I sit nervously in a tiny room, staring at a man as he sharpens his blade. He gives me a wry smile that produces a bead of sweat on my brow. He lifts the blade up to my face and my heart begins to thump.
I don’t want it to happen but I know he needs to do it. I try to relax and tell myself it is for the better. The hair must go.
After three weeks trekking in the Himalayas without a shave, I must have looked a scary sight. It was time to say goodbye to my hairy friend.
As soon as we arrived back, my guide Raj grabbed me and led me through the chaotic streets until we reached our final destination – The Barbershop.
The length of a man’s beard is often a simple indicator of how long he has been trekking. A long wiry beard indicates a walker away for an extended time. A clean shave reveals a man just starting out.
Most men are in their element in the mountains. They enjoy infrequent showering and feel comfortable wearing the same jocks for days. They refuse to partake in grooming and consider it necessary to feel at one with nature. These males are unashamedly feral, feeling liberated by the simple life.
This beard test was not so useful for women, unless their underarm was visible. However it is very easy to pick a female just starting out. Her hair is straight and clean. Her beanie matches her scarf. She is very excited and stops to take a photo every few minutes.
In comparison, a woman approaching the end of her adventure no longer calls it an adventure. She now describes it as a near death abduction to the pits of Hell. The effects of no shower, no hair straighteners, no clean toilet, and no make up have taken their toll. She has lost her sense of humour and is seen laughing as often as an authentic photographic sighting of the yeti.
Exhaustion, altitude sickness and sleep deprivation all help worsen the female trekker’s mood. Sarcasm followed by silent treatment is an early indicator that a woman is not coping.
Early in the trek the female trekker can be seen at monasteries offering gifts to Buddha in the hope of receiving good luck. Once heavy legs have set in, the female trekker now preys for a body scrub, a manicure and a Pina Colada.
The spring in her step has developed into a lumbering gait. She often communicates with a piercing howl and her knotted hair hangs in her face.
Into the Time Machine
Anyway, back to the barbershop in Kathmandu. I’m still sitting anxiously in my chair.
“Ah, nice beard old man. I see you have been trekking in the mountains for many weeks,” remarks the barber.
“Yes! Yes!” I replied (extremely chuffed that he commented on my nice facial growth but at the same time a little hurt that he had called me old man).
Stuck to the barbershop walls were posters of models sporting hideous haircuts of the 1980’s – the perm, the mullet, the spike, the combover. In the background I could hear Bon Jovi playing on the radio.
For a moment I thought I had stepped into some kind of time machine.
The barber raised the blade and scraped down my face. I gritted my teeth, expecting to be cut up like a first time knife juggler, but to my surprise my skin was unblemished.
I was left with the closest and smoothest shave I have ever had.
Transformed from a feral ape-like creature to a baby-faced pretty boy. I felt like a new man. But there was just one thing missing. “Anyone for a Pina Colada?”
