Getting a haircut

I can't really describe the myriad differences between my life here in Azerbaijan, and life in the U.S., but the simple process of getting a haircut  has some good examples.  Sunday afternoon, I decided I couldn't put off the inevitable haircut any longer. 

I put on a sweater and a fleece jacket over the t-shirt and silk long john top I already had on.  Then I put a coat on top of all of that.  I ventured into the yard, and checked the laundry I put out to dry yesterday.  It was wetter than when I hung it up, since it poured overnight.  I have yet to see a clothes dryer here.  

I walked through my neighborhood, and into the bazaar that was bustling with weekend shoppers.  Need a chicken for dinner?  You can buy a live DIY one, or a fresh or frozen one from one of the small stores that line the bazaar.  Or you could buy one from the guy who is selling presumably fresh ones out of the trunk of his car.  I guess refrigeration is not an issue when the temp is in the low 40's anyway.

I walked through the school yard, and headed for the salon.  On just about every corner there is a guy  with an ancient scale set up on the street, selling some sort of produce out of his car.  Apples, chestnuts, and walnuts seem to be what's most available now.

I notice some live chickens out in front of some building supply stores.  Then I notice the chickens are making themselves at home in the stores as well. Maybe you can get dinner along with your building materials.

After walking across town, I get to the salon, where I am greeted warmly despite the language gap.  I make a cutting motion on my hair and I am settled into a chair.  In an elaborate pantomime, it is determined how much I want my hair cut, and the stylist goes to work.   She doesn't seem to mind when I point out the cut is lopsided and fixes it right away.  I'm pleased, and the price is 4 manat.. about 5 dollars.  No tipping in Azerbaijan.

On the way home, I stop in the bazaar to buy some packing tape.  The shopkeeper says it costs a  manat.. but I know better..  so the bargaining starts for something as simple as a roll of packing tape. When your cash allowance is a little over 2 manat a day, every qepik counts.

Finally, my errands are done, and I trudge home in the cold, wondering about the prospects for lunch.   When  I walk into my house, I am greeted by my host mom, who  offers me  hot chicken soup, with mint sprinkled on it.  What could be better?