The Salon

It seems to me that there are few rooms in my history that illicit as much contenedness in my memory as the salon of Villdane Djanalieva my 17-year-old host cousin in Krichim.

My introduction to the room, which occupies a converted bedroom on the second story of the family house, took place on the day after my 23rd birthday, May 21. I had been living in Krichim since the first of the month, but I had never had cause to go into that particular room. The afternoon of May 21, however, was an afternoon of preparation. My host family was planning a big birthday party for me that night, and Villi insisted that her gift to me would be a makeover for the occassion.

It was one of those really beautiful spring days, so we kept the outside door to the terrace open and enjoyed the slight breeze. Maegen, the volunteer who lived with their family; Berin, my host sister and Villi's cousin; and Gulchen, Villi's 14-year-old sister, joined us and also took advantage of the mirrors, hair dryers, and other girlie tools.

Villi is a meticulous hairdresser, and took great pains to curl my then-shabby brown hair into a decently-stylish do. She then took out an overflowing bag of makeup supplies and painted away at my face.

Midway through the makeover, two visitng volunteers arrived from their other towns and joined us in the salon (yes, even boys are welcome at Villi's.) Though it is a small space, it never seems crowded when friends gather there.

From that day on, not a week went by when I did not find myself in that salon for whatever reason -- either for personal beautification or simply to visit the hairdresser.

Conversation in that room has always been interesting (but, in its own way, very comforting to me). It takes place in a hybrid of broken English, Bulgarian and Turkish, depending on the demographics of those present and their current level of language ability. Usually all three languages are going on at once, and you just listen to whichever you understand.

Since I have left Krichim, the comfort of the salon (and the people there) have come to mean so much to me when I "go home" to visit. My favorite hours are often spent there, and I can always count on feeling better when I leave than when I entered.

I think that over the next few weeks I will write about different times spent in the salon. It is something pleasant for me to think about, so I want to spread out writing the vignettes...Keep posted.