A Cut, a Kite and a Brew

I have to admit something: before I took off for the Maldives I made a bit of a cock up. You see I wanted to get a haircut before I left – a fresh trim. Can’t be living that jet set lifestyle with a barnet that doesn’t match. That was my intention anyway, but the barbers in Ramsgate where I was staying with my parents before my trip began haven’t impressed in the past. One night however my parents neighbour Jit came round for a drink or two. Well he was, in fact, just dropping round some homemade Samosas he had made with his daughter Suri for us to try, but like so many who turn up to the Hutton household, stayed for a drink. He told me about a hairdresser who had set up shop in the back of one of our local pubs, the Honeysuckle Inn, which for those who know me, would know I think this is the perfect location for pretty much anything! So I hastily book an appointment which gets re-arranged when it gets pushed aside for a hastily booked Chinese visa appointment (see my first blog). But finally the day comes for the cut. I have booked it for 5pm so my parents and I can have drink before heading out to a goodbye meal for me with our good friend Kate. This is where I cocked up. In my haste I had mis-read the booking and rather than it being at 17:15pm like I thought, it was actually 7:15pm, 15 minutes into our booking at the restaurant for our meal with Kate. Anyway I get on the plane at Heathrow still in need of a trim.

Which leads me to yesterday’s decision to try one of the barbers I walked past in town the day before. So after a morning workout/yoga sesh (something I had promised myself I would keep up while travelling but have been rather slack with so far) and a dip in the pool, I head out. I walk along the same streets I had earlier this week doing my best to remember the route I had taken. Along the way I pass some kids who, I notice, seem to be playing with some string, which I subsequently almost go arse-over-tit when it gets caught up in my flip flops. Anyway, after almost stacking it in the middle of the street I make it to the barber and patiently await my turn. They do a good job of it but I can’t help but feel like I’ve been played. The barber goes out of his way to hide the money he is taking from the customer before me, a fellow Sri Lankan. I then, of course, ask for the cost of this haircut and beard trim before we start and I am told 1000 rupees, I am pretty sure this is more than the others are paying but as it will be the cheapest haircut I have ever had, roughly £2.25, I don’t bother to barter. I am pleasantly surprised as the barber goes to work, taking more care than most barbers I have ever come across and, to my pleasant surprise, they actually use a straight razor for my beard edges, my favourite kind of shave. With all this in mind I decide I am going to tip – I will pay 1,200 rupees for a job well done. But, as I get up to pay I am told the new price is 1,300 rupees. I say hang on a minute I was told 1000, the barber explains that was for the haircut, the beard is an extra 300. Now, I had made sure when asking the price to include haircut and beard, but I decide for the sake of 100 rupees, roughly 25p, I won’t argue and pay without a tip. This is starting to be a running theme in Sri Lanka, bills have hidden service charges, my change is rounded down in favour of the restaurant/shop on the grounds that coins are unavailable. I get the increasing impression that there is an unwritten rule: foreigners pay more! It is a rule you kind of suspect and can in many ways emphathise with but I still think they could at least go to the effort of hiding it better!

On my way back from the hairdresser I see some more kids with string but these ones have a weird looking wooden skeleton thing attached. But it isn’t until today, when I am back walking the streets of Negombo and see another group of kids with a selection of colourful homemade kites, I get that I have been witness to the different stages of kite building without even realising it. Later, as I watch the sun set over the sea from next to the pool with a nice Lion beer, in the hotel I am staying, I see a massive shape fly by in the sky. Me and the other guests who are watching all look up in awe at what I quickly realise is the biggest kite I have ever seen, with a tail of at least 100 meters this behemoth glides above us covering many of us with its shadow. Later after the sun has set and I am back in my room I get a better view from my window as it glides above the trees on the beach. As I go out onto my balcony for a better view, I glance down the beach and notice that it isn’t alone, the sky is filled with hundreds of homemade kites. It is a beautiful sight. I can’t help but think of one of my favourite books the Kite Runner, although it is clear these kites aren’t used to signal drug gangs. It is a beautiful display from a town full of kids with a shared hobby – building and flying kites. A hobby I dare say is under appreciated in the UK. I can’t remember a time when I flew a kite. It makes me think about the differences in the world. Although I am blessed and extremely thankful for the life I have lived, I can’t help but think that sometimes technology and growing advancements in entertainment have eroded simple innocent childhood pleasures from existing in the UK and some other countries. After all when was the last time you saw a town’s worth of kids out on a Sunday evening flying their kites?

A good book with a good beer

Check out the scale of this kite with the people on the beach