Walker Evans (1903–1975) was an influential American photographer renowned for documenting the harsh realities of the Great Depression. His iconic works, such as Alabama Tenant Farmer Wife and his contributions to the book Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, remain powerful representations of resilience and human dignity during that era. His stark images of everyday people and places helped establish photography as both art and social commentary.
Evans believed photography should "describe a society truthfully and with clarity," and his commitment to authenticity cemented his place as one of the most celebrated photographers of the 20th century.
During one of my early visits to Havana, I wandered through Old Havana's crumbling buildings and may have stumbled upon the same hair salon Evans once photographed. The faint scent of talcum powder lingered in the warm, humid air, and the creak of an old barber's chair echoed softly against the peeling turquoise walls. In tribute, I had a quick haircut there.
Just as Walker Evans captured the essence of people through his lens, I’ve often found that barbers, in their own way, reveal stories of place and culture through their craft. Barbers have been memorable companions throughout my travels. In Miami, Alex, a fellow Aussie, doubled as my barber and confidant. In Marrakech, haircuts came with mint tea and spontaneous dancing. Back home, Adonis squeezed me into his schedule in a converted salon, its walls telling stories of revolution and decay.
Loyalty defines my relationship with barbers. I once detoured to Marrakech from France just to visit a trusted stylist. In Brussels, Dariush—a bald but brilliant barber—crafted my haircut with precision.
My anthropological curiosity often leads me to local eateries, where conversations reveal cultural insights. For instance, in Bogotá, I learned from a local vendor about the tradition of adding egg to arepas, a regional twist that reflects both resourcefulness and cultural pride. Such small but meaningful details enrich my understanding of the places I visit. In Bogotá, a craving for arepas introduced me to Cristian, a young barber with Indigenous features. After savoring an arepa with ropa vieja and egg, I returned to Cristian’s chair. His care and precision completed a triangle of satisfaction: a good hotel, great food, and a trusted barber.
If my travels bring me back to Bogotá en route to Leticia, I know Cristian will be there—scissors in hand—ready to continue this cherished tradition. In moments like these, I’m reminded that travel isn’t just about destinations; it’s about the human connections formed along the way—small, fleeting moments that linger far longer than the journeys themselves.
