Being Russian girl in Amman.

I was walking back home at 8-30 in the morning.
Amman, Rainbow street. Shining pavements, me slightly hungover. White polka dots skirt, T-shirt and flipflops.
Taxi drivers always feel the urge to attract lonely pedestrians attention with a couple of loud "beeeps". You get used fast.
Almost there.
Suddenly. Fancy BMW, two guys at the front seat. And suddenly I hear, with the heavy accent: "dobroe utro!" - WOW! - and they pull back. "Kak dela?"
- Morning! How do I know you? - something makes me speak English
- This often happens. Somehow. What do you speak? - his English is too arabic.
I realize that it's the first time I'm seeing these faces. And don't want to see any longer.
- Ah, o'k, sorry. Gotta go. Bye.
- Stop! - the driver comes out of BMW. He's wearing classic arabic long dress for men, "dishdasha", - give me your number!
- No, - and I start walking away.
- One night we will have fun together! - his shouts followed me
- Fuck off!
- O'k! - (why would he say that?)

I crossed the road, sat on the bench at the point overlooking all the old Amman and couldn't stop crying.