A small victory

Yesterday, I decided that it was time to get a haircut.   Okay, so I decided about a week ago it was time to get one, but never found time to do it…language school is quite demanding.  We have Friday afternoons free, so I had the perfect plan.  Near the bus stop that we use, I saw a “parruchiere per uomini” (a barbershop).  I would simply walk there, muster my best Italian, and get a haircut.  Better yet, a couple Brothers needed to go to the supermarket, and the barber shop is just down the street.  I have a plan and friends to go along.  Perfect!

We get to the barbershop and find that it is closed because the barber is on vacation for a month.  To be so lucky!  We ask a man at the nearby café if there are any other barbershops nearby.  In Italian that I could understand, he gave us directions.  After having to ask again, we found the shop.  As is typical for Italian shops, it is closed for lunch, but will reopen in about 30 minutes.  I decide to wait, while the others have to return home.  Right on time, the barber shows up and opens the store.  However, when I ask if I can get a haircut he says, “You have to have an appointment on Friday afternoon, and I’m booked solid.”  Who makes an appointment at the barber shop?  He gives me directions to a few more local places.  The first one is closed on Friday afternoons.  The second one is very expensive.  I am now up to four strikes!  After walking around the neighborhood for a while and finding a few more closed shops, I decide to return home with all my hair.  At this point, I’m a bit frustrated (okay, this is me, so I’m a lot frustrated.)  It had already been a difficult week – so much to absorb at such a great speed.  I thought to myself, “I can’t speak Italian.  I can’t understand Italian.  And now, I can’t even get an Italian haircut!!!”

After returning home, getting some cold water, and taking a short nap, I decide to make one more attempt.  There is a small town across the river called Chievo.  (So far, it has the best gelato I’ve tasted.)  I think, “This town must have a barber.  I haven’t seen any wooly mammoths running around.”  So, I’m walking down the street and see the word “Parruchiere.”  I get closer and…it’s open.  I go inside and…the barber says “Ciao.”  I sit down and….wait (this is Italy).  After finishing up the kid he’s working on, the barber invites me to the chair and…I GET A HAIRCUT!  I even had a little conversation with him.  His brother had recently visited the U.S.  After telling him that Yes, in fact, Indiana and New York City are pretty much identical, I walk out of the shop with less hair than when I walked in.  A small victory that only took about four hours :)

Since you’ve made it this far, here’s a few random pictures.

Ciao!

Sunset over the River Adige.  From the bridge leading to Chievo.

The Verona countryside with mountains in the background.

The same picture, but with the clouds moving in.