Michael Batson

Barbershops in Cambodia come in a range of shapes and sizes, and with varying levels of facilities and creature comfits. Some are air-conditioned with all the paraphernalia you would expect to find in similar premises the world over. Others are indoors and offer fans for your comfort. Some are outdoor and can be found on the roadside, footpaths, under awnings, on verandahs, under trees, telegraph poles, or are simply rudimentary stalls down side streets. Some have names in English like: Professional, Hollywood, Emperor, David, or Number 15. Many call themselves barbershops, others just say haircuts and while yet others style themselves as hair salons. Others have Khmer names written in English like Angkor Pich (Diamond Angkor) and other have names that just tell you what services they provide like Haircuts and Shaves. Some have all the writing in Khmer and others are multilingual with Chinese, Vietnamese, English, and Khmer or combinations of some or all of these. Some are even foreign-owned, like that up the road from me run by Nigerians. Some feature European faces on advertising, others an array of Middle Eastern or even African faces, and others have Khmers like the famous singer from before the civil war, Sinn Sisamouth, and come with an unforgettable slogan: “Handsome Every Second”. Brilliant.

In Khmer a barbershop is hang sang sock (ហាងកាត់សក់) though some pronunciation would be “hangkatsak” “hang” being Khmer for “shop”. Nearly every barbershop, as opposed to a stall, has images plastered to walls, sandwich boards or the doors of often hirsute blokes (rare to see a Khmer with a beard) and various styles to choose from though many of the images look the same or very similar. There are famous faces too. David Beckham is one you see sometimes while Portuguese footballer Ronaldo features though usually more often on shampoo advertising. Often many of the images seem to be of Middle Eastern origin so maybe they acquire these from the same sources and even others, as mentioned earlier, hail from other parts of the world. Often the images are faded after years in the tropical sun, or just weren’t very good quality to start with. While other shops are adorned with images and logos that look like works of art and professionally crafted and finished.

I’ve tried lots of different barbers in Cambodia. Mostly these were in Phnom Penh but I’ve also been to barbers in Kampot in the south, Siem Reap in the north, and Kratie (pronounced “kra-cheh”) up in the northeast. Most barbers have no formal training and pick up their skills on the job often taught by relatives who practise their trade and had learned from their parents or other relatives, the skills passed down. One barber shop I’ve been to in Kampot, the elderly gentleman behind the scissors proudly displayed his weathered certificate on the wall above the mirror, declaring his hair trimming skills the product of a course sponsored in Cambodia by the Asian Development Bank back in the very early 1990s., when the country was a very different place, and Kampot still had the Khmer Rouge running about.

Prices can vary. The most I’ve been charged for a haircut in Cambodia has been USD6. That from a guy on Street 19 (Preah Ang Yukanthor) who used to have a stall on the pavement at the back of Wat Ounalom until the monks complained about all the stalls and the authorities moved them all on. Then he charged USD2 but since he’s now renting an actual shop in the hideous bland strip mall development across the same road, he’s had to put his prices up. The monks at the monastery also complained about all the restaurants that used to be where the hideous strip mall now is, as they didn’t like the smell of whole pigs being roasted, so those were all closed and the buildings demolished. The most common charge I come across is 10,000 riels or USD2.50. In Siem Reap, a tourist town, I was charged USD5 but that wasn’t the actual charge it was the barber pretending he had no change. My current barber in Phnom Penh was charging 7,000 riels but has just put his prices up to 8,000 or USD2.

For a while, I got my hair cut by the barber closest to where I lived whose “shop” was under a tree next to a streetlight on a busy road off Norodom Boulevard. His chair, which allowed horizontal recline, was delicately positioned on a collection of broken tiles, the pavement in that part of town having long fallen into disrepair. Next to the tree is a lamp post to which he attaches his work station with mirror and cutting implements. Another mirror allowing the rearview was hung behind on the fence of a disused building. When I first arrived and asked how much he was lying in his hammock strung across the footpath from the adjoining fence and attached to the lamp post. The neighbour’s puppy was tied up nearby with a bowl of water and a rooster, a scrawny thing was wandering nervously about. Sometimes there was a white rooster there and other times a rather magnificent cockerel complete with resplendent plumage.

He gave me one of the most complete barber services I’ve encountered which included trim and a shave with a cut throat razor that included inside and outside my ears, across my forehead (a first), my cheeks, neck, and throat and rather nervously, my eyelids, as I watched the traffic and pedestrian passers-by. It was brilliant and all for USD2.50. As I sat there, motorists waiting at the Norodom lights would sometimes cast a glimpse and often if it was near lunchtime, the chefs at the Japanese-themed restaurant across the road would look my way with their bulbous chef’s hats and white aprons the women with their arms folded under their bosoms peering out behind the glass doors. Passersby would cast a cursory glance. If they were tourists, they’d do a double-take and maybe make some comment.

That barber also played the traditional Khmer violin so well he would often disappear at weekends to play at weddings. Known as Tro, these violins come in different varieties with one, two, or three strings. His was a one-string I think and he could make it sing for sure. Often, he’d be sat at his stall playing sometimes accompanied by fellow musicians who would turn and they’d all play along. It was quite entertaining. When I’d walk by, he’d grunt at me and point to his head, meaning “isn’t it time for a trim?” Later when he learned some English, he’d point to his head as I wandered by and say “Mister, today?” Then one day following the council’s efforts at refurbishing the footpath around the corner when all the street vendors who were a vital part of the area’s character and liveliness got moved on, he’d gone. He probably thought with all his friends gone he didn’t want to be left alone.

Barbers also perform tasks other than hair cutting. This harks back almost to the origins of the barber when they were community healers, sometimes priests and later became barber-surgeons before a parting of the ways with medicine, at least in Europe, in the 18th century. In Asia however, somethings persist. Ear wax cleaning is a favourite. Often this is also advertised with colourful hand-painted posters or signs. Personally, I’d never let anyone near my inner ears with extra-long cotton buds or even utensils of stainless steel, and cleaning like this isn’t recommended by doctors either. You should leave your ears alone to sort themselves out.

Massage is another service. Chopping the hands down like a karate chop across the shoulders. This can be done quite forcefully and is accompanied by loud slapping which is almost like being struck violently, which you are. Manipulation is another feature. Clicking the neck to one side and then the other the way a chiropractor does. If you have certain neck problems, and specifically if you’ve been advised not to let people do this, you shouldn’t have this done either.

And lastly, there’s ear lobe pulling or stretching, usually suddenly and also rather violent. My violin-playing barber did this to me so violently he split the skin where my ear attached to my head, twice. So, in the end whenever I went to see him, I insisted: no neck twisting, no massage, and definitely no more ear pulling. Getting a shave was always interesting. They use cut-throat razors careful to extract a new blade for each customer. Well, either that or they carefully replace the used blade into the packaging. A light sprinkle of water applied with the hand and slowly and carefully they begin. In that climate you always feel like the water will evaporate before they’ve finished and it’s usually a closely run thing. A dry shave is not what you what.

Getting the hair cut you want can be a challenge. I once carefully described what I was after to a barber, one among the many that used to line the back of Wat Ounalom before they all got moved on. There were so many barbers there they lined both sides of the street. After my efforts at depicting what I was after that day, the barber promptly announced he was giving me a “Number 1” and did! Learning my lesson from this experience the next time I went back to one of his neighbours on the same stretch of street, I said I’d have a Number 1; better in the heat, easier to describe, and faster to complete. However, he had other ideas and in reverse of his colleague, set about carefully shaping a styling me a cut. Oh well!

Lately I’ve used a nearby barber in Tuol Tompoung. His chair sits on the concrete step outside his house, next to his living room. His children are often in there with his wife. One of his children obviously has some form of long-term medical condition. A boy, about 12 I’d say, though difficult to tell, is usually lying on a mat on the floor a drip attached to his arm his body emaciated but always smiling and laughing. Often, as is so often the case these days, the children are staring at a mobile phone. Sometimes the television is on. On the wall the barber has QR codes: one for USD and the other for riel – your choice. His hours are listed: 8am-7pm with seemingly, no days off. He carefully does what I need usually without a word and after scanning my phone I’m on my way having made a contactless payment of 8,000 riels.

My most recent haircut in Cambodia was back in Kampot. I went back on a Saturday morning to the same patriarchal figure whose training had been funded by the Asian Development Bank. He was there at his shop watching a chess match played by a group of young men. Ouk Chaktrang, or Cambodian Chess is played with wooden pieces on a board which is often accompanied by much vocal support of players and onlookers and the slamming of the pieces on the board. The distinguished senior figure shook my hand and I was slightly disappointed to be shown to a chair by one of his younger staff.

When I’d visited previously it was about 8pm and all the staff had gone home which is why I got the venerated grandfather doing the job. Today there was some family event going on with people being picked up by car. About four generations of the family were in the shop and there was the smell of lemongrass coming from out back near the kitchen.

I don’t think the haircut was as good as my last visit but going to a barber in Cambodia isn’t just about body maintenance; it’s more of an experience and often rarely dull. Like many things in the country, the mundane can be fascinating.