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Hello and a Smile - Arabia: Day One “You must be Will,” said the pleasantly smiling city Arab in a rose print polyester shirt as I got inside the Riyadh Airport terminal. “My name’s Samir.” A quick drive to the hotel and then to the English Language Centre where I was to be a teacher, meeting the Director, Curt, and I was on my own, no Arabic, no map, wondering what I was doing out in the middle of the Arabian desert, in August, in jeans. “Oh before I go ... how do I say, ‘what's that?’ in Arabic," figuring I had to start somewhere. Curt answered, "ash hatha," and I left to explore my new hometown and, since I spoke no Arabic, and didn't know where I was going anyway -- I walked the two miles downtown with herds of camels going through, a Biblical cattle drive – bedouin cowboys in long dresses and sandals. Near the souk, hungry and hot - no sweat – simply salt stains on the chest of my t-shirt and the bottom of the belt, I went into a tiny restaurant. The only one in pants, I walked to the back where the serving pots were -- Mediterranean style -- and pointed to some beans asking the cook, "Ash hatha?" His look said, "You don't know beans?" and then as quickly, his face shifted to "Are you insulting me?” and then to "Have you been in the sun too long?" and I just stood there, smiled and repeated, “Ash hatha?” and shrugged, throwing up my hands in question. He eyed me, saying "bazeela, hatha bazeela" and I repeated the word, and asked "ash hatha" to some lentil soup -- he smiled, and said "zoupa." Ok, freakin’ A - I’m ona roll and pointed to some bread saying "ash hatha?" and found it was "khoubz," thinking: Beans, soup and bread -- I can get by now even if that’s all I know. By this time, the guys in the restaurant had eyed me up and down as locals in any little bar or restaurant would an’ were callin’ out to the cook (and don’t mind if I’m tak’n a few liberties), "Yo, Mohammed, what’s up with that guy?" and I can't even imagine the answer, but up jumps one of the guys from the restaurant, and I’m gonna call him Ahmed, and he says, "Ash hatha?" to me - holding out a handful of mixed bills and coins - to the hollers of the rest of the crowd. I shrugged, laughing and said, “I don’t know” in English. He answered in Arabic sticking his finger into his palm, "Fulous, hatha fulous" rattling the coins as he hit. I repeated ‘fulous’ and then he said "wahid, ithnain, thalaatha, aarbaa..." while using fingers to show one, two, three, four ... My saying ‘fulous’ dissolved the whole place in laughter at my pronunciation, but the eye-roll and shrug at the same time kept them watching to see what came next with this Midwest boy in a Mideast reality show. It took an hour and a half to have lunch, I could buy nothing, I left absolutely stuffed, having eaten everything in the place, and I could count to ten, order anything in the ordinary menu and gave a good story to these guys to tell their friends as I have told mine -- just playing the fool with a big hello and a smile. Not bad for a first day, and that little hole in the wall became my hummus haunt with a side of spicy Mediterranean bean soup. And the first time there with my desert white robes and headgear – the rutra (the headcloth) and ogal (the black ring on top) - again I could buy nothing - a celebration of my coming of Arabian age.