The Smallest Travel Detours Can Often Resonate the Deepest
One of my favorite memories during my past year of travel was stopping in a tiny village in Laos for a haircut. Yep, you heard that right. I’m not trying to compare a visit to the village barbershop to full-moon partying with a gorgeous Irish woman on a beach in Cambodia or hiking the magnificent trails of Patagonia, but I do believe the smallest travel detours can often resonate the deepest and leave behind everlasting memories.
The Village Barbershop
I was returning from the beautiful Kuang Si Waterfalls when, in the middle of the Laos countryside, one hour from Luang Prabang, the nearest Laos city, I noticed a small cinder-block building and I pumped hard on my hand breaks. It was destiny, I needed a Christmas haircut. I dismounted, wheeled my motorbike to the edge of the pothole-ridden road, and nervously ambled across the street, unsure of what I was getting myself into. The barber was engrossed, fastidiously focused on his current client: a little boy sitting upon the sole red barbershop chair that occupied the center of his shop.
My Southeast Asia travel mate, Britton, and I, quietly entered the shop and took our seats on the lone wooden bench situated at the back of the room. I scanned the tiny shop to see what we were working with. Cement floor, three cinderblock walls, an open-air window, a backdoor, sliding bi-fold front doors, and a single hanging fluorescent tube bulb. Electricity but no running water, was I out of my mind?
Electricity but no running water, was I out of my mind?
Fish in Exchange for a Haircut?
We waited patiently for the barber to finish up the little boy’s haircut. While seated in his elevated throne, the boy stared us down, his little black eyes demanding we explain our presence. On the contrary, the barber appeared to take no notice of the two white guys sitting in the back of his shop. Was it okay that we had entered without his permission? Were we breaching cultural protocol?
Eventually, the boy’s haircut was complete, and his Dad, as if having just received a text notification, promptly swung by to collect his mini clone. The boy’s father didn’t hand over any kips (Laos currency). I romanticized the event, convinced the father had already traded some fish or other necessary commodity in exchange for the barber’s services.
Would You Like a Cristiano Rinaldo Haircut? No? Too bad!
The barber gestured that it was my turn to take the hot-seat; I flashed a warm smile, and headed over to the worn-down chair. The chair looked as if it had experienced at least three generations of haircuts. The barber pointed to the wall of sun-faded paper printouts modeling different hair styles.
To me, all the photos exhibited the same Cristiano Rinaldo cut, super short on the sides, abruptly long on top. Apparently “blending” isn’t trendy in Laos these days. I pulled out Google Translate, typed in a few words, and turned the phone’s interface in the barbers direction. He gazed past the screen, refusing to try to make sense of the words on its display. Did he know how to read?
After a momentary stalemate, I gave in and selected one of the print-outs pinned to the wall. Throughout the haircut I made a few gestures to the barber to demonstrate what I was looking for. Meanwhile, Britton, acting the part of a good friend, supported me with much-needed thumbs-up signals and nods.
The First White People to Ever Enter this Laos Barbershop
As the hair started to pile up around my feet, I heard giggling and sensed we had company. Two little heads had appeared over the ledge of the back window. I looked up to the barber and he smiled proudly, a clear indication the little spies were his daughters. From the way his children were staring, I suddenly became aware that it was likely that we were the first white tourists to ever set foot in their father’s shop. The idea that this was an untouched place, a fresh experience, unsullied by prior travelers, made my travel spirit soar.
The idea that this was an untouched place, a fresh experience, unsullied by prior travelers, made my travel spirit soar.
I Never Should Have Doubted My Laotian Barber
I never should have doubted my Laotian barber’s skill or ability to correctly ascertain the meaning of my “blending” hand-gestures; the cut was exactly what I was looking for. Good thing, because I certainly cannot pull off a Cristiano cut! Next, the barber inquired if I wanted a shave. Riding a travel high, I consented at once, suddenly confident that this was the perfect place for my first straight razor shave. After my shave, the barber seamlessly transitioned into providing me a slightly awkward but semi-pleasant 10 minute shoulder massage. It took all my effort to contain my laughter when I looked back and saw Britton’s teasing grin. Before my barber could offer me another spa treatment, I whipped out my wallet, opened my left palm, and gave a collapsed shrug with my left shoulder, the universal signal for “how much?” He shuffled around in his pocket and pulled out 50,000 kip. Was he for real… 5.50 USD for this priceless experience!?
After witnessing my success, Britton decided he could trust the barber, and sat down for his own trim. When the barber finished his work, Britton also demonstrated that he was happy with his cut. We expressed many thanks, “Khop jai lai lai!” (Thank you very much!), a very fun Laos expression, and waved farewell.
Stop! Take the Travel Detour!
We exited the shop, crossed the street, and looked back; illuminated by his shop’s single bulb, our barber was sweeping scattered clusters of dark hairs into one large pile, while his two daughters, happy to be in his presence, were laughing and playing nearby. Britton and I nodded and congratulated one another on our fresh cuts. I was quick to realize that it wasn’t the haircuts that made us suddenly want to shout from the mountaintops. The joy of travel had bubbled up from within and was bursting forth. This excitement was born from the acknowledgement that we had stopped and experienced this raw, bizarre, and unique travel adventure, rather than racing straight past this small Laos village.
This excitement was born from the acknowledgement that we had stopped and experienced this raw, bizarre, and unique travel adventure, rather than racing straight past this small Laos village.
That evening, on my motorbike, as I jounced along the twisting uneven roads through Laos’ quiet pitch-black countryside, back to Luang Prabang, I couldn’t have been a happier traveler.
