New hair. New glasses.

New hair. New glasses.

A FEW weeks ago my sister told me - after looking at our blog - that I was starting to look Asian.

I admit I am decidedly pastier than when we flew here from Koh Samui. Sometimes I look in the mirror and am scared by what I see.

Well I can't really change that fact, since the sun doesn't seem to penetrate through the smog here, but I can chop off my drab pile of rats' tails. So I did.

Hairdressers here take to your locks like Edward Scissorhands armed with the thinning scissors. So after taking a stab at a salon in a modern area of Seoul near a women's university, I immediately told the English-speaking girl at the front desk to please translate to my hairdresser, "go easy on the thinning scissors buddy".

As soon as I saw him I was afraid. Hyun, as it turned out his name was, looked like he was undergoing some kind of medical treatment. His hair was long and stringy, as though it had been pulled from the drain pipe of a Korean sauna. It looked sizzled as though it was singed daily on the straightening irons.

I shot Wes a look of pure fear from across the salon. Hyun laughed smugly when I asked if he could speak English. "Chogum (a little)"?? I asked, almost pleadingly. "No," he said. We were off to a bad start.

So I showed him my photos, mainly of me three years ago (yes, I'd gone to some effort to ward off a bad haircut) and also this great one of Judy Dench, though it did have me questioning - however cool Dame Judy may be - why I was asking to look like a 60 year old lady.

Perhaps he shared that feeling, because it soon became quite obvious that Hyun did not want to cut my hair short. I think he thought I was a crazy lady. I mean, not even Korean men want their hair cut short like I did.

So he cut a measly bit off the back....and took out the razor. "ANIO! ANIO!" I cried, throwing my arms in the shape of a cross, which all Koreans do to mean "no". This happened about four times - although once I downgraded it to a mere shudder when he reached for his holster - until we finally came upon some agreement. "Chogum", I said (I tell you, that's the most useful word in this country). "Natural," he said. Good-o.

We had different visions, Hyun and I. He wanted me with big sideburns and wispy long bits at the back. I just wanted to look like Dame Judy. I think by the end of the affair he was fairly pissed off with me for insisting he stop reaching for the thinning weapon and to cut it shorter. And I must say, I did feel like a hairdresser's worst nightmare.

Anyway. I came out unharmed and am feeling a little brighter, lighter-headed, and once again, a clone of my Mum (love ya Di!).

To Wes. Wes is totally chuffed with his latest purchase - a pair of super funky glasses, which, at $55, were one-tenth of the price he paid for his previous pair in Australia. Suh-weet.

After browsing the selection at an optometrist near our work, Wes settled on his specs and was more than excited when the man said, "They'll be ready in an hour". It was sheer brilliance. It was like ordering a pizza or getting your photos developed at the one-hour store.

Here is Wes's verdict: "Yeah, they're great. Cheap. Good. Light. And I can afford to get more pairs. It's cool." (That's verbatim, not a word changed. Deep stuff. Yeah, you're right, I'm annoying him while he's reading the China Lonely Planet, with questions like, "But how do they make you feel"? ).

Here's a shot for a bit more perspective of Wes and said specs. It can also double as my tribute to Ean, the guy next to me, who did a "runner" from our school this morning (that means he has left the country without telling anybody). I will eat much o-deng and tteok-poki in your memory, Ean. In the photo (from left) is Katie, who works at another school, Sharon, our housemate, Matthew, who works with us and Ean. Oooh, sexy specs Wes.