Old Korean women crack me up...

So today we went to the market area that we had enjoyed so much last sunday. Rory was geared up with the camcorder and everything, but for the most part, there was really no one around. We have been on a sort of quest to find decorations for our apartment, so it can feel more like home, so we approached this really friendly-looking old Korean woman about these huge bamboo mats, that I'm sure were meant for the floor or something, but could look really cool on a wall, too. So we don't really know what she said, but I think she was talking about how big it was and how for 30,000 won (approximately $30) it was a real bargain. So she got our her tape measurer to measure it, while I'm making these big sweeping gestures with my arms, saying "big. big". She shows me how tall it is according to her tape measurer, and then she moves closer to me to measure my height. It was a really funny exchange, all of us sort of understanding what was going on and why it was funny. I was about a foot taller than her, too. It made me wonder if there would ever be that sort of exchange in the United States--if a Korean was in this spot surrounded by nothing but really old Americans. I can't help but think it would be a different situation. But then we were walking around a little more in the empty spot where all the fish had been last weekend, and another old woman came up to me and put her arm on me and started to point at my dress and my tights (they are giant brown fishnetty ones. i like them alright...). I have no idea what she was saying, but I knew it was nice and that something about us made her feel comfortable enough to try to engage in conversation. I patted her on the shoulder, too, and made sure to say "thank you" a lot in Korean. I really love everyone here, but I constantly change my mind as to who my favorites are--the little little kids who are just adorable and don't really know english at the school, but who love to shout "hi, hello...what's your name?...nice to meet you!" at the grocery store, on the street or even at the museum; or the really old people who stare and smile and play really primitive-looking games at the market involving sticks and rocks, and who don't assume that I love US politics, or even if they assume that I do, don't care. Like I have mentioned before, it's nice to feel loved for no good reason by complete strangers. I love this place.