Same same but not
November 6, 2010
“You like Scorpion?”
“I don't know. What's Scorpion?”
Jean and I motored back into Pakse a few days ago and checked back in at our old haunt, the Lankham. We even got our old room, number 444. Since then we've been doing internet/computer stuff: looking for jobs, uploading pictures, blog writing and Facebook stalking. This morning I had a few errands to run. On my way back from the post office I noticed a salon. My last haircut had been in Sri Lanka a couple of months ago and I was getting pretty shaggy.
I sauntered across the street and was directed by a plump, elderly woman to take a seat on a plastic chair outside the shop on the sidewalk. The salon was the size of a single car garage and consisted of two barber's chairs, a table and a shelving unit with a disproportionately large stereo system.
A teenage girl was lounging across one of the chairs. The other was occupied by a young girl getting her hair cut. The hairdresser was a young Lao woman. The heavy powder applied to her face gave her the appearance of a porcelain doll. A lanky, teenage boy shuffled around sweeping up hair and jumping whenever the elderly lady barked an order. The elderly lady was manning a plastic case out front filled with some non-appetizing delectables and a fridge stocked with Beer Lao and Coca Cola. I set to work updating my journal while I waited.
Ten minutes later the girl getting her hair cut got up and I took her place in the barber's chair. The hairdresser swept a heavy shroud over me and fastened it around my neck. It was mid morning and already very warm. I noted there was no fan and hoped this would be quick. I communicated to the young woman that I wanted a trim on top and the sides cleaned up. She went to work with a pair of scissors and struck up a conversation.
“Where are you from?”
“America”
“Oh, I like America”
“That's good. Sometimes I like it.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I'm married. I have a wife. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No I have no boyfriend.”
“Why not?”
“I not beautiful.”
“What are you talking about? You're very beautiful.”
“Boys no like me.”
“That's crazy. I'm sure there are loads of nice Lao guys who like you.”
“I no like Lao boys. I like falang*.”
Ah! There's the crux of the problem. At this point the scissors came apart in her hands. The hairdresser shouted at the teenage boy and together they dropped to their hands and knees started searching the floor. After a minute she came up with the pivot bolt that held the scissors together. Inserting the pivot she went back to cutting my hair. After a few snips she reengaged me in conversation.
“I, my English no good.”
“I think your English is very good. Did you learn it in school?”
She looked confused, “I no in school. I work in salon.”
“Where did you learn English?”
“I learn in school.”
“I see.”
“Do you like Beer Lao?”
“Yes, it's very good. I like it.”
“I like it too. You and I same same. What you do tonight?”
“I'm probably going to dinner with my wife.”
“You drink Beer Lao tonight?”
“Yes, I probably will.”
“You want you and me drink Beer Lao tonight.”
“I don't think my wife would like that very much.”
The pivot fell out of the scissors again and she called over the boy again to help look for it. They found it and she continued.
“You like Scorpion?”
“I don't know. What's Scorpion?”
“You not know? It very famous American song. You want listen?”
“Sure?”
She yelled something in Lao to the teenage boy. He jumped to attention and hustled over to the disproportionately large stereo system on the shelf. Again I'll mention the lack of fan presence. The room was already uncomfortably warm and I was covered with a heavy cloth. My back was soaked and I felt numerous beads of sweat converging on my hair line ready to plummet down.
When the deluge came the hairdresser laughed. “You rain.”
“Yes, it's hot in here.” Noticing she was wearing a sweater and corrected my statement. “Well, I think it's hot in here.”
She snapped at the boy who was still fiddling with the stereo. After several negative retorts he hit on the desired song. Almost immediately I recognized the tune and tried to sing along.
“Donkey Kong and Gorky... Listening to the winds of change...”
I had know idea what the words were and never knew what the song's name until I did a little internet research later. Winds of Change by the Scorpions. Check it out on YouTube. Turn it up really loud and light sparklers if you have them.
The hairdresser smiled gleefully as I feigned knowledge of the song's lyrics and yelled at the teenage boy. He slouched over and turned the volume up to the maximum. It was a welcome relief as it made it impossible to continue our awkward conversation. I continued to sing along desperately hoping she'd finish before it ended. The pivot popped out of the scissors sending her back to the floor.
She recovered it just as the song terminated, “You like? You like?”
“Yes, it's a very good song.”
“I like too. You and I same, same.”
After a few more minutes she finished and removed the shroud. My shirt was completely drenched. The hairdresser inquired again if I wanted meet up with her this evening.
“I'm sorry. No, I don't think my wife would like that.” I showed her my wedding ring.
She extended her pale, delicate hand and pointed to her ring finger. “I no have. No same, same.”
I agreed, “No same, same.” With that I paid for the haircut and made a hasty retreat.
* Falang is the Lao word for a foreigner and usually applies to the westerner variety
“You like Scorpion?”
“I don't know. What's Scorpion?”
Jean and I motored back into Pakse a few days ago and checked back in at our old haunt, the Lankham. We even got our old room, number 444. Since then we've been doing internet/computer stuff: looking for jobs, uploading pictures, blog writing and Facebook stalking. This morning I had a few errands to run. On my way back from the post office I noticed a salon. My last haircut had been in Sri Lanka a couple of months ago and I was getting pretty shaggy.
I sauntered across the street and was directed by a plump, elderly woman to take a seat on a plastic chair outside the shop on the sidewalk. The salon was the size of a single car garage and consisted of two barber's chairs, a table and a shelving unit with a disproportionately large stereo system.
A teenage girl was lounging across one of the chairs. The other was occupied by a young girl getting her hair cut. The hairdresser was a young Lao woman. The heavy powder applied to her face gave her the appearance of a porcelain doll. A lanky, teenage boy shuffled around sweeping up hair and jumping whenever the elderly lady barked an order. The elderly lady was manning a plastic case out front filled with some non-appetizing delectables and a fridge stocked with Beer Lao and Coca Cola. I set to work updating my journal while I waited.
Ten minutes later the girl getting her hair cut got up and I took her place in the barber's chair. The hairdresser swept a heavy shroud over me and fastened it around my neck. It was mid morning and already very warm. I noted there was no fan and hoped this would be quick. I communicated to the young woman that I wanted a trim on top and the sides cleaned up. She went to work with a pair of scissors and struck up a conversation.
“Where are you from?”
“America”
“Oh, I like America”
“That's good. Sometimes I like it.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I'm married. I have a wife. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No I have no boyfriend.”
“Why not?”
“I not beautiful.”
“What are you talking about? You're very beautiful.”
“Boys no like me.”
“That's crazy. I'm sure there are loads of nice Lao guys who like you.”
“I no like Lao boys. I like falang*.”
Ah! There's the crux of the problem. At this point the scissors came apart in her hands. The hairdresser shouted at the teenage boy and together they dropped to their hands and knees started searching the floor. After a minute she came up with the pivot bolt that held the scissors together. Inserting the pivot she went back to cutting my hair. After a few snips she reengaged me in conversation.
“I, my English no good.”
“I think your English is very good. Did you learn it in school?”
She looked confused, “I no in school. I work in salon.”
“Where did you learn English?”
“I learn in school.”
“I see.”
“Do you like Beer Lao?”
“Yes, it's very good. I like it.”
“I like it too. You and I same same. What you do tonight?”
“I'm probably going to dinner with my wife.”
“You drink Beer Lao tonight?”
“Yes, I probably will.”
“You want you and me drink Beer Lao tonight.”
“I don't think my wife would like that very much.”
The pivot fell out of the scissors again and she called over the boy again to help look for it. They found it and she continued.
“You like Scorpion?”
“I don't know. What's Scorpion?”
“You not know? It very famous American song. You want listen?”
“Sure?”
She yelled something in Lao to the teenage boy. He jumped to attention and hustled over to the disproportionately large stereo system on the shelf. Again I'll mention the lack of fan presence. The room was already uncomfortably warm and I was covered with a heavy cloth. My back was soaked and I felt numerous beads of sweat converging on my hair line ready to plummet down.
When the deluge came the hairdresser laughed. “You rain.”
“Yes, it's hot in here.” Noticing she was wearing a sweater and corrected my statement. “Well, I think it's hot in here.”
She snapped at the boy who was still fiddling with the stereo. After several negative retorts he hit on the desired song. Almost immediately I recognized the tune and tried to sing along.
“Donkey Kong and Gorky... Listening to the winds of change...”
I had know idea what the words were and never knew what the song's name until I did a little internet research later. Winds of Change by the Scorpions. Check it out on YouTube. Turn it up really loud and light sparklers if you have them.
The hairdresser smiled gleefully as I feigned knowledge of the song's lyrics and yelled at the teenage boy. He slouched over and turned the volume up to the maximum. It was a welcome relief as it made it impossible to continue our awkward conversation. I continued to sing along desperately hoping she'd finish before it ended. The pivot popped out of the scissors sending her back to the floor.
She recovered it just as the song terminated, “You like? You like?”
“Yes, it's a very good song.”
“I like too. You and I same, same.”
After a few more minutes she finished and removed the shroud. My shirt was completely drenched. The hairdresser inquired again if I wanted meet up with her this evening.
“I'm sorry. No, I don't think my wife would like that.” I showed her my wedding ring.
She extended her pale, delicate hand and pointed to her ring finger. “I no have. No same, same.”
I agreed, “No same, same.” With that I paid for the haircut and made a hasty retreat.
* Falang is the Lao word for a foreigner and usually applies to the westerner variety
Comments
Hope you are not spending too much or your Christmas day writing up your blog!