It poured down this Friday afternoon in Jerusalem.

Jerusalem is an amazing place on Fridays. Observant Jews are rushing around, preparing for the Sabbath. In the Old City, Catholics can be seen, eating in fish restaurants. And around 2.00pm, the mosques finish the main prayers for the day and the worshippers pour out.

It was about this hour that my friend from the UK, let’s call him Robert, phoned me for directions to get to my place. “Take the 131 bus, and get off at the last stop. Simple, no?”

From my warm, dry apartment, I could see really heavens opening up. Well, this is Israel. Nearly an hour went past, before Robert called again. “Are you sure, this is the right bus for me? We seem to be going round the houses.”

Two minutes later, another call. “I am the last person on the bus.” More reassuring words from his host to be.

And then, the best call: “What do I do now? The driver has stopped the bus, got out his prayer mat and was offering his own supplications for the day. Yes, Egged, Israel’s major bus company, employs Muslims, and on an equal basis.

Just then, the driver finished and I was able to explain to him where to let my tourist friend off the bus. A few minutes later, a bemused Robert was recalling the incident over a hot cup of (English) tea.

But here is what really made me laugh. It was not that I live over the “green line”, beyond the 1967 borders and that the driver clearly had no problem working in the area.

Before starting to pray, the driver carried out the customary search of the bus, ensuring that the passengers had taken all of their bags with them. In other words, our Arab friend was checking that there were no suspicious items – potential bombs – left lying around. Somehow, there is a beautiful irony in this episode.

And beyond the irony and amongst the torrential rain, there is a wonderful story of coexistence that people overseas do not realise still remains in many parts of the holy city of Jerusalem.