Awright, champs, I'm back. And because of my habit of neglecting to tell of my adventures for a week+ at a time, thus building them up like some sort of unstoppable, pressing force that just...gets forgotten...I'm going to tell you up front what we got on the schedule for today, partly to give you a preview, but more so that I don't neglect my duty any more than I already have.
AGENDA
7:30 - rise
7:35 - oral hygeine
7:45 - calesthenics
8:10 - breakfast (meagre)
THEN - toufa (hair)
11:45 - mild tea
11:55 - slightly stronger tea
12:15 - stronger still - WHAT IS IT WITH THIS PLACE
12:25 - huffily retire
THEN - hot springs
THEN - the future.
So I guess what I'm trying to say is that last week, as a prelude to night of theater, I went 'n' got my hair did. Yeah, you heard that here first. And yes, it was probably a lot like prom, only they manage to cut the two-hour process down to about ten minutes. These guys are masters. And they have half-mohawks.
See, a lot of young Chinese guys are really into dying their hair this vivid chestnut brown and puttin' it up. I can't say I'm 100% there, but it's got a certain pull. A certain...irresistible pull. And so:
There I was, in the chair, praying (a little) that this wasn't some sort of neo-Sweeney Todd establishment that would leave my scalp forever bald and blackened, and (mostly) that the end result was going to be something I could take with me to dinner. I'm in a rush now (I'm planning on leaving for Hanoi in about two hours - story for another time, aka in two weeks) so there's not much editing going on, but if I were to rewrite that last sentence I would do so such that the newer version did not seem to suggest that I intend to date my haircut.
Anyway, after much curling and tufting and tousling and spraying...
Ah, I wish. Although this the real one's just as cool, really. I PROMISE.
See the fear in my eyes?! You can't tell, but my hair is rock-hard. Like, bike helmet status.
Anyway, all this looking totally rude had me a little tired and in need of some relaxation, so I and a few friends took the weekend to go to Anning, to bask in their renowned potentially-natural hot springs.
I don't have pictures, unfortunately, but sight wasn't really the sense you were supposed to prioritize here.
And, to be honest, neither was - do we say 'feel'? that sounds so much like a bad chinese-english translation I don't know to trust myself - 'feel', by far the most exciting stimuli at Anning were the smells. Because these guys know how to run hot springs: none of that nasty sulfur, give us some menthol. Or some skittles lime flavor. Yeah, just what I was looking for. The complex was made up of a hillside of small pools, each with it's own trademark scent. The flavors ranged from the sexy (rose), to the not-so-much (poop, although I'm pretty sure this was not the intent of the establishment, merely the unfortunate consequence of toddlers and excitement), to somewhere in the middle (milk).
I wish I could give you a picture of myself using natural white-man camoflauge to conceal myself in the milk pool, but alas, as mentioned before, no pictures.
I'm going to have to leave you hanging like that, as now we get to the part I above labelled "the future". This grand future is my coming trip to 东南亚, or Southeast Asia, a trip that will have me sprinting through Vietnam, Cambodia, and Thailand. Wish me luck!
And until then...
再见！
No comments:
Post a Comment