covered with sports jerseys, rugby memorabilia, clippings, and bills. Paper bills from all over the world, most had unique colorings and pictures. I learned that Australia makes the newfangled, and colorful, plastic bills (a synthetic polymer) for several countries – all hanging on the wall. The most prominent jersey displayed was a San Antonio Spurs jersey autographed by starting guard Patty Mills – an Australian native who gets his hair cut at Quick Trim every time he’s in town. Having played rugby much of my life, we also had an engaging discussion regarding the recent Rugby League Grand Championship. Championship weekend also featured the AFL Championship, Aussie Rules Football. So, I asked Steve’s thoughts on it. At that moment time seemed to stand still and the scissors ceased snipping. Steve announced that neither he, nor any other self-respecting sports fan not from the state of Victoria, would ever see a valid need to discuss, much less waste time watching, ‘aerial ping-pong.’ It is not proper football. Thus closed the topic and resumed the cutting. Other than my reference to the AFL, the half-hour I spent there seemed to pass in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Generally, and importantly, the conversation revolved around important things like sports and international travel. Steve kindly handed me an old fashioned Australian one dollar bill made out of paper as a reminder of my visit. As I left, I absently took one of his business cards, not reading the quote inscribed on it until later. It reads: “I’m a barber, not a magician.” Perfect.

Bangkok, Thailand: Had a heck of a time finding a place to get a haircut in Bangkok. Went into one joint just down the alley from our Airbnb apartment, but was immediately shooed  out as it was a beauty shop only for women. Once I found a place, stopped in three times, but was met with a filled up docket. Finally made it in. Fine haircut. Barber was sick so she wore a mask. There was a bunch of gray hair on the floor once she was done. Not sure where that came from. Regardless, I felt better and ready to take on the world once done.

Luang Prabang, Laos: Why is it that when I’m looking for a barbershop, I can never find one. When I don’t need one, they’re at every corner. This was the case for me in Laos.
Luckily, with the help of our hotel host, I found the needle just around the side of the haystack, off the beaten path. The entire storefront was open – like a garage door opened up – to this long narrow room. Three barber chairs faced mirrors to the right. Six waiting chairs backed along the wall to the left. Three cot-like bunks at the back of the store were aligned with the ends hanging into corresponding sinks. We were met by one of the assistants and informed that the licensed barber would arrive in a few minutes. We enjoyed a Thai soap opera on TV during our short wait. I needed a haircut and got one. Clippers and scissors were used. Often, skilled barbers can work around inconsistent hair patterns or oddly shaped melons. Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of those days. Made me wonder what she was licensed in and where she was during our arrival. Hard to explain, but if any of you have ever had a bad haircut, you’ll understand my point. Luckily my shampoo, hair drying (!), and styling gel (!) application were top notch. Lipstick on a pig.

Walvis Bay, Namibia: Before we were to depart on the safari leg of our Namibian trek, I needed a haircut. So, I reached out to our trusted guide, Mark, to ask if he recommended a barber in town. Sure enough, he knew just the place. “Why don’t you go see my dad? His shop is next to the gas station on the corner. Ask for Johnny.” I chuckle at his reply and my luck. So, off I went. Johnny had been cutting hair in Walvis Bay for nearly 60 years and shows no sign, or interest, at slowing down. Newspaper clippings from the ages adorned the walls. Pictures of Percy Montgomery, the Walvis Bay native who went on to international rugby fame playing for the Springboks, were on the wall. Johnny showed me pictures from the mid ‘60s of men sitting in the same chair that I was in, a younger, dark-haired Johnny pictured hovering with scissors in hand. He had seen many changes and forces in this town over the decades. Independence, end of apartheid, flourishing mines, unemployment, Chinese purchase of the mines, multiple generations of families who sat in the same chair as I did. In addition to being the town’s barber, Johnny could be considered a town historian. Great haircut. Great price. Great experience. Next time you’re in Walvis Bay, you need to swing by to see Johnny. ‘Gents Barbershop,’ right next to the gas station on the corner.

Izmir, Turkey:I have a bias towards Turkish barbers. If you’ve had a haircut in Turkey, you’ll understand. If not, you’re missing out. The best haircut experiences I’ve ever had in my life were while I was stationed in Turkey. One of the cooks, who we called Mr. Barber, used to cut hair for $1 a head. Haircut, straight-edge shave, shoulder massage, thread from a spool doubled-over and twisted just so to pull the fuzzies off the checks, a flaming alcohol-soaked cotton-ball held in forceps and rhythmically tapped on the ears and immediately wiped down to burn hair off the ears, concluding with a liberal dosing of strong lemon aftershave applied to face and head –  the best. I am biased. Recently I found myself just off the main pedestrian zone in central Izmir. Two chairs in the small barbershop. The young barber quickly and expertly used clippers and scissors to tighten my wig. Handled those errant hairs growing out of and around my ears (?!), reigned in the eyebrows, lathered up my face with warm lemony smelling shave cream, and went to work. He shaved my face faster than I can. Fast, clean, tight. Nice. Washed my hair and face, twice. Massaged my shoulders, traps and blades. Drove a knuckle into those vertical muscles between the spine and blade. Yowza! Splashed handfuls of lemon-smelling aftershave onto my face, neck and scalp. Wake up! Blew dry my hair and called it a day. As we’re in Turkey, he then offered me chai. I naturally accepted and accompanied him to a table waiting outside. He hollered down the street and within a minute a young chai boy carrying a tray with tea glasses, saucers, spoons and sugar ran to us and served the chai. We sat at the table outside the shop, him smoking, me drinking chai. We chatted in very limited English and Turkish and made use of Google Translate to share meaning. If you haven’t had a haircut in Turkey, you’re missing out.

Vienna, Austria: Since I didn’t get a haircut in Greece or Italy, I was getting shaggy. My hair wasn’t necessarily getting long, but it was unkempt and out of sorts – not quite flyaway, but messy. The family said that I needed to do something about my sideburns and the hair on my neck. Back when Jimmy Carter was the President, my folks used to get on me for my hair in my eyes. Not a problem these days. So, I sought out a barber in Vienna. Through my walks around the neighborhood, I learned that there were many shops available. I selected one nearby. A men’s barbershop, it was spacious, very clean, busy and active, and only a short wait during my mid-week morning visit. Side note: As customers left, the barbers always trailed them outside for a smoke. I’m not quite used to the excessive smoking in this part of the world. Although I’m not fluent in German, I can speak conversational Deutsch just fine and was able to communicate my guidance clearly – shorten it up on the sides and back with a little bit off the top. I was confident that he understood my intent. The folks in this shop didn’t speak German as a first language either. I’m guessing it was Slovakian as we were so close to the border. “Taking a little off the top” has such a different meaning and corresponding result these days as my forehead continues to grow and expand. A little too much of “a little off the top” can have a drastic effect. My barber was a younger fella who had a variety of scissors, clippers, and combs at the ready. He used each and every device at his disposal to meet his interpretation of my guidance. As he took laps around my head with each set of clippers and each set of scissors I actually grew concerned. Granted, I needed to be cleaned up a bit. Well, I got a bit more than that. In fact, you’d think I walked out of the barbershop at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejune – with a squared away haircut that would make any drill sergeant proud. Upon departure, the wind was so chilly on my noggin that I need to pop on my stocking cap. I don’t want to include the fact that my wife screamed when I walked in – “Ahhhh! What happened?” The kids were so alarmed by the drastic change that they ran over to touch the stubble on the back and sides of my head. So yes, I got cleaned up per my guidance. On the other hand, I lost so much hair that I needed to wear a stocking cap to keep my scalp warm against the biting spring winds of Vienna. It’ll grow back. Well, most of it.

Kingsman Turkish Barbershop, Woodford, England, UK: Dare I go there? Yes, I must. I must. This was the best barbershop experience I’ve had on this trip. Numero Uno. The Grand Poobah. Other barbershops were more unique. I had better connections with other barbers. All others were less expensive (so far). However, overall, this was the best haircut and shave experience. Opened with a glass of Turkish chai. Maybe I benefitted from better treatment because I was in the chair against the street window, spoke a few phrases in Turkish, had enough familiarity with Turkey that a homesick barber may appreciate. I don’t know. Head and shoulder massage, hair cut to exact specifications (unique for a fella like me with an oddly shaped head and unique hair pattern of varying density and coverage). Lemon-scented shaving cream, a contraption that was on a wheeled stand and plugged in (similar to an IV tower) which wafted warm clouds of steam at my beard to soften and prepare it. Scissors. Detailed and careful shave. Great, relaxing experience and I left there feeling better than I did when I walked in. If you’re in London, hop on the tube to Woodford, mind the gap while you’re at it, hit up the ATM and get to the Kingsman Barbershop for a great experience. It’s just a block or two from the tube stop. *Note – when you visit Woodford for your haircut and shave (an hour) plan in time for a sit-down meal next door at Mezze Restaurant. Everything we had there was amazing. Personally, I’m partial to the Iskender kebab. Trust me. 

Updated January 2nd, 2020

Reykjavik, Iceland: Briefly, the worst haircut experience of my Holliday360 adventure. H & I wanted to get a little trim before heading back to the States – just to look good as we returned to family and friends. Found a place off the main drag in Reykjavik via an online search. Either the barber didn’t listen to anything we said, didn’t care, didn’t like us, or just wasn’t good. He responded to none of my guidance, instead, he prepared me for boot-camp or, based on the lopsided-ness of his work, as an extra in a science fiction or Stanley Kubrick movie. It was the quickest, least personal and most expensive haircut of the trip. I recommend avoiding this barbershop.