Today we headed east of Nablus, to the village of Beit Djan which lies almost in the Jordan valley. To reach the village we had to get a servees to Beit Furek checkpoint, pass through it on foot, where we would be met by a taxi sent from the village. We were warned that we may well be asked at the checkpoint where we were going, since the road after the checkpoint only leads to one of three villages. We were advised to say that we had been invited to lunch at the municipiality (the village council). (great plan - it was just that since we arrived at the checkpoint at 6.45 a.m., we were clearly the sort of people who liked to be on time for their lunch engagements.)

We arrived at the checkpoint and headed for the metal turnstiles, which, predictably, failed to open. One of the many unendearing things about Israeli checkpoints is that it is never quite clear where you should go or when a turnstile is open or shut - no helpful signs or directions here. It all serves to increase one's sense of total powerlessness as you attempt to pass a checkpoint. There were four bored looking young soldiers at the checkpoint who looked rather surprised by our appearance and who clearly wanted to engage us in conversation. But other than asking us where we were from and then calling out the names of several English football teams, they did not delay us any further after looking at our passports.

We then waited at a dusty road junction, in the middle of nowhere, for our 'contact' to arrive. It was an unlikely start to a lunch engagement really. We got quite a few stares and a couple of women came up and clasped our hands...." Zaytoun?" they enquired, smiling at us. It was Friday, so no school, and as we waited two or three groups of familes came through the checkpoint and some piled into the open back of a farm truck, clearly off somewhere for a day's harvesting. It was a very normal event in every sense, except that that every one of these children, aged from about 3 upwards, had just passed through a sort of cattle pen afffair (the checkpoint) where soldiers armed with M16s had checked and questioned each of their parents and older brothers and sisters.

Eventually a taxi turned up for us and we clambered in (6 in a car plus driver - no problem!) and sped off towards our destination for the day. Beit Djan lies on the side of a hill overlooking a wide flat valley which spreads for miles into the distance, with hills either side. It could perhaps be seen as bleak, but it is the kind of bleakness that I find incredibly beautiful and in the far distance you could see an almost desert like landscape, the Jordan valley (the west bank of the Jordan River - hence the name - West Bank).

Harvesting with this family started with arabic coffee at their house - my friend Ann is a coffee junky so this was her kind of day - and I was pretty happy about it too. This was a male only event though - this house was one of the only ones I visited where women stayed strictly in the kitchen during our visit. Then we were off again - another ride in a packed car along a track leading along the valley. Stupidly I fantasised that there was not going to be too much walking today - how wrong you can be!

The reality of occupation and land theft

Today's farmers, two young men, were clearly keen to give us a political and historic introduction to their village and they were wanted to show us the impact of settler encroachment on their land and trees. The valley is very wide and open but on each distant hillside was some sort of military installation and it became clear that the village is surrounded, albeit at a distance, by some sort of Israeli settlement in each direction, although no actual houses were visible to us. And this is a village which lies many miles from the Green line (the 1948 ceasefire line which demarks the actual borders of Israel).

The car stopped about a mile from the village, at a point where olive groves spread from the valley floor up the hillside, as far as the eye could see. I asked where the track led on to - to the Jordan valley was the answer, but it was only possible  to travel along it about one kilometre further - after that you would be stopped by a permanent Israeli roadblock. So although this village initially appeared to be in the most open and free of situations - in fact it was situated in yet another version of an Israeli controlled prison. There was only one way in or out - via the checkpoint that we had passed through, and on each hilltop surrounding the village the Israeli military was watching over.

The lower slopes of the groves had a sprinkling of farmers picking with a number of women amongst them. Great, I thought, this will be a really sociable occasion. But we walked on past the families and began to ascend the valley side, which gradually became steeper and steeper until we could no longer see the families below us. We walked first by an area where there were no trees at all and our hosts told us that all the trees in this area had been destroyed by settlers. In total the village had already lost over 50% of its trees, due to settler land theft or destruction. We climbed higher and from time to time had to cross barbed wire fences, which have been placed there over time by settlers, attempting to make their claim on the land. We were also shown evidence of trees which had been burnt. We then saw some very young trees which had been planted by the villagers. They were being protected by being grown inside old oil drums. This sort of replanting must be a real act of faith - the villagers must know that the chances are really strong that the trees grown here will in turn be lost to the settlers.

By this time we were well out of sight or of hearing of the other villagers - this was the reason of course that we had been asked to accompany these farmers, and also the reason why no children had come with us. Oh great - another isolated day on the hills........

We eventually stopped high on the hillside, where we could see clearly an Israeli watchtower way across the valley from us. At first we felt quite tense: we imagined that settlers might creep up on us from over the top of the hill. However, it became clear that although the village land was under continual threat from settler encroachment and land theft, the settlements were actually some distance away, and we would have heard anyone coming from a long distance before they reached us. And I reckoned I could get down that hill a lot faster than I had climbed up. So we settled into our picking and began to enjoy the incredible views towards the Jordan valley.

Picnic banquet for Ms Grumpy

The day was really hot and we picked for many hours. the trees were also not quite big enough to afford much shade. And today, I did get irriated at times by the ability of one of the young men with us to have frequent and lengthy cigarette breaks. There was no real sense of rush about the picking (in contrast to yesterday) and I began to wonder how much we were a source of labour for the day rather than helping to protect the farmers from any real threat. However, my uncharitable thoughts, which had a lot to do with hunger, were extinguished when during the afternoon what can only be described as a banquet arrived, having been carried all the way up the hillside by two other members of the family. Two sumptuous dishes of chicken, rice and couscous, on large silver dishes, which had been wrapped in newspaper to keep them hot on their long journey up to us. Now this was what you call a picnic - sandwiches are never going to hold much interest for me again!

AS the afternoon drew on a sort of pinkish light comes over the land and the view over towards the Jordan valley looked fantastic. However, our position felt even more isolated and I was glad when packing up started. It was decided that rather than drop down the steep hillside the way we had come, we would cut across the hillside diagonally and head back towards the village directly. This meant not following any track that I could see and as we set off I realised that it would send us below the site of what looked like an army watachtower. We made our way without any problems but on several occasions had to climb over old wire fences and I got the distinct impression that this alternative way back had been chosen as a small act of defiance against the settlers and the Army. Fair enough - it was all Beit Djan village land that we were on, but I was very glad to reach the village and the little knots of children that gather whenever we arrive on the scene. The most confident amongst them always call out 'What's your name?' while the shyer ones hide behind and giggle.