Don't say a word!

Try this one on for size. I am on business in AlJubail, Saudi Arabia, a land where you do not EVER acknowledge the presence or existence of a local female. I am offered a lift by one of the Saudi principals. I sit in the back of his car. The passenger seat is occupied by his third wife (You are allowed four, as long as you can provide for them). My Saudi host apologizes that he has something to do, and goes back into the building temporarily, leaving me alone in the car with Wife Number Three.
Don't go, this is interesting.
If she were Saudi, I would have no problem: just sit there silent, think about the prophet Mohammed-on-him-be-all-praise, and wait for master's return. But I happen to know that Wife Number Three is Canadian, and a recent acquisition at that. She is, of course, dressed in regulation blackout.
What to do? Make small talk? Stay silent? Hum a few suras from the holy book? Ask her what it's like to be in purdah? Offer to massage her shoulders?
What would you have done?
I, belonging to that braw band of bravos known as cowards, remained silent - after all, I didn't want to have my genitals removed by a Saracen scimitar - but I felt bad about it, because the lady was English-speaking and might have thought me rude. She might have been homesick, she might have been DYING for a bit of occidental chitchat.
Later, I was told by a knowledgeable informant that I had done exactly the right thing by remaining silent.
By nature, I am a chatty bugger: I could so easily have lost my wedding tackle there.