It was in Al Ain that we had lunch in a little back street cafe, whose other customers were all Arabic men. Most of them were playing cards or backgammon and smoking shish, and were quite happy when I asked if I could take their photograph.
With a bit of sign language we indicated that we wanted to eat and were brought a feast of bread, salad, olives, hummous and baba ganoush. An elderly man stopped by our table on the way out and helped himself to a piece of our bread, dropping cigarette ash as he did so. We were given to understand that his sharing of our food was a great honour, the ultimate acceptance.