Images of Jerusalem that dwell in my mind:

A small boy selling sweet corn from a big trolley in front of the Damascus Gate. He is only just about taller than the trolley - maybe 11 or 12 years old - but his facial expression bears a maturity, a knowledge of life far beyond his years.

Walking down one of the little streets in the Old City, and hearing the sound of marching thudding feet getting louder and louder and coming towards us. Around us Palestinians are milling around, completely taking it in their stride, considering it 'normal' and exchanging sweets whilst we chat about why the Israeli army is marching through the street: it is a Jewish festival they say whilst the stomping  - of army boots on flagstones - fades away.

A haven of Armenian Pottery. Quiet, cool, peaceful behind wrought iron doors. Shelves upon shelves of hand-crafted pieces in different stages of completion. Shafts of sunlight on the dried and painted pieces. Women painting the pottery: confident, industrious, expert.