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Everybody Has a Story: A welcome close shave traveling in Turkey

By Gus Flunker, Battle Ground
Published: January 25, 2025, 6:05am

It’s true what they say about the country of Turkey: “Throw a stick and you’ll hit some ruins.”

Situated smack-dab between Europe and Asia, it was traveled through and occupied by most large European civilizations throughout ancient history. Romans, Greeks, Ottomans and several more empires all left their marks in the form of artistic stone ruins and massive archaeological footprints.

It’s a very fascinating history and culture to visit.

It was 2010 when my wife, her mother, a dear friend and I arrived in Istanbul, on the west side of Turkey. We rented a car and proceeded to travel south and east along the Mediterranean Sea and its scenic coastline. A good time was being had by all, soaking up the beauty and culture. Friendly people, small towns and villages, and always lots of history.

Someone along the way told us about a small town farther along the coast that went by the name of Side (pronounced See-Day). We arrived there days later, and it proved to be charming and welcoming. After settling into a small hotel close to the water, we set out for a walkabout to explore our new surroundings.

Most everything appeared to be within walking distance. We began at the nearby waterfront, threw a couple of (proverbial) sticks and, yep, hit a display of Roman-type pillared ruins jutting out of the sea right at the shoreline: bleached white columns against gorgeous blue water. Beautiful.

After playing by the water a while, we walked toward the quaint little town’s main street. We decided to split apart, the women shopping and rounding up supplies, and myself, well, I was in much need of a shave.

As I strolled down a street dotted with a variety of shops and small businesses, I came upon what appeared to be a tiny, glass-fronted barbershop. Peering through the window I noticed four seated workstations and only one man occupying the store. I opened the door, walked in and, as expected, was greeted with friendliness. He was a polite man, maybe around 40 years of age, and he welcomed me into one of the chairs opposite a full-sized mirror.

I cordially introduced myself and so did he, but that pretty much ended our communication in English, so I immediately switched to universal human-gesture mode, rubbing my hands on my face, hopefully indicating that I was there for a shave. He picked right up on that and began preparations, with a full-body apron draped over my front and a warm, moist towel laid on my face.

After a few minutes he removed the towel and stood in front of me, seeming to study my entire head and face carefully. Then he quickly grabbed a pair of long pointed scissors and aimed for my hair. I politely raised my hands and tried to inform him that I didn’t need a haircut — I had received one recently — but he persisted and began to trim and finely “tune up” my hair. He was very precise and only spent about a minute trimming before moving on.

OK, game on. He prepared foamed soap in a mug with what appeared to be an old badger-haired shaving brush. He began to lather me up, immediately followed by the much-anticipated sound of a steel blade sharpened on a wide leather strap.

I felt comfortable, like I had come to the right place, yet at the same time there was a little bit of angst at the danger of having a total stranger apply a straight-edge razor to my neck. (Probably just proof that I’d watched many American Westerns over the years.)

My barber proceeded in totally traditional fashion: long strokes on the neck, careful around the tricky spots, constantly wiping off the super-sharp blade on the towel draping his other arm. He finished the shave and wiped me clean. Before I could say “whirling dervishes,” the fine haircutting scissors appeared in his hand to touch up my hair and then, without missing a beat, moved to my nostrils for a close-up snip of a couple of stray hairs.

He laid the scissors down on his counter, returned with a 12-inch piece of very thin black wire with a small loop in the middle, and went to work on my eyebrows by pulling on the ends of the wire quickly, trimming and shaping my eyebrow hairs. I was impressed.

Again, he grasped his scissors and micro-snipped a few more head hairs. Just as I was thinking this must be coming to an end he presented, seemingly out of nowhere, a small stick device about 10 inches long with a live flame on the end. He executed a hand-cupping, ear-hair removal procedure that totally frosted the cake. This guy was superb, bringing a flaming material close to my ears with perfect timing and movement so I just barely felt the heat. In an instant, unwanted ear hair was under control. (Not that I had a lot of ear hair, but in later years it does have a tendency to show up.)

Back one last time with the scissors. He left me feeling like I had the most manicured head on the planet.

In all, the visit was a little over an hour. I was very satisfied. The charge in Turkish lira was close to $50. I paid him and when I gratefully shook his hand, I also placed in it an American Eisenhower silver dollar. I sometimes carried one when traveling, in the hope I could give it to someone special whom I met along the way.

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He smiled and nodded as I departed. I was excited and eager to get to my travel partners and give them a show-and-tell about my unique experience and my perfectly groomed visage.


Everybody Has a Story welcomes nonfiction contributions, 1,000 words maximum, and relevant photographs. Send to: neighbors@columbian.com or P.O. Box 180, Vancouver WA, 98666. Call “Everybody Has an Editor” Scott Hewitt, 360-735-4525, with questions.

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