Háts off to Hernán the Hair Mán

After another day soaking up the BA's atmos we decided to head out to the small - but Argentina's third largest - city of Rosario on the Rio Paraná. It was here where Motorcycle Diarist and revolutionary Che Guevara was born but what most rosariños seem to be most proud about is the fact that the national flag was designed here. So they built a big monument and a bloody tall tower overlooking the river and city, which the Argies are so happy about they put it on the back of a ten peso note.

a. The National Flag Monument

The big event this weekend though was the decision to finally get my hair cut! I last had the barnet chopped two days before I left home last September - 233 days ago to be precise - so it was getting quite unruly, and coupled with the fact that I haven't shaved in over six weeks I was looking quite scruffy. No, really.

b. From atop the tower

So I walked into Hernán's peluqueria armed with my phrasebook and a photo of me taken back in November. About twenty minutes of hacking later I was looking better, then he shaved me first leaving a goatee, then a full moustache, then a Hitler one, all of which he found increasingly amusing. When at last he finished I deciphered he said something about me coming in looking like an old man and leaving like his son. It felt like it too.

In other head-related news I'm afraid it's time to retire my beloved cap as it's really starting to disintegrate and look worse for wear. Even other people have started to comment on it. It has been with me these past seven years, from the wilds of Alaska to the Great Wall of China, from the tip of Africa to every cricket game I've been to or played - including this one. You may even have seen it on TV. My sister was disgusted with it over a year ago and bought me a new one for my birthday so it's time to dig it out of the recess of my bag and give it a try. You'll probably be able to see how it goes.

c. Ten peso note depicting the monument

In other sentimental thing-related news I've lost my wallet (when I say 'lost' I mean I was pick-pocketed in a bus station). When I finally got over being furious with myself - I knew exactly when and how the bastard did it - I realised it wasn't so much the missing cash and cards which upset me it was the fact that it was my 18th birthday present from my parents and has been with me at more places than the hat. After all, I bought my first legal beer at home with money from that wallet - and the following three years buying illegal ones in America. Looking back I guess statistically I was due something bad happening but at least I wasn't mugged or threatened with a knife. And I still have my hat.

d. Hernán figures out his game plan

e. Teddy Boy Dazzla

f. Half way there

g. Looking better...

h. Hernán wanted me to keep the Bariloche look

i. With the Hernánator and his fine work

j. Out with the old and in with the almost new