The real reason I always longed for taking up wet shaving, despite only just recently getting around to it. After I finished college in 1988, my brother and I spent a year traveling the Middle East and Europe together, just meandering and living here and there. During this year, we spent a month in the spring of '89 wandering through Turkey. While there, we gave up entirely on shaving ourselves. Instead, every few days we would find a barbershop in whatever small town or village we were in and, for no more than about a dollar, get treated to the most luxurious straight razor shave imaginable. It was honestly one of the things I remember most vividly about that entire year. The hot towel, the brush and lather to the face. The barber stropping and gossiping with the local men who were just hanging around in the joint. The slight unease as an American with a razor to the throat. The smell of the place, the aftershave. The truly magnificent, baby-smooth shave.