In the cloud of poor judgment that followed a sleepless night on the ferry from Crete to Athens, yesterday afternoon I decided it was time to get a haircut. I should preface this entry by saying that I hate getting my hair cut. Perhaps it's because I've never recovered from the traumatic experience of having my mom cut my hair when I was a kid, or it could be that I have Jo March-complex about my hair, but the bottom line is that I don't think I've ever been happy with a hair cut. Until yesterday it had been thirteen months since the last time I went under the scissors, and so it would be reasonable to think that if I'd gone 56 weeks without a trim, I could easily hold out another 8 weeks and wait until getting home to Toronto to go to my regular stylist. You would think, right? For some unknown reason, at approximately 4PM yesterday afternoon, I was wandering around the Acropolis Museum, when I felt an overwhelming and urgent desire to get a hair cut. On the recommendation of a woman working in the gelato shop where I stopped for a late afternoon sugar-fix, I soon found myself in the hands of a dark and handsome, thirty-something ex-soldier/ex-bartender/amateur cage fighter/father of one/stylist. On the bright side, he clearly knew what he was doing with his scissors, was an engaging conversationalist (a quality with which not all stylists are equally blessed), and was very gentle when combing out the knots in my hair. On the not-so-bright-side, I hate what he did to my hair. I can't think of another way to describe it except that I now have Brenda Walsh bangs (that would be a fringe, for those of you anglo saxons not hailing from North America), circa 1990. It has been confirmed by an honest friend from home (via skype and webcam) that my new haircut makes me look like a ten-year-old. I can only take comfort in the fact that I have two months for it to grow out before returning home, where I'll have to face people who actually know me...

 

Unimpressed.

As I've  mentioned previously, from here until the end of October, nothing has been planned in advance. This is proving to be a good thing, because this afternoon I made my way over to the central train station in Athens with the intention of purchasing a ticket to Istanbul (via Thessaloniki) for tomorrow night, only to be informed that due to excess rain and subsequent flooding, all trains to Istanbul have been canceled for the next month! Naturally, the first thought that went through my mind was "SSHIIIIITTT!!!!", however now that I've taken part of the evening to do some research, I've booked myself on an Aegean Air flight for Tuesday afternoon, at only a marginally higher price than what the train would have cost. I'm a little disappointed because I love long train rides, and was looking forward to some quality reading time on the 24 hour rail journey...in any case, it's at moments like this when I realize that having loads of time to be flexible and deal with these kinds of unexpected bumps in the road really is a luxury.

The weather in Athens has been pretty miserable since I arrived yesterday morning. It's been wet, grey and slippery, not ideal conditions for exploring the outdoor sites of ancient Greece. Regardless, come rain or shine, I've decided that tomorrow is going to be my day to visit the Acropolis, so I'm hoping that Helios will decide to make an appearance.