Berlin

After France, Germany was second on my list of European countries I wanted to visit. I had intended to check that off last fall, but for various reasons my travel plans had to change. The first time I made it Germany was shortly before New Year's, when a certain large storm rearranged all travel plans in the northeastern United States and after more than eight hours of nail-biting in the airport and another eight hours of sleep deprivation on the plane, I made it back to Europe by way of the Frankfurt airport instead of going straight to Geneva.

I was in no mood to appreciate any part of Germany that day, and declared that the Frankfurt airport could not be representative of the country. My introduction to Germany must be better than that.

That better introduction was completed by way of Berlin this past August. This is why I needed to get my hair cut.

Ah, Bravery . . . and hair

Living in a country where everyone else speaks French and I don't has made me reevaluate what bravery is. I currently have a new contender for bravest thing attempted in France: I got my hair cut.

I find it hard enough to communicate with a hair stylist about what I want done with my hair when we both speak the same language, so attempting that communication in French was intimidating. This is why I had put off getting my hair cut for about . . . oh . . . eight months.