Hair cuts and Underground Ping Pong.
I got the absolute best haircut of my life today! If you are feeling a little shaggy, I highly recommend getting on a plane and coming here. The price of the ticket may be expensive, but it’ll be worth it (the haircut costs only $4).
This is how it worked: I walked in the door and was immediately put into a comfy chair. From there, a nice little lady began lathering up my scruffy mop. (No need to speak Chinese, a smile is all you need) She then worked my hair with her delicate hands until it was nice and soapy. It was then time for the most amazing head massage of my life…pure heaven for 45 minutes. I was in a trance and almost fell asleep to the techno Christmas Carols playing in the background.
Then she rinsed my hair and began a shoulder and hand massage, another 15 minutes of pure heaven. I almost forgot that I was there to get a haircut when a young guy came over and took over the project. He must have been the haircut guru, she was the massage specialist.
He cut my hair with such precision you’d think that he was carving an intricate sculpture. He could have given Edward Scissor hands a few tips. The whole haircutting process was like being in a Five Star Spa, but it was just an ordinary salon on a busy street on the outskirts of Beijing. They put Fantastic Sams to shame!
Ping Pong is big here, no, it’s Huge! Cousin Harry took us to an underground Ping Pong fight club this afternoon. It was dark, dingy and smelled like a locker room. The huge warehouse looking area was filled with about 50 shiny green tables. And every table was manned (or womaned) by enthusiastic Ping Pongers. There were old men in dingy white tank tops, kids, athletic guys in track suits, fat guys and everything in between, it was quite the scene.
Most of the players looked as though they could have been on the Olympic ‘B’ team. They smacked the little balls back and forth so fast and with such precision that it made me dizzy.
While there I met Peter, a super friendly 13 year old boy who was very eager to practice English. “You are American?” He asked in a shy, high pitched voice. We chatted for a bit, or maybe ‘chat’ is the wrong verb, we slowly conversed using hand gestures, smiles and nervous laughter. He then told me that he comes here every day to practice. ‘Someday you play in the Olympics?” I asked. He smiled and nodded, but it was the the kind of nod that tells me he didn’t understand the question, oh well. Finally he taught me the word for ‘friend’ (peng you) “I am happy that we friends now,” he said with a cute smile.” I’m happy too Peter.
Everyone has been overly friendly here, it reminds me why I fell in love with this country on my first trip to China eight years ago. Their government may be questionable, but just as I don’t like to be judged by my government, I don’t think they do either.
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