BEIJING - Spring's come early to Beijing. Today there were mostly sunny skies and a high near 60. I left my down jacket, hat, mittens and wool socks at the hostel as I made my way around the city.
The warm weather meant it was also time to shed my other warm layer - my hair. I purposely didn't get my red mane cut for nearly two months before leaving. That meant a thick mat of hair, which probably helped when I got off the Trans-Siberian without a hat. It also contributed to the oily, greasy feeling at the end of the long train trip, but nevermind. I needed a haircut.
I have a barber in Beijing. He gave me a memorable haircut back in June, and I took the subway this morning over to Xinjiekou to give him some repeat business. After getting quite lost (in an area I spent nearly a week less than a year ago), I found the barber shop. It's now a bakery.
Out of options, I decided to try a new place. The decision wasn't difficult. I walked 100 meters down the street from my hostel (in Qianmen, just south of Tian'anmen) and popped into the first building with a spinning pole outside. Newly armed with the Chinese word for haircut - 理发 - I went in and requested the service.
Inside were two young women at one side of the room, and a old woman smoking at the other side near a cash register. I asked how much for a haircuit.
"Twenty," the taller young woman said.
At this I got angry. There's a sign on the door that clearly says a haircut is Y10. I'm insulted that the women a) quoted me a higher price because I'm a foreigner and b) assumed that I couldn't read Chinese even though I asked them how much in Chinese. Whatever. I no sooner started to walk out then they both said "Ten!" in unison.
I was directed to the washing station, where I received a brief head massage and hair rinse. Then the women wrapped a towel around my head and went toward the cashier.
"Jian. Jian. Qing lai ba!" They spoken into a walkie-talkie filled with static. They repeated the same lines several times, until several minutes later, Jian appeared. He brought with him a small pencil case, which contained the tools of his craft: two combs and three pairs of scissors.
Since my last Chinese haircut, I've learned the word for haircut, and not much else. I could only tell Jian, "not too short," and let him loose. He started to cut my hair very slowly, pausing before each slice of the scissors.
In contrast, his questions came rapid fire.
How long have I been China? Where did I come from? Why did I want to study Mandarian? Have I been to Xi'an? How about Shanghai?
He responded in kind. Jian is from Baotou, in Inner Mongolia. He's Mongolian by descent, although he doesn't speak the language. His father speaks it, but he can only understand a little. He came to Beijing a few years ago, because there are more job opportunities here. He likes haircutting so much, it's his only hobby.
Jian's questions got harder, stretching my limited vocbulary. What did I think about Mongolia? What are the best places there? Why don't many Americans come to China?
I struggled with the answers, twisting my Chinese words until Jian at one point said, "I don't understand."
At this I laughed. "I don't either," I said.
Right after this, the two women put "As Long As You Love Me," by the Backstreet Boys on the stereo. The reasons for this wasn't immediately clear, but to be polite, I said, "Nice sound!"
"How do you say this in Chinese?" they said in reply.
I was confused. Then they brought over a piece of paper with the words AS LONG AS YOU LOVE ME written down in neat English script. I understood. They wanted the Chinese equivalent of the words. I had no idea. I suggested 时间我爱你 - "The Time That You Love Me." It's terrible but they seemed satisfied, and put the song on repeat.
And then it was time for another haircut to end. This one took only an hour, but I got a chance to practice my Chinese, bargining skills and even met a couple nice women to boot. Not bad for Y10.
