At the hairdresser in Nontron

Today in Nontron I had my hair done. When I made the appointment earlier in the week I was with Amelia, and I didn’t find the lady very friendly, so was a bit apprehensive at returning by myself. Also, when flustered I tend to get my words muddled, plus the word for hair (chevaux) is very similar to the word for horses (chevals) so I had visions of confusing people when asking for green horses…….

I was tempted to wake Amelia to accompany me, but decided to get over it and go alone.

There were 3 ladies waiting for me – the owner, a junior, and an in-between. They all seemed very keen to communicate, one big worry off my mind. Between them they had maybe 3 words of English, and thus began my challenge.

Colour was easy enough to explain – basically ‘je ne l’aime pas le gris’ (I don’t like the grey). The type of cut was a bit trickier, and involved lots of puzzled hesitations on all our parts. Eventually I was offered pictures in a magazine (‘vous regardez, oui?’) and with much hilarity we managed to come to some sort of agreement to all parties that I really had little idea of. Never mind, if the worst came to the worst, I decided I could wear a hat for the remainder of the holiday.

And so it began. The senior lady applied some colour over my grey – not foils as I am used to, but what looked like a type of cartridge paper. Then the intermediate lady applied colour to the remainder of my hair – I hadn’t realised I was getting that, and wondered what colour it was.

Time to sit with a wonderful cup of coffee and a magazine, and eavesdrop on conversations with other clients to practise my French.

Examination of the colouring process took much consultation between the 3 ladies, with hand gestures and dramatic vocab, and I wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad sign. On removing the foils my head seemed to me to be distinctly orange. However I was moved over to the basin, and the next step was an experience in itself. I lay back in the chair, which was then lowered at the back and raised at the feet. It was switched on, and began a full body massage from my calves right up to my shoulders – bliss! Above my head was an oval contraption going from one shoulder to the other (kind of like a mini MRI), and this emitted both soft lights and classical music. During this my hair was washed, toned, conditioned, my head was massaged – it could have been shaved for all I would have known, lulled into stress free nirvana in my little cocoon.

I came back to earth when requested by sign language to move back to the chair in front of the mirror. Nearly keeled over when I stood up, and the ladies watched anxiously as I grabbed the bench to steady myself. I was quite unable to explain dizziness, vertigo or inner ear problems, so goodness knows what they thought – could they think I was drunk at 10am?

So, the serious job of cutting began, during which we attempted to converse. I had practiced for this, and explained I had 6 children, where they lived and what they did. C’est bon! In turn, she explained the local politics and the upcoming mayoral elections, and how lazy one of the candidates is for the money he is paid. This was tied up with how she used to work in Paris where there was an employee whose only job was to sweep the floor – I couldn’t quite see the connection, but agreed enthusiastically, mais oui, bien sur!

I was slightly concerned at the one handed cutting technique but reassured myself that she must know what she was doing if she had worked in Paris. Faulty logic of course, as maybe she had been fired, and so the mind games continued.

Eventually she stopped cutting, drying, straightening and razoring, and I took a good look. Hmmmm, no orange in sight, and a very stylish look.

Je l’aime, merci beaucoup. Phew, no hat required!

A la Francais