In the afternoon, we drive to Te Kuiti to drop off things at the post office that we cannot take with us to Japan. This requires an enormous amount of paperwork because every hairpin and toothpick has to be listed. The lady of New Zealand Post assures us that summarizing everything under the category “Tourist purchases” is absolutely not sufficient.
After this penal work, I go in search of a barber. Following the NZ Post lady’s instructions, I find a barber who, unfortunately, is out for lunch until 1400, according to the sloppy sign on the door. At 14:05, a pickup stops at the door, greeting me with a blast of a horn. A tall Indian gets out. He wears a long white robe that contrasts with his full beard.
He greets me gruffly, opens the door, gestures for me to sit in the barber chair, and wraps a barber’s cape around me. He then turns on the hair clippers and tackles my haircut with the most casual movements.
Within 5 minutes, he whips the cape away again—a new world record.“Cool.”
“Thank you. $25.”
A boy with a 1980s mat slides past me into the barber’s chair. The cape swings through the air, and the clippers I can hear the clippers hum again.
