Getting my hair done in Spain

I had decided not to dye my hair anymore, because the color fades within two weeks. But after a month of trying to find my face in the mirror, (it is as white as my hair) I changed my mind. I noticed that all the women my age in Vitoria color their hair, and Suzanne told me that she had colored hers many weeks before. It was still vibrant with color. She had it done with henna.


Henna used to be only a red color, so I never tried it. I have seen people in India with bright orange hair from henna. But okay, things do change. I went to the beauty parlor and they showed me all the colors they had in henna. There was everything from blond to black. Unfortunately no blue, purple or green, but okay I will be satisfied to have it any one of the colors they offered. I picked dark blonde or light brown to see how it would turn out. It was painted on and sat in plastic wrapping under heat for at least 40 minutes. And I had the beautician color my eyebrows with henna as well, but a darker brown. 


When they finished I was a bit disappointed. It was very light blonde, not much darker than the white and the eyebrows were noticeable, but not as dark as I would have liked. But hey this was a trial and that was the result. 


Three days later I washed my hair, and it was darker, not only darker blond, but many different colors in the strands. My eyebrows darkened day by day, and now they jump out at me when I look in the mirror.  I understand why Suzanne's hair looked so good after many weeks. The more you wash it the more vibrant the color becomes.

Walking through Vitoria

The Center of Vitoria

This morning I awoke early, got dressed and after a breakfast of bread, cheese and milk tea, went off to the hairdresser. I was cut, curled and dyed and I am happy. It took two hours of pampering, and I enjoyed every minute, leaning back and getting a head massage, a wash, and little curls all over my head like a little old lady should have. 

Not a good photo, too much sun. But if you look closely there are overhangs on the corner of the buildings.

I decided to walk back, but very slowly. So I took some photos of the square, stopped and got some money out of the bank and then strolled down the avenue toward the railway station. I had to ask directions, but Suzanne lives only 7 minutes from the center by a normal person's walk, so I figured it would take me half an hour. 

Then I heard violin music in the distance and I was drawn like a moth to a flame. There was a bald headed man, playing one classical piece after another, with the sound of an orchestra behind him. I sat at a cafe across the way and listened over a cup of foamy coffee. I remembered playing some of those pieces when I played with the orchestra in the  Eau Claire city when I went to college there. Then life bumped into me and the violin was left, forgotten, collecting dust in some corner ot the other. At the time I felt I had no time to keep it up, and now it would be a comfort to play again.


The man played on and I relaxed and let the music wash over me. I remembered the story of Joshua Bell in New York. He was going to play a concert at the Met, so in the afternoon he took his Stradivarius and stood in the metro station playing the same music that people would pay $150 a seat to hear that night. No one stopped to listen, no one noticed the good looking lad with the Stradivarius playing a concert for free for those who would take a few minutes and stop and listen. Everybody was rushing somewhere. Is that just New York? I doubt it. So when I decided to wander on I dropped 5 euros in his violin case.


I have been pleasantly surprised in the Basque country. On the bus from Bilbao, cds of the three tenors played the entire trip and in the streets a violist played classical music. Better than Vienna.


It was warm today, more than 75 degrees F (19C) and I left my jacket at Suzanne's. Even the sweater was too much before I finally returned for lunch. But while I sat in the cafe I looked for a man in a Basque uniform, so I could grab a photo, but alas, no such luck. However, I saw manlike women sitting talking to each other, actually real women with women's voices but they had big, big faces and huge features like a man normally has. I had asked Suzanne yesterday if they were really women and she affirmed it.


So I walked all the way back and my leg did not cause me any problems. You see when I can walk at my snail pace, I can manage. 

Leaving Tenerife and arriving in Vitoria

My friend, Jette, and I. Mutt and Jeff. And there are those who question why I want to dye my hair..

After a wonderful week with Jette and Kjeld in the many cafes, I had to pack to leave. Going to Vitoria was a bit of an adventure.  I left for the airport with Jette and Kjeld, who were nice enough to see me to security. It was a sad farewell, but we will be meeting again in a week, so I am looking forward to that.


The plane was packed like sardines, not a seat was left empty. But it was an uneventful flight. I finished reading "Out Stealing Horses" by Per Petterson, a great novel about Norway. It reminds me that silent water runs deep. Then I read "Tuesdays with Morrie," by Mitch Albiom and I wept all the way through. I'm sure the other passengers loved that. But it reminds you of your own mortality.


The plane arrived in Bilbao in the dark and the place smelled of cold and fir trees. I was glad I had on my jacket and boots. I looked outside and not a bus in sight and I had to get to the Bilbao bus station which is quite a few kilometers away. So I grabbed a taxi to the station. These are moments when I wish I had studied a bit more Spanish, which is next to nonexistent. Don't believe it when they say you can use your Italian. I could tell by their faces that it sounded like Chinese. But with some difficulty we came to an understanding and I found the ticket stall and headed for the bus. Actually I followed a young boy who bought a ticket to Vitoria after I did. Otherwise who knows which bus I would have gotten on. 

My friend, Suzanne

An hour later I arrived at the Vitoria, the last person to get off.  I had to get my own luggage from under the bus and I couldn't find it. It was dark and the luggage compartment is huge. Finally I had to crawl on my hands and knees into the compartment and pull it out. It's a good thing I don't care about my dignity, cause I sure lost it there. Anyway, my friend Suzanne appeared and took me home to a nice meal with a couple glasses of wine. 

This morning Susan, a friend of Suzanne, came by and we walked to the center of town for coffee. She is a woman from Scotland who has lived here for years. We got along famously, jabbering away as if we had known each other for years. Then we met Suzanne for a quick lunch of tortillas and topas. The topa was a piece of French bread with egg plant and sausage toasted. It was really good and of course the tortilla was also good.  By the time I got home to Suzanne's my leg was kicking up a fuss, so I took a nap and swallowed some pain killers. Tonight we had steak with a large salad and hours of conversation. A good day all in all.