I got up around 9 a.m. today.  After puttering around a bit, I collected up some AAFES pogs and headed over to the Green Beans.  A bazaar was going on in the middle of the “mini mall” area.  The vendors started calling as I walked through the place.  “Mista!  Mista!”  I resisted the catcalls and the urge to blurt out rude Arabic.  Instead, I went into the Green Beans coffee shop.

The Filipino worker there had a hard time understanding what I wanted.

“Large coffee, please.”

Another soldier walked in behind me.  “You, sir?” The Filipino asked.  “I’ll have the same,” the soldier said.

He pointed at the super large Mother Of All Coffee cups.  That was twice the price of the large that I wanted.  “No,” I told him.  “The triple of house coffee.  The large.”

“Medium?”

“No,” I said.  I walked over to the sign and pointed at what I wanted.  “This.  This right here,” tapping on the billboard of menu items.

“No triple, sir.  Large in this cup?” he asked pointing at the Mother Of All Coffees.

“Sure, why not.”  I gave up.  I looked at the other soldier.  He shrugged and smiled. “I don’t know either,” he said.  Good, so I’m not the only one confused about all this.

I got my coffee and went outside.  The bazaar was in full swing.  Having a cigarette and some coffee, I was in a better mood and went to the first stall.  Let’s see what we have.  The Major was standing out there with bags in hand, so I went next to him.

He had cups and crap that were fake stone, from Pakistan, and some shamaghs.  The shamaghs had the head coils and a skullcap for ten bucks.  Obviously, we were getting ripped off in Iraq.  Oh ,well.  Not by much, since the whole combo would be fifteen bucks in Iraq. 

I wandered from booth to booth, getting the calls by the vendors.  I wanted to see what trinkets were available and maybe try out some Arabic, to catch the differences in the language from there to here.  Some slang would be the same, common to the Gulf region.  Some was different.

“Mista!  Mista!  You come holla at me!  You give me good deal!”

What? 

“You want some bling bling?”

What?  Do I look like a Bling Bling kind of guy?

“Mista!  Which one you like?  You make me good deal!”

Most of the time, I got my point through with Standard Arabic.  Some of the Gulf slang was in my vocabulary.  Once I lapsed in Arabic, they were friendly for the most part, and impressed to varying degrees.  It was amusing.  One guy was very friendly and helpful.  I was able to pick up some new words for some of the traditional clothing, different names for the same thing.  I almost felt obligated to buy something, but I left before the feeling took too strong  a hold of me.  Cheap Pakistani and Japanese knock-offs don’t scream Kuwait to me. 

Most of the stuff was the obligatory fare.  Shoes, boots, by the truckload.  Shawls, some of nice Kashmir wool, scarfs, head wraps.  Cups, saucers, stone animals made of hard plastics.  Fake Ivory.  Cheap tin daggers with Rhinestone scabbards.

“What is this?”  I asked the seller in Arabic pointing to writing engraved on a fake ivory horn.  The English below it said “Good Friends.”  I had a feeling it wasn’t that as a translation.

“It is the last words of The G-d.  You know, …” and he proceeded to recite the end of the appropriate  surra to me. 

“Okay, I see,” I told him in Arabic.  I didn’t, but I had heard it enough to recognize it somewhat.  “How much is it?”

“I give it to you for 50 my friend,”  he said in Arabic back to me. 

“Not fifty,” I said.  “It’s nice, but no.”

“Okay, 45 for you.”  He was pushing the Arabic to see how much I could keep up.  I had no intention of getting it, so I didn’t feel that it was necessary to continue bargaining for a language lesson.  In Judaism, it is actually considered a sin to lead someone on for a sale when the buyer has no intention of buying.  There is a moral principle about leading someone on under false pretenses.  It is just good morality.  I was not going to be talked into dropping some money today on stuff that I really do not need.  Nor did I want him to think that I was going to spend money, and he should make a pitch, maybe lose face somehow with his peers, self-esteem, whatever.

“No, thank you.  I have no money.  Thanks.”

“No money?  No, you’re American.”

“No, I have no money today.  Thank you, my friend.”  And I walked away.

The wind was really whipping up now.  Stands were blowing over, tarps getting ripped off.  Sand was everywhere, and most of the natives had their faces covered.  Some of the Americans did too.

Arroyo came wandering over.  He had some cute trinket for some woman back at work.  It sounded weird, that she was of no political importance, not his boss, but he felt obligated to get her something.  Odd.

For his boss, I pointed him out the fake stoneware.  His boss was an older well traveled drinker.  Some fake stone plastic shot glasses would be the thing.  Arroyo didn’t know, decided not too and wandered to the PX.

I wandered to the Internet.  There were a lot of people there now, with units finally coming in at night due to the weather.  I waited five minutes, got on, checked email, and left.