It perhaps come as no surprise that the Fourth of July is not a big holiday outside the United States. And especially not on in the UAE, where Yanks are thin on the ground.

Not that we didn’t try to do a little something to commemorate the day. But the Fourth here was … Monday, and that’s about it.

To review: The cultural impulses here come mostly from three directions. Arabia, which produced the people who run the country; the subcontinent, home to the majority of people who actually live here; and Britain, which provided a sort of global cultural overlay to the place and who make up the majority of western expats in the country.

None of those people are interested in the phrase, “When in the course of human events …”

This is how we celebrated the Fourth:

First, we went to work at The National.

It struck me today that the number of Yanks in the newsroom seems to have tailed off since we arrived, nearly two years ago. It’s a long way from home, for Yanks, and in the past year we have found it difficult to recruit many here. We had one guy lined up for a job in sports, and he was laid off by a dot-com .. but he still couldn’t/wouldn’t come.

So, fewer Yanks means less fuss. A guy over in the business department said something about it. But not a word of Fourth of July in eight hours in sports. It’s just the fourth day of July, remember?

Also, Yanks working overseas are not the “ugly Americans” of yore — most of whom were tourists. We are no more overtly political or nationalistic than, say, Canadians. So it’s not as if we walked into the newsroom and two or three guys had American flags on their desk or had Sousa marches playing on their computers.

Still, we thought we ought to do something. I suggested inviting over a couple of the Yanks in the room, and we did …

On Sunday night, Leah made some chili, and it simmered to a nice finish in a crock pot. She also bought some watermelon, some salsa, the best corn chips in the country (not as good as in the U.S.), a case of tall Heineckens and some cheese cake. We had considered a barbecue but 1) we don’t have a barbecue and 2) it’s too hot hot to stand around outside waiting for burgers to sear and dogs to turn a golden brown.

A few of our Yank co-workers came over, after their shifts were over. I put on a red polo shirt, so I was wearing red, white (shoes) and blue (jeans). We drank beer and had salsa and peanuts, and then chili, and watched a live baseball game. The Cubs and Nationals were polite enough to play a day game, and that was the backdrop for the event.

It wasn’t exactly maudlin, but we heard stories about “the last time I was in Wrigley” and “my mom finds baseball season boring, after the NBA” …

We wished fireworks were legal. They aren’t, but the word on the street is that they can be had, and actually we’ve seen kids throwing firecrackers during our time here.

Earlier in the day, back at the office, I found a copy of the Declaration of Independence online and printed it out. I was considering a “dramatic reading” … and when our visitors laughed at that, Leah said, “You think he’s kidding?”

I managed to fight back the notion to read Jefferson’s catalog of beefs with the king, but some of it is a little silly and probably overheated. One complaint Jefferson listed was about how King George has “sent hither swarms of officers to harass our people and eat out their susbstance.”

(Really. Check it out. Some of it is seems a little petty, almost like Jefferson was reaching for things to make his airing of grievances longer.)

I imagine the others spent some time thinking about the way they celebrated the Fourth back home. I did. Barbecues, or swimming or a day at the beach. A nice afternoon or evening among people with the same cultural touch points who don’t need to have things explained to them.

Oddly, Canada Day, a holiday I didn’t actually know existed, not long ago, seems to be a bigger event in the UAE than the Fourth of July. It’s July 1, if you’re wondering.

It finally struck me, as our little group of Yanks watched ball and had a few beers. It’s almost as if we’re in the post-show-off era of American life. We know what we are and where we’ve been, and we no longer feel a need to tell people about it. We’re post-nationalist in our social habits, but not inside our own heads, and maybe that’s for the better, 11,000 miles from home.