Following my departure from the bridge, I chatted with my aunt in the taxi and she told me personal news, then started talking generally about the situation in Palestine. The route we were taking to Arrabeh was actually, I found out, forbidden to me since I hold a foreign passport, and not the correct permission. There was a checkpoint on the way and my aunt began saying prayers left right and centre and I thought I was about to implode. Thankfully we were not made to stop; the worst that would happen in any case would be that we would have to turn back and take another route, losing another couple of hours travelling. Yet this was a significant event because it is indicative of the Palestinians’ lifestyle. So much is about where you can or can’t go.
