HAIRDO IN BASILICATA
I NEED A HAIRDO
My hairdo had disappeared. Once-well-trimmed locks had reached that ‘straggly’length, below my chin but above my shoulders. It didn’t seem to matter when we were just driving around explorig the area. But now, suddenly, it did. We had already been told that we MUST go over to Pompeii on the Saturday afternoon/evening to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary with our treasured ‘Italian family’.
Also, Giuseppe had told us, a few days before, that on Sunday there would be a big family meal to welcome his brother, returned from Rome. His mother was also baking a Special Celebration Cake just for our wedding anniversary. The party would be a double celebration. The Riccardi parents were excited to be welcoming Alfonso and his wife and young daughter, and friends of the family would also be coming.
I felt that with both these events laid on for us, the least I could do was to get my hair cut and styled – it had seen no hairdresser since August…
The morning was spent checking on suitable clothes for us to wear on Saturday night. (I’d packed just a very few ‘glad rags’). We motored into Matera to find a hairdresser who could ‘fit me in’ straight away.
SO DIFFICULT – TO FIND A HAIRDRESSER NEAR PARKING
It took a while, but finally Graham and I entered a rather bare-looking salon. I was relieved when a young man came towards me. In my experience, you can usually rely on getting a good cut from a man. Once Graham knew that I would have to wait, and to come back in an hour’s time, he took off to take photographs.
BOSSY YOUNG BOSS
I was disappointed in the man, who was obviously the owner of the salon. He brusquely ordered the only other hairdresser to shampoo my hair. She was a comfortable-looking woman of late middle age. When my hair was washed I was surprised to have it swabbed partially dry with kitchen paper – though why not? It was just that modern Matera presents itself as quite smart.
The ‘boss’ went out. The lady considerately produced a towel to place over the rubber neck-guard thing I was wearing. She gave me paper and pen to draw the style I wanted. This was a graduated bob, shorter at the back, with a wispy fringe. She nodded, then proceeded to cut my hair.
A hairdo has never over-excited me. Well, not my own. These days, in my ‘definitely mature’ years, I wear it in a short bob with a thin, shortish fringe. My hair never would hold a curl, even after three abortive permanent waves – the first was ordered by my mother when I started ‘big school’ at eleven. It was an agonising procedure in 1941. I looked weird – but never mind – my hair fell back to straight within three weeks. The same held for the other two, much later attempts.
So for a presentable hairdo I rely on good cutting. I couldn’t help wondering if I’d get a good cut here.
HAIRCUT THE ITALIAN WAY
This lady had not a word of English, but she gave me a reassuring smile as she flipped most of my hair over to one side, and secured it with clips. (Or did she start in the centre? I cannot remember.) She gradually went over my whole head this way, flipping and cutting. I had never had my hair cut in this way, but she seemed to know what she was doing. Gradually, I could see that it was taking shape.
The boss came back, and immediately started a fierce diatribe. I did not need to understand Italian to know that he was telling her “Get on and finish it. You are taking too long”.
I mentally called him ‘Male Chauvinist Pig’, and touched the lady’s hand reassuringly.
FLYING HANDS – FLYING HAIR
Her hands flew, but she finished off one of the best haircuts I have ever had. It was not what I had drawn, but it looked great. For a good couple of months, until my next haircut, it always fell into place. No matter where I parted it, whether I’d been out in a strong wind, or screwed a towel too tightly making a turban around my wet hair.
I had to wait awhile for Graham to collect me. I gave my lady hairdresser a hug and a kiss on both cheeks, because she was so nice and her boss so horrid to her. I also slipped her a generous tip, right under his disdainful nose.
MATERA – GREAT LUNCH – AUTHENTIC LOCAL COOKING
That done, we went in search of lunch. I mentioned that Vivien and I had had coffee one morning outside a small restaurant off one of the smart squares atop the Sassi. It’s menu board claimed to serve local dishes. I had been inside and found it full of Italians. The food smelled and looked very good, and very affordable.
It was only a short walk. We went in, and sure enough, it lived up to its promise. Cannot remember what we ate there, only that it was certainly authentically local, plentiful and delicious.
I think it was Il Rusticone; Via San Biagio, 5 75100 Matera MT Italia +39 0835 185 3209
MATERA BREAD IS RIGHTLY FAMOUS
We had plenty of time for another little stroll around, mostly people-watching. Graham took two charming photographs. One was of a busker, with his dog. I was convinced he was English; I’d seen so many like him in the late 1960’s. To me, in the photograph he looks positively Dickensian.
The other photograph Graham took while sitting on some steps.
(Note from Graham: I thought the scene so timeless except for the baker’s blue trainers that I aged the photo. It could have been taken in the last century.)
The photo was taken outside of Panificio Cifarelli 3 on
Graham caught two policemen stopping to chat to a baker; who, still in his apron, had put down on a plinth one of the enormous, shapeless loaves typical of Matera bread.
Never mind the odd shape of many loaves. Matera bread, like a crusty golden brown cloud, is creamy-yellow inside, because it is made of the Durum wheat grown by the ancient Romans. It is of a rare flavour and nuttiness. The texture, too, is pleasant and airy.
We decided that Graham would pop back in next morning early and buy a loaf to take as a gift to be enjoyed in Pompeii that evening.
Last word from Graham:
The feature photo at the top of this blog was of a couple of tourists finding some shade from the hot, late morning sun, in one of the many small piazzas on the upper levels above the Sassi
Text by – Jackie Usher, SWWJ. (aka author Debbie Darkin, & ‘Graham Liverpool’ on Trip Advisor.)
Photographs by – Graham Usher.
