Wide-eyed and hungry

I’m sitting in a hut outside Jenin, as Ayham tunes in to a radio station on his cell phone. He starts singing to a song I moments later learn is Israeli, as he, his friends, Ruben and I get drunk together. This is not what I was expecting from Palestine.
Convincing myself that Israel was a safe destination hadn't been easy, so when my friend Ruben invited me to visit the West Bank as well, I can't say I was very eager. All I had ever heard of the region were stories of radicalism and conflict. But then I remembered the previous year's riots in Istanbul, where I lived. Thinking of how European news coverage had made friends and family believe that my life was at constant risk, I decided I should go see for myself.
Still I had second thoughts when, just outside the East Jerusalem bus station, the friendly atmosphere of the city started making way for fences, razor wire and armed guards. By the time we reached the wall I would have got off the bus and into a taxi back, if it wasn't for a young Palestinian man striking up a conversation. The story about his job designing furniture in Ramallah and his architecture studies in Tel Aviv, told with contagious calm, kept me in my seat.
Five hours of sienna and olive landscapes later, I'm sitting under a corrugated plastic roof by the light of a single light bulb. As muslims are not allowed to drink alcohol in Palestine, we have to raise our glasses here, away from the city's eyes. The bowls covering the table make me regret my earlier dinner: giant strawberries from the nearby greenhouse, sun-dried tomatoes, sheep cheese, fava beans, humus and a fennel and lemon salad made on the spot. I ask to be taught the Arabic for “thank you very much”, and with the help of the aniseed-flavoured arak, a multilingual conversation develops.
When the music comes on, the reception's bad. It takes me a moment to recognise the language - it's not Arabic. Turkish? Greek? Hebrew! Ayham seems to notice my surprise. “Yes, it's Israeli music”, he says with a smile. “It's a good song. It's about hope for peace. That's what most of them want, just like us. It's only a few people making it all so difficult.” He pours another round and starts telling a joke about Israelis and Palestinians, but the alcohol has kicked in and he forgets every single turn of the story. His friends pat him on the shoulders, dying with laughter. In the end, he gives up and leans back, stroking his beard with a glint in his eyes. Slowly, we all fall silent, smiling.