Hardly able to contain my eagerness for the anticipated year of study abroad, I was too busy radiating with excitement to give a moment’s thought to all that I’d be leaving behind, namely Kyle. Moving to London three years ago meant a separation from most of what I’ve come to know. But as perilous as moving to another country may seem to someone who has never lived on foreign soil, any tribulation was easily eradicated from the simple fact of us being together. For the better part of six years, no more than a handful of days have passed without one at the other’s side. I was finally throttled full force with the reality of my lone embarkation when waiting with Kyle for the airport shuttle, as though my tongue took a slow retreat down my throat and wrapped tightly around my ribcage and internal organs.

 

 

 

 

The hour-long airport transfer was a dull doze bookended with weightless drops streaming under the windshield glass.

 

 

 

I was relieved to pair up with Jess in Tel Aviv, the only other SOAS student on the flight. Although we had rarely exchanged more than polite greetings at university, she was a familiar face who was indeed a sight for suddenly lonely eyes. I didn’t know it then, but I would come to greatly value Jess’s companionship, not just immediately during our lengthy transit to the West Bank, but even more broadly over the course of my stay in Palestine.

 

I reached passport control ready to take on the worst of the horror stories I’ve heard about Israeli customs. We bypassed border patrol nearly without a hiccup, save for being taken to an office where we were made to wait fifteen minutes, then rudely handed back our passports, and spat at in contemptuous English. Honestly, I was a bit disappointed that we got through with such relative ease.

 

The transfer from Ben Gurion Airport to Nablus is difficult to detail as neither of us were given many specifics. No signs bearing our names as promised, just a man with a van insisting he was meant to pick us up. As the hours of the evening sped away and the stagnant heat lent more weight to our already heavy bags, we hesitated but a moment before clambering into the air-conditioned vehicle. Swapping taxis after crossing the border into the West Bank, our situation grew even more nebulous as our second driver uttered not a single word. We finally reached an area of Nablus that was evidently a downtown commercial center by day; however, by night it was almost completely vacated and shut up. Our bags barely made contact with the asphalt when an elderly man appeared and proceeded to drag our luggage into an elevator. He ushered us into a spacious but run-down apartment, where we could only assume we were meant to stay. It wasn’t until the apartment’s only occupant identified us as ‘part of the big group from London’ that we were certain we were where we were supposed to be.

 

The rest of the night was uneventful. It was late, dark, and without Wi-Fi to verify our location or search for late-night eats, it was probably sensible to stay in and wait for daybreak, which is what we did. Even though I was ready at that point to start my grand adventure, I knew better than to venture out on my own in the middle of the night in completely unknown surroundings. Exploring the apartment was adventure enough, with its phantom creaks and impenetrable, shadowy corners.