Progress. Finally. The U.S. embassy gave me the name of the Iraqi consul this morning. There's no Iraqi embassy here, so some people say, but it seems Iraq maintains some kind of diplomatic office in Kuwait. The man at the U.S. embassy told me that I was not to share the phone number with anyone because it's the consul's cell number.

"It's the only number we have for him," the U.S. embassy guy said. "You absolutely can not give this number to anyone else."

Oh, OK. I imagined that the paper on which he jotted the number would burst into flames in three hours like on "Mission Impossible." Heck, they were giving ME the number. Can it really be all that secretive? I'm poking fun, I know, but geez. What's with all this "Casablanca" mystery?

So I called the Iraqi consul, and he was nice.

"Why do you want to go to Iraq?" he asked.
"I need to be there to report on the war," I said. "Almost nothing is being written about the Iraqi people and how the war is affecting them. A lot of Americans want to hear from the Iraqi people."
"It is extremely dangerous in Iraq now," he said. "I do not advise you to go there. If you are caught, it will be the end of the story."

So it went. He explaining to me the craziness and danger of going to Iraq, me telling him that I must go. He then told me that I should call the U.S. embassy and ask them to write a letter of reference for me. That seemed odd. I seriously doubted that the embassy would do that since they don't assist Americans in obtaining visas to other countries. I called the embassy, left a message, and the man who gave me the Iraqi consul's cell number returned my call within 30 minutes. No, they never have and never will write such a letter. I told him OK, I didn't think so, but I asked because the Iraqi consul wanted me to ask.

I called the consul and told him the news. "OK, come to the embassy tomorrow, and we'll get you to Baghdad."

Wow. But wait. What embassy? Everyone said there is no Iraqi embassy in Kuwait, and the consul told me to go to the embassy. He gave me the address and time to be there. Is it an embassy in hiding or something? But the Iraqi consulate in D.C. did tell me there is an embassy in Kuwait. Do the Americans not know about it? Typical.

So tomorrow I trot over there. The consul and I talked for about 15 minutes about why I want to go there and the dangers. During the first conversation, he mentioned that it could take up to a month without the letter from the U.S. embassy. During the second conversation when I told him the Americans weren't going to write diddly for me, he said he'd get me to Baghdad, and he made it sound like I'd catch the red-eye or something. Like bring your bags cause the helo is waiting. Maybe it was just his accent, I don't know.

I talked to a couple of reporters from England today, and they told me to meet them for dinner. I said "cool." I left the hotel and was a little turned around, but I spotted two security guards inside a bank who I thought could give me directions. I tapped on the door, and one of them unlocked it. They spoke about three words of English, but they motioned for me to wait, and one of them got on the phone. I guess he was calling various offices to find an English speaker. No luck. It was 9:30 p.m. after all. The one who wasn't making the phone calls had a badge that said supervisor and he said, "Nationality?" I understood that. I said, "American." He then grinned huge and said ,"Oh yes, yes. Good. Good. You sit. Drink tea. We have tea."

At that time, an Indian guy came walking down the hall, and he spoke English. The security guards seemed elated. The Indian not only gave me directions but told me he'd walk over there with me to make sure I found the restaurant. The reporters were there, but they had only about 20 minutes. The meal was cheap, about two dollars. The reporters were leaving for Afghanistan in the morning. They were in Kuwait for a two-day R&R.

There are a few sour grapes here though. I needed to exhange dollars for dinars, and I went to this little exhange place in the middle of a market. The man at the counter glared at me and my American-ness. He examined the $20 U.S. bill for a good while and then rejected it by throwing it on the counter at me and then waving his hand at me, dismissing me. I was livid at the treatment.

"What's wrong with it?" I asked. He pointed to a corner of the bill where a pinhead-size part of the bill was missing. I mean the tear was so small. I'm a stubborn American and one who doesn't take lightly to being insulted by foreigners, especially those who I think owe us a debt. I know, I know. The Ugly American. But geez. If it hadn't been for our military, and, yes, the military of other countries, Kuwait would still be under Saddam's rule. So, to be treated like that is unacceptable. I won't write here what I told the man, and I shouldn't have said anything, but I did. I should have walked away, but I was furious. Perhaps he's not from Kuwait. Perhaps he's an Arab who despises Americans and who thinks all we do is run to Israel's side. There are plenty of those. Anyway, I blasted him with colorful English. As I walked away, I thought oh man, maybe that was a mistake. I still had to walk through this Arab marketplace. But what the heck. The shopkeepers didn't even look at me.

I hope I'm in Iraq in the next couple of days.