El peluquero manda saludos
Two world cups ago, I took a trip to Argentina to visit my mother who had recently retired there. I hadn't brought my hair clippers, and so I popped into a barber shop half a block from my mother's apartment to see how much they'd charge me. It was ridiculously inexpensive by US standards. The barber was friendly, inquisitive. He learned I came from the United States and his curiosity unfolded in many questions. I wonder how my responses shaped his vision and idea of the world I came from, a world so unfamiliar to him other than through films and TV. He was kind, caring. He drove a motorcycle.
One world cup ago (four years later; one year ago), I took another visit. The flight to Argentina is both expensive and extensive (with a single lay-over it can be more than 24 hours). This time around, a few things had changed for me; four years can result in distinct transformation. I had become somewhat of a minimalist by this point in my life, getting rid of most of my possessions and having reduced my wardrobe to very few pieces. Because of this, I traveled with much fewer things. Other than my minimalism just being an interesting personal detail, its relevance in this story is that I once again did not travel with hair clippers; I packed even lighter this time around.
On an evening walk back to my mother's apartment, I saw that the same barber shop was open. In Argentina, it is winter in June and July. I, of course, remembered my prior visit to that barber due to novelty, and yet, there was still some doubt if I was remembering the place correctly. What was impressive is that the man who took care of me (el peluquero) remembered me. He greeted me warmly as if I'd been a lifelong client. He remembered details of my life I had shared four years prior. A friend of his showed up during my haircut and he introduced me as if I'd been an old friend. They invited me out to some religious event, not out of anything other than genuine kindness. They were Jehovah's Witnesses it turned out.
I never went to their event.
My father, this year, went down to Argentina. He is staying with my mother. He recently went to have his beard shaved. Last time I talked to him on the phone, he said, "El peluquero te manda saludos."
One world cup ago (four years later; one year ago), I took another visit. The flight to Argentina is both expensive and extensive (with a single lay-over it can be more than 24 hours). This time around, a few things had changed for me; four years can result in distinct transformation. I had become somewhat of a minimalist by this point in my life, getting rid of most of my possessions and having reduced my wardrobe to very few pieces. Because of this, I traveled with much fewer things. Other than my minimalism just being an interesting personal detail, its relevance in this story is that I once again did not travel with hair clippers; I packed even lighter this time around.
On an evening walk back to my mother's apartment, I saw that the same barber shop was open. In Argentina, it is winter in June and July. I, of course, remembered my prior visit to that barber due to novelty, and yet, there was still some doubt if I was remembering the place correctly. What was impressive is that the man who took care of me (el peluquero) remembered me. He greeted me warmly as if I'd been a lifelong client. He remembered details of my life I had shared four years prior. A friend of his showed up during my haircut and he introduced me as if I'd been an old friend. They invited me out to some religious event, not out of anything other than genuine kindness. They were Jehovah's Witnesses it turned out.
I never went to their event.
My father, this year, went down to Argentina. He is staying with my mother. He recently went to have his beard shaved. Last time I talked to him on the phone, he said, "El peluquero te manda saludos."
This.
ReplyDelete