It was Mr White, with the scissors, in the barbershop room

The official before photos.

The Brazilian gave all the clues.  That's him on the left.  The man sitting with his legs cocked open, well, he got what was coming to him, no doubt.

As is my M.O. while traveling in countries, I get a hair cut somewhere on the journey.   I make sure to get my money's worth by letting it go for months and months before.

It's hard folks, to find good ol boy barbershops anymore it appears.  For three weeks I was on high alert, my eyes continually darting into any shops that mentioned hair on the outside.  They've all turned into salons it seems, with hard plastic chairs and shampoo stations, hard formica shelves and those soul-less professionally shot photos of models with fancy haircuts.  That's the dead giveaway clue....those photos.

For three weeks from Madrid to Pamplona to portions of France, back all along the northern coast of Spain and into Portugal.  At one point the plan had changed from getting a haircut in a barbershop to Annie buying some scissors and cutting my hair on the beach in Fisterra, the very western point in Spain.  But I held fast to the original caper because I knew my fallback could be in Porto.
Beautiful old old barbershops in Porto.  8 years ago I had a cut done in one there.

As the sun was coming up, a beeline was made (after shopping in the mercado of course), well and after coffee and pastries, to the section of town I knew that still held to the old ways.

Found one, one block up from the last one.
Luckily the Brazilian was there.  He spoke English.  What we found out from his clues.
He's in the beauty business somehow.
He traveled to Porto to do business.
He loved this barbershop....and the owner, Mr White.
He talked about redoing the old chairs with paint.

Couldn't figure out though if he was just an old barbershop groupie type or if he wanted to buy this old barbershop and turn it into a trendy Mission style joint.  There was one such place two blocks down.  It was real old but filled with young barbers and music.

But the Brazilian spoke English and I found out among other things that Mr White had cut hair for 65 years.  The Brazilian also got him to cut my hair twice.
As well as where to find a very good vermouth bar.

 This man was in the chair upon arrival, after him, the man with the legs cocked open got his done.

My turn.

 Mr. White didn't quite know what to do with my hair.  He cut it the first time around into a blow cut 70's style.  I was ok with that.

He indicated he wanted to give an old fashioned straight edge shave.  That's a tough one, to stretch your neck out to a stranger with a four inch blade at your throat.

He signed, spoke and pointed he was done but was still fidgeting around.  I could tell something was up.  I told the Brazilian to tell Mr. White...
"Tell him, it's got nothing to do with me.
It's got everything to do with him."

He understood, I was giving him free reign.

So he cut my hair again, shorter, hell he may have cut it three times for all I know because he kept on going over  the same areas and cutting more and more off.
Still got the blow dry Don Johnson look but it wasn't about me, remember?

Going in again.

Done.

Now here's something I've never seen.  The seats have this trick hinge on the front.  He picks up the seat and twirls it around and the cut hair exits the hole.

The official after photo.

 By all means, have that straight edge razor shave done.  Never felt my face to be so smooth...and just one teeny nick at the adam's apple.