My Hilarious Haircut -- El Nido, The Philippines

I'm starting this post from the restaurant of Discovery Island Resort and Dive Center, somewhere off the coast of Coron Island, the Philippines. An enormous paper pineapple blows in the breeze above me, bamboo wind chimes clash against each other to my left, and the wind gently rustles petals of fake yellow flowers in a jar on the table. I'm taking a wee break from writing a play about being lost (something I have no shortage of experience in) to renew my effort to catch up here.

Andrej and I are both quite pleased to be in Coron and out of our cell-like, malodorous room in El Nido.

We spent our last afternoon in El Nido at Art Cafe, cursing the terrible (but best available) Wifi, getting me a haircut, ziplining from one island to another (as one does), and watching the sunset whilst drinking mango daiquiris on Las Cabanas beach.

I've spent the last few months hankering for a haircut. The last time my neglected locks had been hacked back was January of 2016.

Which is rather a long time ago.

Not only has my hair become unwieldy in its length (for me, anyway), it's developed the nastiest, coarsest split ends (also known as hobo hair).

So when I chanced upon a salon in El Nido, I pounced on the opportunity to finally cut off my cumbersome, manky locks.

"How much is it for a haircut?" I asked, entering the tiny salon with three stations, three hairdressers, and a fellow peacefully slumbering behind the desk.

"For man?" one of the hairdressers looked hopefully at Andrej. Whose hair was much more manageable than mine.

"No, for me," I apologetically burst the poor lady's easy haircut happy bubble.

"100 pesos," she groaned, then ushered me into a chair to be shorn.

Even in my meager salon experience, I've developed certain expectations.

a) my hair will be washed and conditioned before it is removed from my head.

b) my hair will be de-tangled slowly and gently via brushes or wide-tooth combs

c) my hair will be styled to look at least reminiscent of the picture I showed the hairdresser.

d) While the hairdresser is futzing with my hair, he or she will not take a break ten minutes through to watch the climactic scene of a horrible soap opera playing on a grainy TV hanging in the corner of the room.

Alas, none of these expectations were met. The hairdresser neglected to wash or dry my clumpy mass of salty, sandy brown hair. She also couldn't be bothered to untangle the monstrous nest. Instead, she ferociously attacked my formidable snarls with a vengeful comb, and when she encountered a tangle, she simply cut it off.

Snip, Snip, snip.

My hair fell to the floor in sandy heaps.

If I cared much about my appearance, I'd be horrified by all this. Also, if I had a very sensitive scalp, this would be a rather unpleasant ordeal. As is... bahaha.... this is just... hehe... freaking hilarious. 

Ten minutes into the massacre of my follicles, the hairdresser took a brief moment of respite from her strenuous work on my scalp. To catch the exciting bit of the soap opera she'd been watching before I'd interrupted her lazy afternoon with my disastrous hair.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths to keep from erupting into laughter. I knew that if I started to chuckle, I'd never stop. And giggle fits + absent-minded hairdressers do not, good haircuts/un-maimed faces make.

She snipped away for another two or three minutes, then abruptly said, "Finished, mum."

"Okay," I smiled, unfazed by the brevity of the haircut, and went to pay the dozing chap behind the desk.

This is the result of my massacre.

I am very skeptical. Also, selfies are the worst.

Andrej and I ziplined from one island to another, then spent the evening lazing about on Las Cabanas beach.

This photo is NOT taken to exhibit my... errr. powerful legs. It is taken to celebrate THREE years of leg hair. Woohoo!

We returned to Sea Jane's for dinner our last night in El Nido. Andrej ordered a unicorn fish, which had sat well with him the night before.

However, it did not sit well with him the second time around. My poor friend spent the entire night in and out of the toilet.

And we have an eight hour boat ride tomorrow. Jesus Christ. What a bummer. 


Thankfully, we survived our eight hour boat ride and are now happily sipping drinks in Discovery Island Resort and Dive Center.  

Andrej and I now feel a bit of prejudiced when it comes to choosing restaurants. For instance, we're eating dinner tonight at a place called Winnie's, which is run by a Swiss couple. And I feel more hopeful that my fish will not result in a day of violent diarrhea because I know that it will be prepared by a Swiss couple. 

"Does that make me a horrible person?" I asked Andrej. 

"No, but it does make you prejudiced. Based on experience." 

Well... I'm officially prejudiced, then. Guess that's what several days of diarrhea can do to a person.