Hair-Raising

Susan Spano’s column “Keeping a Traveler’s Haircut From Becoming a Tale of Shear Horror” (Oct. 4) brought back fond memories of my own international hair-raising experiences.

In Crete, the hairdresser at my resort knew only Greek and German, and I had to play charades to explain what I wanted. In Guadalajara, I came out of a modest neighborhood salon with one of the best haircuts ever, merely by pointing to a picture in a magazine. In the residential district of Sevilla, a friend and I walked into a salon that was really a small house. We found ourselves in the middle of a group of housewives who gossiped and fanned themselves incessantly. We insisted on a very short cut, much to the dismay of our stylist, who reprimanded us for wanting to look like “mischievous little boys”!

ELIZABETH CASILLAS

Los Angeles