Eternal Spring in Guatemala 2007

Le Haircut

Risk taking is all a part of life when you love to travel as much as I do. Sometimes I have done things that in hindsight maybe I should have thought of more carefully… like the time I packed and sold all my things, and moved to a different country without a plan. Or the time I took off to go backpacking around Europe for a month without letting anyone know. But those have also been the times when I’ve been rewarded most generously and when the lessons I’ve learned have proven worthwhile. This week, I took another one of those risks. I went to get a haircut without so much as knowing how to say “cut” in French. For the past 3 weeks, I’ve been waiting on my friend Stephanie to take me to her hairdresser so that she could translate my specific demands in clear French. Her intentions to hold my hand during this most delicate operation were good. But in reality, Stephanie is our CEO’s assistant, so she is lucky to have time to drink a glass of water during lunch time, and works until late hours every day. Then last week, she left me and my mop-top in the dust as she rode off on her annual three week holiday. So, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Armed with a dictionary, a picture of my desired cut and a rosary for luck, I headed off to the nearest salon. It looked just like any professional salon at home, so I just closed my eyes and dove in. Of course no one spoke English. Nor Spanish, nor Japanese, Italian, Portuguese nor anything that sounded like anything I might understand. Just French. Again, I managed to cause one of those commotions that caused all activity to come to a halt. How I always do this is beyond me. Clients were left behind with color dripping down their foreheads and combs stuck in their hair, as the entire crew of the salon came to my aid. I felt so special, yet absolutely embarrassed at the same time. Finally, one of them managed to scrape up enough English to communicate with me, but it scared me beyond my wits because he kept using the words “cut” and “shave” interchangeably. I finally ended up in the hands of a very stylish woman who wore lots of makeup. Nora (that was her name) asked to look at the picture I brought. When I showed it to her, I was at a complete loss for words to explain my wishes in detail. While searching through my brain, I apparently made that one face that transcends any language and immediately translates into the universal gesture that ALL women in the world understand as meaning: “I want this hair cut EXACTLY. But not this short, and longer on the sides, and don’t make it spiky, but do make it a little funky, and I don’t like my forehead so don’t cut my bangs too short but make sure they’re out of my eyes and please don’t use clippers, just scissors, and I’m going back to work so I need you to dry it, and show me slowly so I can do this at home.”At this gesture of mine, she smiled widely saying “d’accord!!” (OK!!) and clapped her hands together as if to summon her scissors and comb to thier respective posts. This woman was a magician. Her fast-working hands reminded me of that scene in Cinderella where the mice and the birds get together to make the ball-gown, remember that? Sparks flew and all I heard were clicks and whistles and in 10 minutes, no make that 9 minutes, she had transformed my hair completely! In that short time, she did more than my regular hairdresser at home does and possibly a little better. She knew she was doing good work because I couldn’t stop smiling as she cut more here, and styled a little there. In the end, she dried it, styled it and with a loud “voila!”, her creation was complete. I was left speechless… and very, very happy. I walked away from the salon as many of the stylists lined up around the register to review the cut, throw out some compliments and wave good bye as they said “a bientot!” (see you soon!). I couldn’t believe it. The whole experience lasted maybe 25 minutes, but it was one of the most fun things I’ve done since coming to France. I stepped into the community a little deeper and in the process discovered a new simple pleasure in life. So take a chance this week, and do something crazy! :D It might just pay off in a nice way.Kiss-kiss from Marseille,Elisa

Arrival in Marseille

I find myself wanting to tell each and every one of you the same great stories about what an awesome town Marseille is, so please forgive me for committing the ultimate e-sin: sending out a mass email.

That said, life here in Marseille has been great. I can’t believe it’s been almost a month since I’ve been away from the US! The temperature finally started to go up about 2 weeks ago and I was finally able to stop wearing the same, and only, 2 sweaters I brought from home (Fabreeze is a European traveler’s best friend). But now it is 85 degrees every day and I haven’t seen a cloud in the sky in days. For those of you who have never been to these parts, Marseille is an ancient port town which is surrounded by HUGE white cliffs and mountains and sits along the Mediterranean. The water is a mix between turquoise, deep blue and green and you can just imagine all the rest of the beautiful colors around the city. They say that the French language in this area has a great accent but, since I am still speaking at a Kindergarten level (or less), I have yet to pick up on it. From what I had heard, I thought Marseille was going to be a busy, international commerce type of port town. But to my surprise, the port is quite empty. When I asked some people in the office about it, they said “oooh, that’s because of the strike”, and I understood immediately. But then I asked how long it had been going on… answer? About 20 years. I gotta be honest, before coming to Marseille, I heard several mixed reviews about the place. Basically some people just love it and some others are afraid of it. But as my trusty guide book says, “Marseille flips the bird at the rest of the Riviera and doesn’t care what people say”, and that is the absolute truth. If you don’t stay here for more than a day you miss all the really good stuff. The old town center and port has its scary elements, like in any other city in the world. But as you go out into the beaches, the restaurant & shopping districts, and the suburbs it turns into a city filled with beauty. Let’s face it, it’s no Paris, but it certainly is a great town that grows on you… The surrounding small towns are a whole ‘nother story. Those are just dreamy to say the least. The views of the hills (from the beach) are full of stucco villas, cobble stoned streets and multicolor gardens along with the same white cliffs and mountains I mentioned before. This place would be a rock climbers dream, but curiously enough, I have not seen a single one. I’ll have to ask what the deal is. Anyway enough about that. Basically, I am in France to work, but I have quickly made some new friends at the office who have kept me entertained during my time away from the grind. Most of the girls at work are around my age so when I go out with them, they bring their other friends and so on and we always have a great time. They are determined to send me home speaking fluent French, so they torture me by making me leave my dictionary at home when we go out! In their company I’ve gotten to see many of the hot spots of night life in Marseille as well as the best shopping spots in town. Unfortunately, since I am still technically a broke student, I will stick to window shopping, or “window licking” as they call it in French. Riding the bus to work everyday is quite an experience. One of the two buses I have to take to come into town picks up about 30 little old ladies along the way. They are all headed to market with their shopping baskets at around 8:30 in the morning. So every single day, it is these ladies and me on the bus. On the first few days they glared at me as if I were hiding my cruel intentions behind my American sunglasses and carrying a weapon in my black hand bag. They undoubtedly talked amongst themselves wondering what I was up to on “their” public bus. But they have finally started to warm up to the idea that I may not be evil. I now say Bon jour! to them in my ever so obvious foreign accent. Some are still skeptical though, I just know it. So that is just a short intro to my life here in France. More to come soon. I do want to hear back from you guys so don’t stay away for long! You know where to reach me… Oh, and yes, the World Cup! After the miserable time that the French team had in Japan and Korea, McDonalds in France stopped admitting that they are a “proud sponsor” and the many huge posters of the team that adorn the city have been plastered with spray paint and a variety of vegetables. The press here is pretty harsh and they certainly don’t worry about diplomacy! Short of personally insulting the team members, reports have made it extremely clear how disappointed the entire country is with them. So in the meantime… go USA team and I will talk to you guys soon!!! Hugs and 2 kisses, Elisa