I just left the BX filled with troopies getting ready to jump North! Everyone and everything comes through here- coming and going.

It's been another interesting week. I got to the souks and it is overwhelming. I bought a very good small rug for my bedroom - 160,00 knots per sq. inch. I spent last evening at an Omani hotel (totally different than Kuwaiti) drinking anise (sp?) and talking with new friends. Everything is so new - and yet so old. See weekend adventures below.

Now that I'm settled in Kuwait City and at work, and can basically get around and the war is winding down, there are all kinds of great things to do and see.

For years I'd heard of a Brit-inspired running club with a drinking problem, or was it vice versa? Known as the Hash House Harriers, they are international and quite unique. I was invited to join this week and drove to an obscure parking lot where I was greeted by about 25 smiling men and women, mostly Brit, with several Americans and 2 Western-educated Arab women (Kuwaiti and Lebanese - more on them, later). This group was about half the normal size because many American and Europeans left Kuwait as war became inevitable and are just returning. We set out on a marked course of approximately a mile-and-a half through a very nice neighborhood. There were green trees and manicured lawns everywhere and obvious signs of wealth. Thankfully, you could run or walk (I chose the latter) and a good time was had by all.

As I straggled along on a stiff ankle, various people joined me for introductions and a chat. I met a Brit husband and wife who were just in from Zimbabwe, Eritrea and Ethiopia where they were teaching agriculture to underfed Africans. (Maybe is even worse than we know!) Another Brit man was employed by a think tank to start incubating businesses in Kuwait so they won't be a petrol-based economy when the oil reserves run out in 130 years. Still another Brit gentleman was a famed microbiologist, whose apartment was ransacked by the occupying Iraqi forces in 1991-2. Arab friends hid him in Kuwait City for that whole time.

Many were teachers. One Brit woman was a guidance counselor at an elite private Kuwaiti school. Her two biggest problems were rich, spoiled kids with a guaranteed income for life, with little incentive to accomplish anything (Sound familiar?), and a more troubling cultural problem. Apparently a significant percentage of the younger schoolboys are molested, and worse, by the older boys. In Kuwaiti society, young men and women literally cannot not speak to each other until 18 years of age. No one knows what, if anything, this situation contributes to that problem.

By now, we had finished the course and went to a large apartment to hold their 954th meeting and to eat and drink. A Brit named Wes was both our host and our vintner. He mumbled something about, "February was a good month" and the meeting began. The first part, called, "Down-Downs", was about gleefully bringing all kinds of charges against each other, such as loitering, eying a girl (sex on the Hash), you get the picture. But, it was as finished as British Theater with a completely zany sense of humor. As the new guy, I was immediately singled out. I stood before the group while they questioned my legitimacy, my looks, and so on. At each accusation, I was found guilty of some infraction and forced to chug-a-lug. I don't drink and, fortunately they had a non-alcoholic drink that tasted suspiciously like 7-UP. But all was done with great skill and humor and great fun! Then, the "Deacon" gave us, "religious advice" (remember, this is mainly a bunch of Brit Anglicans), which was hardly religious. He could have been a professional comedian, anywhere. Then we ate a sumptuous meal, catered, and talked into the wee hours. They hold a formal ball in an expensive hotel, downtown, in May, and the two Arab girls have volunteered to escort me. They've forgiven me having no black tie or tux with me. The life of an expate is tough in Kuwait City.

These two young Arab women were particularly interesting, firstly because I'd never known one (much less two) and secondly, because they were completely different from what I expected them to be. Both were in modest Western running gear (leggings, not shorts) and we three hit it off immediately. In Kuwait, and most of the Arab world, covering up, and to what degree, is somewhat of a choice. (Some families require it,

period.) I saw a woman in the marketplace who was completely covered in black on a very hot day. She even wore black gloves. This is taken as a sign of piety and purity.

Denali was from a wealthy Kuwaiti family, worked in the "financial markets", had dark hair and eyes and an instant-on sense of humor. Gilda, a Lebanese Christian, was fair haired and skinned, spoke perfect English, Arabic, and French and owns an interior decorating business for, "the big villas". She gave me some wonderful insight into to local ways of the wealthy that I'll save for another time.

Let me unequivocally state that I came here with little sympathy for Pan Arabism in any form. I was, in fact, completely irritated by almost anything Arabic. I knew I could basically control my exposure to them here, although I had friends who convinced me my view was somewhat distorted. Right on, Sam Munch! I immediately began to see fallacies in my (there it is again!) preconceived notions about Arabs. Both of these young women were educated, intelligent, witty and attractive. My age is such that I was no threat to them and they easily opened up to me. As usual, I started asking questions and some of their answers both surprised me and caused me to realize that many of our news services are simplistic, inaccurate and untruthful.

One major difference between us is that Arabs tend to see events within the context of centuries of history, but I still found that we had little or nothing about which to disagree. These young women abhor terrorism and agreed that solving the Palestinian/Israeli situation is the key to peace in the Middle East. Most Arabs enjoy Westerners but fear our power, i. e. the partitioning of Israel out of Palestinian lands, etc., and generally pray that both sides listen better and stop the violence. Remember, a young woman like Gilda lived through 23 years of war in Lebanon; Moslem against Christian, and it not only touched every family but also ruined Beirut, the Paris of the Middle East. She came to Kuwait because the Lebanese economy has yet to recover, and is quite successful. She was educated in Paris and graduated from a distinguished design academy in Washington, D.C. and holds a worldview of the problems between our worlds.

Gilda learned that I am a Christian and invited me, on Good Friday morning, to an Eastern Orthodox Mass at her ageless old church; the head priest must have been ninety years old. There was a large crowd and I was the only Westerner to be seen. The service was in Arabic which didn't seem to detract from it's beauty. These people were worshipping in the same way they have worshipped since the birth of Christ; you could literally feel the hundreds of years of custom and tradition on display. Servers swung incense burners. The choir stood in a circle to the right side of the altar for the whole ceremony and sang beautifully. The head Priest was actually in another room mostly hidden from view. To take communion, we got into a long line. When you approached the priest, a diminutive fellow about 5 feet tall, you had to awkwardly bend down but still look up and open your mouth so that he could pour a small spoonful of wine, from a large golden vessel, into your mouth. You then returned to your seat where young children distributed a delicious bread in large pieces. I felt very privileged to be there and didn't receive one angry look in that holy place.

When I came here, I was tired of almost every face and street in my life. Coming here was the right thing to do. This is turning into an interesting adventure that I'll share with you as I experience it.

Cheers!
Gaylan