Sylvia's Journal

We are in Glasgow now. We took the slow train by mistake. The trip took 45  minutes longer than the express but it turned out to be a good thing, as sometimes happens with mistakes, because several thing happened that would not have happened otherwise (synchronicity I guess). One: we had a delightful chat with the conductress who had little to do since few people got on in Edinburgh and those that did, got off in small villages along the route. Two: we had a table and four seats to ourselves for the whole trip – which took place during the morning rush hour.  

Three: upon arrival at the impressive Glasgow central station, we had a chance encounter with a foodie guide who pointed us to the best coffee place in Glasgow. Four: we arrived at the hotel before normal check out time, yet there was already a room ready for us to move in when we had expected to just store our backpacks. This meant that Axel could take a nap while I went out to find a hairdresser to cut away some of my locks which were getting too heavy and too wingy.

We had passed by several hair salons on our way to the hotel and I picked one I could look into and that appeared quiet enough to take a walk-in. The sticker price was a little high but when the maestro himself checked out my head and hair and said he could cut it in such a way that it would last for 2 months, the price became very reasonable. 

All along the walls were pictures of the maestro himself with various famous people, including Bill Clinton (though he confessed he had not actually cut his hair). He set to work on my hair as if a painter in front of a blank canvass. We chatted about white/grey hairs and the wisdom of grey hairs – though he said he had encountered many grey-haired people who were not wise at all. His own hair was totally white, but it turned out to be dyed because his grey/white hairs were not thick like mine and had become transparent. Although he was nearing retirement age he said he loved his work and would not stop until he couldn’t work anymore. He said his haircut was going to make me look younger, and was that OK?

When he was done with his artistry (an artist he was indeed), he gave me a kiss on the cheek and his wife took my 65 pounds. Upon leaving the hair salon, with a bounce in my step because I was so much lighter, the sun came out and shone on my new coiffure. Seeing sun in Glasgow is, we were told, a very unusual thing.