This is another extract from the emails I sent to my sister back in 04 while I travelled through Turkey with my dear friend Darren, hence forth known as Daggs.
Dear C.
Okay. Some time after arriving in Fethiya Mark our guide offered to take us to the Barber for a shave. This struck me as weird. What’s wrong with the privacy of one’s own bathroom. Darren seemed confident about the whole thing so I mildly followed along.
Mark drops us off and says see you in forty minutes. The place was empty except for a couple of barbers and three of their friends drinking tea or something. So without much ceremony we’re seated and this chap starts lathering me up.
And proceeds to get WAY too intimate. Far to close to my personal space, right up in my face. I quietly explained that really, in Australia, we only let women do this sort of thing. Otherwise nice men, like your dear self, get smacked in the head. I laughed kindly as I said this. Turns out that none of them spoke English. He keeps working away and then pulls out a cut throat razor, and starts shaving.
He shaves, good.
And the he starts again.
After dousing me in this lemon smelling stuff, he finishes shaving and then gets out the scissors. Trim, trim, trim - happy, happy, happy until he shoves them up my nose. What the hell compelled him to do that? Up. My. Nose. Have you seen my nose? Is there something you haven’t told me. Is this dear sweet soul the first to confront me over this issue? I doubt it. I sat very still - saddened by the subtle violation. Perhaps he was laying bets with his mates about how he can stick scissors up the nose of Aussies.
Then he walks off.
And reappears with a blazing stick. Just in case you missed it: a longish stick that looked an awful lot like it was on fire. He then placed the back of his palm against my face and started hitting this blazing stick against my face just above his hand. And yes it was hot. A hot burning stick being smacked against my face.
The funny thing was they all started laughing when I said 'Holy Crap what is THAT?' As I said, none of them spoke a scrap of English until a taxi driver walked in and started answering our questions in English. Apparently the fire burns off ear hair. That’s refreshing. Who wants ear hair. But is there such a thing as a preventative for ear hair? Because I ain't got any.So why was he burning down my face? Another dare perchance. Reckless individual, I could have been anyone. Unfortunately for me I was a nobody from Oz.
Possibly to make some amends for potentially setting me on fire he then proceeded to massage my face, eye lids, neck, parts of my back - and it was only our first date. Having a man doing that who I can’t communicate with is just wrong on so many levels. Having done all of this, he shaved my face again. I would have had a face like a baby’s bottom had it not been set on fire.
