Friday, November 18, 2011

Change Is In The Air

I am getting ready to leave Greece.

As usual, when confronted with change of any sort, I am hyperventilating just a little, and when I wake up in the middle of the night to pee, I continue the thought that I fell asleep with.

11:45 PM: Oh my gosh I really need too....

2:30 AM: ...go to the bank machine so I have enough cash to pay the cab driver on Saturday. (After a suitable interval for peeing, excessive hand washing, and crawling back into bed) I really wish.....

5:00AM: .... they used plastic here. (After a suitable interval for yet more peeing, excessive hand washing, and hurling myself back into bed) I swear, at some point I am going to just ....

8:30 AM: ...lose 500 Euro somewhere, or throw it out by accident. I hate carrying around cash.

8:45 AM:(As I put on the kettle for Earl Grey) My gosh I have to stop drinking so much tea before bed.

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In some ways, I feel as if I am entering the real world again.

Well, the world in which I feel obliged to make some effort to look semi - human.

I have been to the pharmacy, and had the Korres rep help me pick out various things guaranteed to make me look less dead and more alive.

"This, you need this, very much, for these," patting a heavy concealer on my dark circles. "SO much better. Much, much, better."

After three months of randomly slapping on the minimum of both clothing and makeup, it is almost like being 12 again, with one's first bulging makeup bag.
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After scoping out the three hair salons in the village, and polling any village women who speak English, I decided on the Wella salon on the main street in Harakopio. The owner, I was told, spent 14 years in Germany, where she was trained in the tricky art of hair.

When I stopped by to make an appointment, the superb cleanliness, the marble floors, and the beautiful wood paneling impressed me, so I felt confident in my choice.

Do not let the fact that I rarely ever brush my hair mislead you - (truly, I didn't own a brush until about two years ago) I take hair cuts very seriously. My theory is, if you have a really good haircut, there is no need to do anything but occasionally shampoo and condition.

But that's up to you.

You have no idea what a hot mess was spewing out of the top of my head. It had turquoise streaks. It has also started to curl in weird ways. Most days it looked like I had stuck my finger in a socket and then dipped random chunks of hair in blueberry jello.

I walked into the salon a few minutes before my 9AM appointment - I was early: that is how excited I was - and she ushered into a chair, at which point the hairdresser pursed her lips.

"So...."

"I know. It's terrible."

"Hmm......"

"I want to keep the length, so just thin it out and color it so the turquoise goes away."

"Thin it out?"

"Mhmm. Because it's so thick."

"Ahhh. Right."

So, she set to work. Her assistant offered me my choice of coffees, brought a selection of magazines, and I started to ride blissfully away on a cloud of hair dye fumes, frappes, and the October Vogue.

But...when she started cutting, my heart sank.

Miss German hairdresser had no idea what she was doing.

She was doing dainty little point cuts, basically just ridding me of my split ends. What I needed, though, was a full on attack, like the Allies invading Normandy. I needed someone to start razoring and texturizing the life out of it.

I needed to shed a bear's winter coat, not a tea cup full of hair. Seriously.

However, the color is fabulous - or, at least, normal - my split ends are no more, and I guess I just have to put a little more effort into grooming in order to make it look OK.

Plus, it only cost a third of what I would have been charged at home.

I just have to find my brush and dust it off.

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Even with all of these (vastly) important preparations though, I can't run away from the fact that I am very sad to leave.

It has been so nice walking through olive groves into the village. The mountains never look the same, and the whoosh of the sea is so immediately calming, and always immensely enticing.

It is lovely to get to know everyone - by face at least - so that when a farmer stops to offer me a lift, I accept it because I see him at my cafe every time I am there, throwing back a beer. Or three.

It is fun to walk into the supermarket, and have the friendly cashier make me practice my Greek, by repeating the phrase she made me memorize the day before.

I love the quick acceptance and welcoming among the various ex-pats here - our shared foreignness is a glue which binds us altogether, making immediate friends of people who might not otherwise spend any time together, if given more of a choice.

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There is an ache present when I think of leaving. But I am ready to leave and move on.

I have a very strong feeling though, that this place will call me back. A part of me has planted a small root in this dense clay filled soil, which will one day need tending.


















3 comments:

  1. Aw, now I'm feeling sad, cause we won't be hearing any more stories from Greece! ;D

    Ivania

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  2. Oh Mary we think you should stay, at least until we get a chance to visit:)

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  3. Oh Mary, where will your blog take us next? I'm waiting with bated breath!

    ReplyDelete