Manama, Bahrain

Bahrain. Oh my God, Bahrain. I honestly had no idea that this was the Bangkok of the Middle East. The Russian girl was just the tip of the iceberg. When I arrived back to my hotel last night after a day of sites seeing (OK, not true, there’s nothing to see in Bahrain) I was overwhelmed by the smorgasbord in front of me. Back in my room the phone rang. “Hello?” An obviously Asian female voice on the other end replied, in a classic “me love you long time” accent, “Hi. How are you?” “Good. How are you?” “Fine. You want to see lady?” “No, that’s alright. Thank you.” “OK, sorry to bother you.” A couple hours later it rang again. “Hello?” A giggly little Asian girl voice said “alo, salam 3alaikum.” “Wa 3alaikum as-salam.” “You want massage?” “No thanks. Bye.” Manama is so small I’m sure I could walk from one end to the other in an hour or two, but the roads are extremely pedestrian unfriendly. So today I opted for a taxi. I hit the jackpot with the driver. There was a big sign from the government in the cab saying, in English, “Insist on the meter. No meter = your ride is free!” Of course, it was very hard to get him to turn on the meter. This guy had road rage. He kept pointing out to me that every driver that pissed him off was Indian. “All Indians bad.” He was, of course, a native Bahraini. A motorcycle cop pulled up to him and they started chatting. He explained to me “He is my friend. We drink together. I drink too much.” Then he said “Where you from? India?” That’s scary. My growing beard, filthy clothing, general unkempt appearance and poor English have made me potentially Indian. “No, American.” “AMERICAN??? Why you want me to use meter? Americans never care about meter. Americans always pay me whatever I want.” He then proudly gave me examples of how much he has ripped off Americans for. “You with the Navy?” “No, just a tourist.” “There are no tourists here. Only Friday and Saturday.” “When the Saudis come, right?” “Yes, they are rubbish people. Drink too much.” He then offered to take me to see the bridge to Saudi Arabia. I was curious, so I decided to go for it. We went on to the bridge, which is not very impressive except for its serious length, and all the way onto the artificial island that marks the actual border. I could go no further without a Saudi visa, which is almost impossible to get unless you know someone in Saudi Arabia or are part of a very rare tour group. There were lots of signs advertising the family whose company built this bridge, the Bin Ladens. At the border he pulled over, then said to me very seriously in a low voice, “you want to go into Saudi Arabia?” “I can’t. I don’t have a visa.” I didn’t even have my passport on me. “No problem.” He was very serious that he thought he could get me across the border. Unfortunately, I got the feeling it wasn’t just a talk/bribe your way in kind of thing – I think he was just gonna straight up put me in the trunk, so I declined. As he restarted the engine and turned around he remarked to me “I don’t like the Saudis.” On the bridge going in the other direction he pointed out to me all the cars with Saudi license plates coming over to this stupid little Sodom and Gomorrah micronation for some fun. “Saudi, Saudi, Saudi” he said as he pointed to the cars. At one of the cars he yelled “Hey! It’s not Friday! Why you come?” The Saudis are obviously the Texans of the Middle East: loud, obnoxious, think they’re great but nobody likes them. Then he pointed at another car and declared “Look! Some Filipinos!” Earlier he had suggested I get my picture taken at the Bahrain/Saudi border, but I didn’t have my camera on me. He said to me “if you need camera I sell you one. Really. We go to my house, I have camera, you buy.” Back on mainland Bahrain we passed the US Embassy and he remarked “too many Americans. All Americans here. Too many. I once had an American friend. He would come into my garden, we would get drunk and dance. Chris was his name. But he leave Bahrain. Michael Jackson he live here in Bahrain.” Then he started doing very accurate Michael Jackson impressions and I could not contain my laughter. This is true, Michael Jackson really does have a house in Bahrain, but I’m not sure whether or not he resides there permanently. Bahrain’s crown prince is a huge fan of his and invited him to live in Bahrain once he figured he was unwanted in the US. I should mention the interesting linguistic situation in the Gulf. There are a very large number of immigrant workers. Except for workers which come from other Arab countries, these workers do not, in general, speak Arabic. Kuwait’s population is about 1/3 Kuwaiti and 2/3 foreign. Bahrain’s is just the inverse with about 2/3 Bahraini and 1/3 foreign, which means that Bahrainis are more represented in the work force, but the people serving you Chicken McNuggets are still foreign. In Kuwait the people in the service industries were almost entirely Filipino, but in Bahrain it’s about half Filipino half Indian (by this I mean Indian, Pakistani or Bangladeshi). The local Arabs speak amongst themselves in Arabic, but with a good amount of English mixed in. One family in Kuwait even appeared to be code switching between the two languages. When they speak to the people at McDonalds or Krispy Kreme, they use English. In Kuwait, good English. In Bahrain, not so much. They have a business here that I wish we had in the US – fast-food style Indian food. Like Panda Express, but with tandoori and chicken tika. I wonder if this would be profitable in the US. I imagine not at first, since Americans are still mostly unfamiliar with Indian food, whereas businesses like Panda Express are successful because Chinese food is established and respected in North America. Tomorrow I’m taking another Bahrain Air flight to Doha.