The sweetness of a stranger: a haircut in Hội An

Down a side alley in Hội An Vietnam, tucked in among pho eateries and spas, sits Nguyet’s salon. I found her home/ salon through Google reviews that morning. I showed up at her door, soaked from the downpour, without an appointment, smiling and asking if she could cut my hair.

I left my muddy flip-flops on her porch and was ushered in. I held my hand to my shoulder, indicating where I’d like her to cut. Nguyet nodded, smiled, and began to wash my hair.

It has been a long time since I’ve had a proper haircut. I had forgotten how nurturing it feels to have someone wash your hair. While she lathered, scrubbed, and rinsed she told me about herself– how she began helping her mom wash clients' hair at age 8 and opened her own hair salon at age 15.

Nguyet’s been cutting hair for 34 years. 

She had gentle hands and a strong demeanor– all confidence and grace. I sat in front of the mirror there in her foyer and she began to cut. No “Is this okay?” or “What do you think?” It wasn’t necessary. I trusted her and let her do her magic.

Nguyet told me about her twelve-year-old son and her Scottish husband, and how they moved to Europe several years ago. Her son calls her every day after school except when he has too much homework, his friends come over to play, or life is just too full.

She tells me she always spoke Vietnamese with him as a child but now when she speaks to him he responds in English.

I ask her if her husband and son will move back to Vietnam. Who knows, she says.

We sit in silence a while, listening to the snipping of scissors, the soft shhhh of the brush running through my wet hair, her mother upstairs doing laundry.

I think of my own family. How my mom brushed my hair as a child. How my sister trimmed my hair in the kitchen last year, or was it two years ago now? 

Time grows long. Like hair. Like a language lost over the years. Like water gushing down alleys, as if rushing to reunite with the sea. 

Nguyet runs her fingers through my hair and tells it looks beautiful. 

I feel beautiful in that moment. Nurtured. Mothered. Seen. It has been eight months since I’ve seen my family and friends back home so it feels especially meaningful to have this moment of connection with a kind stranger.

Nguyet tells me that everyone she knows comes to her for haircuts. Sisters, aunties, neighborhoods. Her foyer is a point of reunion, and has been for over 30 years. 

She has a place in her community and her salon is a welcome place in the community. This makes me smile. It makes me think about place-making and where and how I will make my place in the world. 

It isn’t the first time I’ve thought about community, groundedness, or “settling down.” There is great appeal in forming deep connections to people and place.

Now I also find great meaning in the diverse snippets of life I get to experience while traveling. Like watching a woman make rice noodles from scratch, seeing young boys dance under a dragon costume, and listening to Nguyet tell me about her family. 

There are countless ways to live in this world. Perhaps the thing that unites everyone is a craving for human connection. Be it from living with your best friends, being a part of a team, or having a stranger wash and cut your hair. 

___________________________

Thank you rewilding family for joining me here. This space is evolving and I'd love to hear what resonates with you.

What are you most excited to read? Travel tales? Travel tips? Connection stories? Wild messages from the heart? Meditations?

With love,

Ava//

Rewilding Child