Out in the Octagon - Night 105

In the morning I went for a walk around town, eventually stumbling through the University of Otago Campus. The second largest university in the country, Otago has upwards of 25,000 students during the school season. This, however, was summer break so the campus was only partial filled by eager summer school participants and full time faculty members not lucky enough to be on sabbatical. I was also fortunate enough to be able to download some journal articles from the library’s database that aren’t available online. Ah, the joys of digital thievery and copyright violation. After another marginal tasting Chinese lunch (I just don’t seem to learn) I set off north in search of the world’s steepest street. Armed with a horrible map and my excellent sense of direction I became hopelessly lost, eventually ending up in some Japanese garden not far from the University.

Dunedin Railway Station

On the way back to the hostel I came across the $12 haircut bar. I entered through the green door, partly for the novelty of it and partly due to my need for a trim up. Immediately upon entering, one of life’s greatest questions was answered for me: Yes, people do actually go to a professional hairdresser to get a mullet cut. A guy about my age was sitting in the chair having his top and sides trimmed while letting it all grow in the back. Unfortunately I missed his arrival,

$12 Haircut Bar

but I imagine it went something like “hey honey, can you make me look like a Kentucky Redneck? I’ve got a job interview tomorrow and need to look my best.” He even went so far as to get the ridiculous little lines shaved into his sides, a la Billy Ray Cyrus. I should have heeded this warning and left, but I was transfixed by the surrounds and went like a lamb to slaughter when the stylist called “Next.” To be fair, it wasn’t the worst haircut I’ve ever received, but it was certainly top three. With the mullet cut fresh in her mind, she took too much of the top and sides and not enough of the back of my head. In no way am I currently rocking a full-fledged mullet, but rather just a subtle training one. You know what they say….when in Rome….As if the $12 Haircut Bar wasn’t memorable enough, as I was about to leave a crazy old Maori man with a huge unkempt head of hair came flying in the door. Turns out he wanted someone to shave his head, to which the hairdresser replied that it would be $25. Cleary drunk and likely on E, he whipped out a pocketful of change which he counted out to $18.40. After a big of haggling the red-hedded girl agreed to shave his head for $18.40 in change, more so just to get him out of there as fast as possible. Looking back, I should have stayed to watch this, but my hunger was getting the best of me and besides I’m not sure that spectators are welcome in the $12 Haircut Bar.

One Huge Tower of Chocolate

In the evening I hit up the happy hour in the cellar bar with Paul, a guy from the hostel. A nice, cozy, windowless pub, the owner’s daughter was bartending and we had the run of the place. She kept the $2.50 beers coming long after happy hour had officially ended. Eventually a Frenchman from New Caledonia joined us in the cellar. Later on we went down to The Craic, an Irish bar in the Octagon. Not fully satisfied from our numerous pints of Kilkenny, we ended up at a real towny bar, the name and location of which I do not remember. I believe there was some live music. Judging by the fact that I woke up in my bed, I imagine I didn’t do anything overly illegal or unsafe, though, again, I really can’t be sure.

What I Learned Today: Like so many of the other strange beings that happily inhabit these two islands, homo mulletus is alive and well down here and apparently damned proud of perpetuating one of the worst fashion ideas ever.

written by

exumenius on January 23, 2008 from Dunedin, New Zealand

from the travel blog: Kiwis and Kangaroos

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