With hair like this, who needs to know Korean?

After an evening out with Brandon, Danny and Emily, I descended into the subway to make my way home. I waved my Hanaro card over the turnstile reader found an empty bench and waited for the train to arrive.

Moments later, a small elderly man who looked as though he hadn't showered or changed clothes in a few days came and sat next to me. Considering the limited number of benches in the station, this wasn't unexpected, except that this particular man seemed to want to strike up a conversation with me.

I smiled politely. Apparently, this gentleman took that as an invitation.

He pointed at my hair. Flattered, I smiled politely. Another invitation apparently.

He reached over to pet my hair. Now thin, naturally blond hair is unusual in Korea, but no one's ever tried to pet me before.

Luckily he only pet for a moment or two. The train arrived and we both boarded, he offered me a seat next to him. Not wanting to be rude, I took it, although tried to position myself so further hair-touching would be difficult for him.

Instead he simply started talking. He spoke at length. About what I'll never know, it was totally in Korean, and mumbled for the most part beyond that. I just smiled and nodded as he pointed again to my hair and carried on. At some point he looked at the book I was carrying World War Z a fictional account of a zombie-infested world. He seemed to start talking about either war, or books or zombies. Again, I just smiled and let him carry on...

In the last part of our conversation (though that's a generous term since I hadn't said more than a few words) he rolled up his sleeves to show my his Popeye-sized forearms. Then he rolled up his pant leg to show me his equally large calf muscles. I had no idea how the conversation could have led here, but again, I laughed politely and showed my incredibly skinny forearms. He laughed too.

We reached my stop. I waved goodbye and scooted off the train.