My Facial

To avoid any confusion about who wrote this, I'll put it up front. This is Tom.

After a month without shaving because I lost my razor, I'll admit that I wasn't looking very pretty. In fact, this is how Rachel saw me. After a shower. On a good day.

During our week in Istanbul, I heard much about the famed Turkish barbers. I've never had a professional shave before and wanted to give it a try. The problem was that, between all of the other daily activities, there didn't seem to be much time.

It wasn't until our last day in Turkey that the opportunity arose. We were walking across the underside of a bridge back to Taksim. The bridge was enormous, complete with fishermen and trinket shops and restaurants and little side alleys. As we walked, I quickly glanced down an alley... and there he was, my barber, standing between crates of fish and trash in probably the last place I'd look for a place to get cleaned up. There were fifteen chairs in the compact shop, each one of them occupied but two, and the price was only $10 for a haircut and a shave (negotiated with hand gestures).

The shave was good, but afterwards is when it got a little weird. The barber applied wax to my face before I could stop him, or even knew what was happening. Rachel was having a great time.

After ripping off the wax, which hurt, he threaded the tops of my cheeks. I didn't know what threading was until he did it, but that hurt too.

No fewer than ten lotions were rubbed into my skin, and then I got the green paste. While it dried, a server brought tea, one sugar. Here's a picture. I actually tried to smile for this, but the green mold was like concrete and I couldn't move my face.

I've never had a haircut last more than 15 minutes--this one lasted an hour and 15 minutes. Although I didn't get what I thought I was paying for, the whole thing was cheaper than a barber back home. I got up to leave after the entire affair, but my barber pushed me back into the seat. He wasn't finished with me yet. He took out a Bic lighter and held it to the side of my head. So I leaned the other way. He pushed my head back and said something in Turkish, so I just gritted my teeth. He waved the flame over my ears and burned all of the fuzz off, which actually worked really well. I've thought about trying it on my own since, as the fuzzies have unfortunately grown back, but decided against it. Maybe next time I'm in Turkey. 

As I was guided out out of shop, a little kid sprayed me eight times with cologne. That was the cherry on my sunday. Here I am, clean-shaven, smelling a little too nice, happy to be back in the sunlight, and ready to hop on the train to Bulgaria.

- Tom