KUWAIT CITY -- Two teen-age girls smile and wave at soldiers outside the U.S. Embassy from their cherry-red convertible. One is wearing skin-tight jeans, the other a hip-hugging skirt with the hemline above her knees.

Madonna's "Like a Virgin" blares from the car's speakers. Draped across the back seat are two abayas, the traditional black robes worn by Arab women. Islamic tradition dictates that women dress modestly.

Why are the abayas in the back seat?

"To get out of the house," the convertible's driver explains as traffic begins to move.

Although Saudi Arabia, at least in public, is a bastion of strict Islamic virtues and values, Kuwaitis have always been decidedly more laid-back. If Saudis are the Calvinists of Islam, many Kuwaitis are its hedonists.

They are the yuppies of the desert, conspicuous consumers par excellence.

Iraq's seven-month occupation put a dent in Kuwait's pocketbook and its free-wheeling lifestyle, but Kuwaitis are bouncing back -- in some ways. Boutiques and fast-food restaurants were among the first businesses to reopen after the Iraqis left. A shipment of 1,000 new Buicks, destined for a Kuwaiti dealership, was en route late last month.

In other ways, however, the country has done little to repair the scars of war. More than two months after the Feb. 27 liberation, streets in Kuwait City are ankle-deep in litter and war debris. Despite widespread damage to commercial buildings and homes, the pace of reconstruction is lethargic.

Kuwaitis who were outside the country during the war aren't breaking any speed records trying to get back home to rebuild. Kuwaitis who suffered through the occupation have displayed considerable energy and enterprise in getting out for a vacation in Switzerland or London.

Kuwaiti society is cursed -- or blessed -- with a collective shop-till-you-drop mentality. In the aftermath of the occupation, it has not taken a roll-up-your-sleeves approach to the many problems facing the country. Many Kuwaitis seem perfectly willing to wait until they can pay someone to do the dirty work, no matter how long it takes.

Such attitudes can be blamed in part on geology.

Fate led a nomadic tribe from the harsh Arabian interior to a seemingly worthless wedge of coastal desert on the Persian Gulf.

For years Kuwaitis eked out a living with maritime trade, boat building and pearl diving. In 1938 geologists discovered that Kuwait was floating atop one of the world's largest oil deposits. After World War II, when the oil resources could be developed, the good times began.

Today, Kuwaitis seem determined to get those good times rolling again, despite the austere dictates of Islam and the

sobering aftereffects of war.

One of Islam's most important religious observances is Ramadan. For a month, Muslims should abstain from food, drink, tobacco and other pleasurable pursuits during daylight. After sunset, the fast is broken with a large meal.

In Saudi Arabia, visitors are sternly warned to comply with Ramadan restrictions while in public. Business comes to a standstill. Visitors are warned that drivers might be out of sorts by late afternoon.

Although many Kuwaitis are observant, it is not unusual to see men smoking during Ramadan. And especially before the Iraqi invasion, abstaining from pleasurable pursuits was hardly the rule.

During this year's Ramadan, which began March 17, one wealthy Kuwaiti businessman stood on the beach, staring wistfully at the waves.

"Before the Iraqis came, it was great," he mused. "We'd jet-ski all afternoon and then go eat."

Alcohol is strictly prohibited in Saudi Arabia and officially prohibited in Kuwait. Yet even wet bars can be found in Kuwaiti homes. But since the war, Kuwait's primary source of alcoholic beverages -- Iraq -- has dried up.

Nevertheless, where there's a will, there's a way. The devastation of war and its aftermath have not prevented many Kuwaitis from struggling to maintain their former way of life.

More than two dozen men recently attended a diwaniya, a traditional male Kuwaiti gathering. They lounged on couches or floor pillows. The goodies distributed by servants included traditional Arab fare: olives and dates, nut-filled pastries, unleavened bread.

Some of the men wore traditional dis--a -- white, ankle-length cotton robes -- and ghutras, or red-and-white cloth headdresses tied with a headband. Footwear ranged from sandals to running shoes.

Other guests wore jeans. One relaxed in a jogging suit.

New arrivals were greeted in a traditional Arab fashion: a long handshake, a hug and a series of light kisses on each cheek.

The refreshments definitely were not traditional.

One of the guests, a business owner in his 40s, sat cross-legged on the floor playing gin rummy. He nursed a scotch and water.

A bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label was among several bottles of spirits on a table. Two frequently visited ice chests held several dozen cans of Lowenbrau beer.

"The Saudis don't know how to enjoy themselves," the scotch-drinking card player told an American visitor. "We call Saudi Arabia 'Dowdy Arabia.' "

The diwaniya resembled similar gatherings before the war. But there was a difference. Some of the guests had stayed in Kuwait during the occupation. Others had fled. One spent several months as a prisoner in Iraq.

The conversation often was somber. The men were angry that many high-ranking Kuwaiti government officials still had not returned to help rebuild. They wanted Kuwait's National Assembly, dissolved by the ruling al-Sabah family in 1986, restored. They worried about what the future might hold if Kuwait did not have a powerful friend such as the United States to fend off invasion.

Several miles away in Salmiya, a mixed neighborhood of Kuwaitis and Palestinians and other foreign workers, a street vendor offered glasses of scotch to passers-by. It was a seller's market: $10 a shot.

The nearby Hardee's was one of the first restaurants to open in Kuwait City after the liberation. Two months after the Iraqis fled, the menu still was limited to hamburgers, Swiss-and-mushroom burgers without the Swiss, roast beef sandwiches (sometimes), soft drinks and fries.

The line extended out the door and halfway around the block. Pizza Hut, Arby's and Shakey's Pizza, all within sight, were still closed.

Many Kuwaitis acquired a passion for fast food while attending college overseas. For decades, the country has placed a high value on a college education, especially one obtained in the United States or Britain.

One Hardee's customer held his 9-month-old son in his arms. "He's an American -- born in Montgomery, Ala.," said the father, a Kuwaiti dressed in a traditional Arab robe and headdress. He was a graduate of Alabama's Tuskegee University.

The parking lot outside Hardee's has become an impromptu dance floor at night. Recently, scores of young men danced to rap and Arab music booming from speakers propped in a Chevy hatchback. There were no women. The men laughed nervously at the idea. Even in Kuwait, socializing between the sexes is rare.

They paused briefly when a middle-aged Kuwaiti, visibly angry, chastised the dancers as he clutched a hamburger in one hand.

"We don't need disco. We don't need pop," he yelled above the music. "This is an Islamic country."

One dancer turned up the sound as the interloper stalked off.

"Every night we come here," said Wesam al-Jabri, 21, a student of Iraqi descent. "Kuwaiti, Palestinian, Sudanese, Iraqi, it makes no difference. We are friends."

But there was a difference. Though Mr. al-Jabri was born in Kuwait, he is not a citizen. And many of Kuwait's foreign workers, especially those of Palestinian and Iraqi heritage, have been subjected to civil rights abuses at the hands of Kuwaitis since the liberation.

The Kuwaiti government has vowed to reduce the number of foreign workers. Before the war, foreigners represented more than 60 percent of Kuwait's total population. One common fear among Kuwaitis is that their country could be wrested from them a discontented foreign population.

Many foreign workers, unable to get work because of a stagnating postwar economy and discriminatory hiring practices, already have left. Foreigners fear reprisals from Kuwaitis who accuse them of collaborating with Iraqi occupiers.

"I love Kuwait. I'm from here," Mr. al-Jabri said. "But I don't know what will happen. I would like to go to the United States."

Kuwait's total population is half of its prewar level. Proportionately, there may be even more foreigners than Kuwaiti citizens, especially in light of a vacation exodus by Kuwaitis who survived the occupation.

Sulaiman al-Matawa, who served as Kuwait's planning minister until a new Cabinet was announced last month, acknowledged that "a lot of those who stayed during the occupation have had a chance to leave for a badly needed vacation."

The Kuwaiti government is encouraging, with limited success, the return of Kuwaitis to speed up the country's recovery.

Western diplomats, U.S. soldiers and business executives are not convinced that Kuwaitis' return would be enough by itself to get the emirate back on track.

"What you need is a change in attitude," said the owner of a U.S.-based construction firm. "Kuwaitis are used to hiring others to do the work."

Many Kuwaitis agree that their society has paid a price for wealth.

"That's what's ruined the people here," said Faiz al-Mutawa, 44, a developer and owner of a construction materials firm. "There's no work ethic. Not only for the very wealthy, but the average person. You can't keep supplying all his needs and then expect him to turn around and do a good job. What the hell for? He can go home and lie down and get the same salary."

The foreign workers who have left represent a tremendous brain drain. Many held key positions in Kuwaiti-owned businesses before the war.

After liberation, the government encouraged a policy of hiring Kuwaitis. Some foreign workers who had been employed in the banking industry and at electrical power plants discovered that they were no longer wanted -- at least at first.

"No matter how bad they wanted to get rid of them, no one else knew how to do the work," said a U.S. Army colonel serving as an adviser to a Kuwaiti ministry.

Kuwaiti police officers were reluctant to see soldiers with a Tennessee National Guard unit leave. The Americans repaired many of the police patrol cars that had been damaged or stripped during the occupation.

The Kuwaitis couldn't change the oil in their own cars. They'd never had to. And they didn't know who would when the soldiers left.

Similarly, many Kuwaitis don't know what their own government will do when U.S. advisers leave. U.S. soldiers are generally credited with restoring most basic services, while the Kuwaiti government has taken flak for failing to plan adequately for the country's needs and for misplaced priorities.

For example, when the government hired waste-disposal trucks, they were first used to clean up one of the emir's palaces, while the public endured growing piles of garbage.

Maj. Gen. Patrick J. Kelly, who heads the U.S. Defense Reconstruction Assistance Office in Kuwait, is no stranger to crisis. General Kelly helped in the recovery of the U.S. Virgin Islands after Hurricane Hugo.

He agreed that the pace was slower in Kuwait. But the Virgin Islanders, who didn't have the financial resources of the Kuwaitis, were more motivated to rebuild. "They couldn't go to the Bahamas and live in a hotel," he said.

The government's sluggish attempt to regain control has provided some Kuwaitis with a welcome respite from bureaucracy.

Essa al-Essa, 37, a Kuwaiti businessman, recently watched "Ghost" and "Dances With Wolves," rented from a Palestinian-owned video store, including scenes that never would have been shown in Kuwait before the war.

Because the government still is in disarray, he said, "there is no censorship."

At the Sultan Center, Kuwait's largest grocery store, business was flourishing recently. There were long lines and limited supplies at government-subsidized food cooperatives, but the shelves at Sultan were almost fully stocked -- the difference, general manager Riad Sultan said, between free enterprise and government bureaucracy.

"For my business, it's running just perfectly," Mr. Sultan, 41, said, because there are no laws, there are no rules, there is no health department coming to check me."

He said that he wouldn't welcome the return of bureaucracy but was eager to see a greater emphasis on public health.

Children still are being maimed by unexploded ordnance left by the Iraqis. Raw sewage is pumped directly into the Persian Gulf because Kuwait's sewage treatment system is not working.

The government continues to claim that it can't measure the health impact of an estimated 500 oil wells set on fire by the retreating Iraqis because the Iraqis also stole the necessary monitoring instruments. Crude oil coats the sand and rocks along the shoreline with a thick black goo, another legacy of Iraqi President Saddam Hussein's environmental terrorism.

No one has told Hassan Namer Salama not to fish in the bay. And there are no warnings posted by the government.

In the evenings he catches 20 to 40 pan-sized fish and distributes them to friends. Personally, he doesn't like fish.

A thin coat of oil covered portions of one fish he caught on a recent night. Mr. Salama, 30, a furniture salesman of Lebanese descent, shrugged. He wiped it off and went back to his fishing.