Friendly Bahrain Is The Las Vegas Of The Arab World

BAHRAIN - The people smile and are friendly. They don't glare at you with suspicion.

They are the nicest people I've encountered so far. Contact with Bahranis is less frequent than with the Indians and Pakistanis and Filipinos who have been imported by the Bahranis to do work, but the encounters are always, without fail, pleasant. The Indians and Pakistanis and Filipinos are indentured servants, and are nice in the extreme, but not (it seems) because they have to be nice. They consider us, the Americans, as comrades of the working sort. To them, we have been brought to the Gulf to do someone else's work. They smile and are polite and go out of their way to make our stay nice.

The humidity and the heat conspire to overpower me. They succeed. I sweat, my glasses sweat, and the crystal on my watch (Casio, $19 at Fred Meyer on Capitol Hill) fogs from the inside. I feel greasy. My clothes feel greasy. I can't sleep.

Bahrain is the Las Vegas of the Arab world. A causeway links the island (a dozen islands, really) with the Saudi mainland. The Arabs observe their weekend on Thursday and Friday, and every Wednesday night the causeway is lighted by Mercedes headlights making for the good times to be had in Bahrain. Liquor is legal. Movies with visible skin are legal. Public displays of fun are legal. The population of Bahrain increases considerably on Thursday and Friday.

I wondered how long it would take for the bureaucrats to begin to direct this semi-war effort. Now I know that it takes 32 days for the sorts of things that the men and women in the trenches hate to see happen begin to happen. Today, the four-star general commanding all U.S. forces in the Middle East who are participating in Operation Desert Shield issued General Order No. 1. G.O. 1 tells us that we can't drink beer, wine, or other forms of alcohol. We can't possess it or transport it or buy it or sell it.

And we can't do lots of other things. But not being able to drink beer hits us (OK, me) the hardest. The availability of beer and wine was one of the best things about being in Bahrain. R&R. Unwind. Reading what little mail from home is making it to my post-office box and drinking a cold beer was a real treat. Now the general says ``no.'' I wonder if his mail has to go through the same channels to reach his hands that our mail has to go through.

I go to a restaurant which advertises its specialties in English on a lighted sign. The sign says ``Indian and Other Foods.'' This I gotta try. The place is decorated in early Formica. The lights are too bright, and the late '70s disco music is too loud. There are six or eight tables, all empty. I'm the only customer. The menu is in Arabic, and I don't recognize any of the writing. With sign language and lots of smiles I convey to the owner/waiter/cook that I wish to eat, but I can't read the menu. He nods his head many times to signify understanding. I'm not sure, but he leaves the table and returns two minutes later with a bottle of water. I'm on my way.

I am brought a plate of schwarma (I think) which is Lebanese bread stuffed with chicken, tomato and onion. Spicy hot, they're terrific. Then he brings plates and bowls of hummus (ground garbanzos with olive oil) and salads and broiled meats and curry and yogurt. It all tastes great, and the owner/waiter/cook hovers around the table making sure I'm happy and I'm getting enough to eat. I am.

I wait for the bill and am greatly surprised when I see that the whole spread cost only two Bahrani dinar, which is about $5. In Bellevue last year I paid three times that amount for a meal at an Indian restaurant which was only a third as good. And the service was snooty, to boot.

I leave two dinar for the meal, an an extra half-dinar tip for the owner/waiter/cook. I smile my thank you, give an ``OK'' thumb and forefinger sign, and leave. Half a block down the street I am hailed by my host who returns my half-dinar. He thinks I overpaid the bill, that I didn't understand the amount due. I try to explain the concept of a tip. I tell him that the food and the service were excellent, the volume of food more than sufficient and that the half-dinar is his tip, a small gratuity for a pleasant evening. He doesn't comprehend, and he will not accept the bank note. We both smile a great deal, neither having a clue as to what the other is saying, and we part company after strenuous and prolonged hand-shaking.

This is a great country, Bahrain.

Lt. Cmdr. Tom (T.J.) Green is a member of the U.S. Navy stationed in Bahrain. He is writing periodic stories for Scene during his assignment in the Middle East.