Since nothing much was happening this past weekend, I decided to head out Saturday morning to a barbershop that I had passed a number of times on an old colonial street named Calle Jean. The street is so narrow that it would be easy to miss if you didn't know it was there. From the main road, one enters Calle Jean from under an archway that effectively disguises the street as being a building front. Although the cobblestoned street is just over 100 meters long, it is home to five museums, including the former house of Pedro Domingo Murillo, the man who first claimed Bolivian autonomy from Spain in 1809 (unfortunately he was hung a year later and never lived to actually witness Bolivia's independence in 1825).
"The Green Cross
Tradition has it that in colonial times Calle Jean was the site of scary appearances by supernatural beings and phenomena (ghosts, goblins, grieving souls and noises made by horses dragging chains along the ground). The most curious presence was that of a convicted widow who would seduce all of the drunken men who came to the street late at night and take them on a mysterious adventure. So, the residents of the street, from strong Catholic faiths, decided to put up a green cross to scare away the evil creatures."
I wasn´t standing outside the barbershop for more than five seconds, wondering whether I should go in, before the barber jumped outside and invited me in. Upon entering the shop I was handed some vintage erotica comics to pass my time before it was my turn in the seat. When it sat down, the barber used what could only be described as an antique flamethrower to clean the manual hair clippers. All in all, it was a new and very pleasant experience for me. It´s just too bad my hair wouldn't agree.
When I left the barbershop, I thought to myself: Well, at least I can hide my hair (or lack thereof) with my hat. Unfortunately, the hat didn't help. For some reason the hat looked about three times bigger than my head without the hair as a transition between the two. I felt desperate; I even tried my hat on backwards. Although this alternative was a bit better, for some odd reason I felt like I looked a lot like Samuel L. Jackson. Since I already feel like I stand out here because of my appearance, I figured that resembling a famous Hollywood movie star would only amplify that sentiment. So, I decided to forget about the hat all together and just start with the healing process.
And I´m glad to say that it is going well. I received a nice comment from someone at the gym and I figure that this way I don't have to wash it as much, so things are looking up.
***Interesting Fact: La Paz is home to San Pedro prison, where the prisoner´s families actually live with them in the prison. Family members are free to come and go as they please, but they cannot generally afford a place in the city without the financial contributions of the husband/father. The prison is like a mini city, complete with markets, hotels and even a soccer league. Every section of the prison has a team and good players are even bought by wealthier teams. Inside the prison walls, there are not even guards; inmates set the rules. In the past, tourists could pay inmates to protect them while they took a tour of the prison. These tours have stopped now because prisoners were selling cocaine to tourists. Of the 1500 inmates, 80% are there for drug-related offenses but only 25% are actually servicing sentences. The remaining 75% are awaiting trial. ***
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