In the last few weeks Bethlehem has played host to some rather unwelcome guests - at least, as far as the Israeli authorities are concerned. First up was a trio of Israeli citizens who were caught in the city, purportedly to "see the town's fir trees," an excuse that didn't cut much ice with the Israeli police. One of the three, a serving soldier who decided to take his M16 along for the trip, received a month in military jail as punishment for his straying into enemy territory.

Then, a few days later, another two Israelis were apprehended in the city after apparently going to get their car fixed in a local garage. An army official described their foray as "stupid", claiming that they "endangered the entire country [with their actions], because they could have been kidnapped". While accusing them of putting the entire state of Israel at risk might sound hysterical to some, his reaction is in fact par for the course and entirely understandable given the current climate of fear that reigns in the area.

Against this backdrop, my flatmate and I decided to make a similar trip to the city this week, along with one of our closest friends, who was visiting from London. We opted to dispense with traditionally saccharine sightseeing - Jerusalem's Old City, the beaches of Tel Aviv, and so on - and take our guest to see the side of the region that Jews rarely get to see. Clutching our British passports tightly and hoping for an easy passage through the checkpoint, we jumped in a cab and headed for the security wall less than three miles from my house.

We were in luck - a bored girl behind the bullet-proof glass of her cubicle waved us casually through, and we were in. Strolling in the weak January sunshine, we made our way to the centre of town, taking in the sights and sounds of the post-intifada version of Bethlehem. Despite being encircled by 30-foot-high concrete slabs and well-manned lookout towers, inside the city life goes on as normally as possible.

This isn't Gaza, where gun-toting militants rule the roost, causing even the most hard-nosed journalists and intrepid aid-workers to think twice about setting foot there. Neither is it laced with the eerie, menacing air that hangs over Jenin's refugee camp, where years of vicious fighting have taken their toll on the collective psyche and made it a daunting place to visit.

Instead, Bethlehem feels as safe and approachable as any town in Israel, no different from Yafo, Nazareth, Kfar Saba or Haifa. The only guns on display are in the hands of the Palestinian policemen patrolling the streets, the same policemen who, far from aiding and abetting a kidnap of the straying Israelis earlier in the month, handed them over to the Israeli authorities with a minimum of fuss.

The streets of the souk heave with shoppers buying up everything from entire sheep's carcasses to six-inch stilettos, and couldn't feel less threatening to an outsider. Unless, that is, they've been fed the propaganda that the Israeli government loves to serve up to its flock. Granted, there is of course previous when it comes to Palestinians attacking Jewish Israelis in the West Bank, but to paint the entire region as a cauldron of terror is a calumny, and done in order to keep Israelis fearful, and therefore in support of the occupation.