Terenzo International: Red - it's in. Tell everyone.

Yesterday, I did some things that I'm not proud of. In the early hours of the morning, a mosquito and I engaged in an epic battle of Doom. The Doom won. But then, when I woke up the next morning, I found this:

The Scorpion

I don't want to lie to anyone: there was no cool, calm reaction. There was, however, the emptying of the rest of the Doom cannister.

To congratulate myself on a situation intelligently-handled (if there are scorpions, gas the bastards), I decided to go in search of a haircut. So I paid a visit to the Carlton Hair in Greenside, only to discover that they don't do hair. I'm not sure what the definition of humilation is, but being looked at funny by a group of hair-dressing apprentices seemed fairly definitive to me.

Then I crossed the road to the building with the Woolies Food and the Bookdealers, because I remember seeing an advertisement for hair-irons somewhere there - only to be assaulted by an over-powering chemical odour that reminded me of old-dears taking collective advantage of a perm special. I stopped right there. In my head, the mirrors would have had more than a hint of gilding and the seat-covers would have looked furry. Hairstyle posters covering the walls. The phrase "Sweaty Betty" swept through my head; and I had visions of the type of salon that you leave with a short-back-and-sides, and a headful of wet-style VO5 gel. 

No.

Not even to commerate the heroic scorpion victory of January 2012. 

So I left it. Went home and had lunch (chicken), and had a nap. After my nap, I went for dinner at my grandparents. There is something about home-baked lamb in the oven, cheesed cauliflower and brocolli, and the vegetable sides, that makes me incredibly happy on the inside.

Ye Olde Grandparental Meal

It was honestly too delicious. And there was wine, ice-cream and tea - in that order. So I came home zen, armed the house, and went to bed to read.

And then Joburg saw fit to initiate me. At 03:40, alarm sirens and racing footsteps outside and me locking myself in the bedroom. In less than 24 hours, my inner mediterranean house-wife returned screaming to the surface, and I was madly "saving the valuables" by stuffing them between the mattress and the base. Then I called my grandparents and asked them to call ADT. Clearly - sane enough to know that age, experience, and suitable distance from the situation is a much better alternative to mediterranean panic wielding an iPhone and not-much-else.

Also I'm a wuss.

After a morning spent sleuthing and giving statements to the world (daylight courage), I decided that it was time to revisit the hair-dressing situation. And I said to myself - bugger this. I know that Terenzos in Cape Town was where I went. I know that there's one in Dunkeld. And I damned well want to try it!

So I cruised along Bompas Road, parked, and it felt like I'd come home.

Many people don't understand my willingness to pay an exorbitant amount of money to have a hair-cut. Frankly, I don't understand their not-understanding. If I have to wear that haircut day in, day out, for 6 - 8 weeks - I'd better have a good one.

In fact, I'm sure that these are the same people that choose their lawyers and doctors based on financial reasonability. I'm sorry. But that's how you get burned. I want my doctor and my lawyer to have a very very keen interest in keeping me alive and using their services. It just makes sense.

And Terenzo? Terenzo is not really a salon experience. There's none of the seedy lighting with the basins at the back. No. The hair-wash takes place in an airy whisper-zone where the only sounds you hear are water running over the scalp and the background Adiemus. There are no chairs - there are red loungers along which you recline, with your head slipping over the back into white porcelain basin.

The red loungers

Then, there is the hand massage, with the essential oils and the hot pebbles being rubbed along your forearm. And the scalp massage continues for as long as it takes for the strain to be gone from your hands.

Once you're done here (a good 25 minutes of being touched), you return to the main salon, where you're plied with Illy cappuccinos and wine if you want it.

All the rooms look out toward the Terenzo pool. I'm not sure if people actually swim in it - but it looks immaculate, surrounded by wooden decking and jewelled aloes. 

The Garden with red cushions around the pool

What is my point in all of this? The point is that Terenzo gives you a 25 minute massage with a free haircut. 

And I'm properly from Joburg now.

I've been broken in.