Ever since Bree and I began the planning stages for this trip last fall, we began coming up with things we wanted to do while in the various countries. On my bucket list was to get my hair cut by an Italian barber. Not just a guy who cuts hair, but a true barber (not sure what the difference is, but I figured I would know it when I saw it). In preparation for the barber, I timed my haircuts such that I would need one around this time in Italy and sure enough, my hair has been getting pretty long.
Upon finishing at the museum, we retraced our steps and quickly found the barber shop that we spotted this morning on one of the narrow streets off of the beaten path in Florence – Parrucchiere Per Uomo. The barber, an older gentleman with large glasses, a white coat, and who spoke pretty much no English invited us in as we attempted to communicate how I wanted my hair cut. Pretty much all we got across was “short”. Good enough.
The barber’s scissors started flying. It was not like the careful deliberate style that I have found at the cheap haircut places in the States. His scissors snipped quickly and energetically as he pulled up pieces of hair that just seemed to fall off. It is amazing the kind of skill he had with the speed at which he was snipping. I have never seen anything like it.
After the snipping, the haircut concluded with a straight edge razor to clean up any lines, brushing some sort of powder all over my neck where the straight edge was run, and finally making sure all of the pieces are in place. We happily paid him the 15 euros for the haircut (which, by the way, isn’t much more than a haircut in the states once you factor in a tip) as he shook both Bree and my hands with a big smile on his face. As I walked out of the shop I felt like a new man.
Awesomest day ever!