Several things in Europe are scary: taxi drivers on roads without speed limits, eating a dish when you have no idea what it is, and getting so lost you don't even know which way to walk.

None of these, however, remotely match my recent hair-cutting experience. It started well enough with a relaxing shampoo. People in Spain are notorious for unhurried experiences and the girl washing my hair didn't make an exception just because I wasn't actually Spanish. There's little better than getting your hair washed by someone else.

I was then transferred to the woman who'd cut it. She looked like your favorite grandma with an adorable bob of blond curls and a sweet smile. I explained that I wanted a similar style to the one she had just given my roommate but without the layers. She nodded, then started snipping. And snipping, and then more snipping.

This is where I started to get a bit antsy. At one point I cried, "No!" but she merely stated, "For form!" and slammed her scissors shut. I gasped, cringed and then finally covered my eyes once I saw the sheer amount of my hair hitting the ground.

When it was finally over she gave my hair a light tousle, brushed my shoulders off and handed me a mirror. I had to give her credit; though I did have slight layers, my new 'do looked pretty good. Oddly enough, the base length didn't change so it's still long.

Wahoo for being open-minded to new hairdressers!