So I did not go to Arafat's funeral in Ramallah. My photographer friend didn't come through. First he woke me up with a phone call at 7:45 AM (after I'd gone to bed at 4:30 AM) to announce that we'd be leaving in less than one hour, then he called back 30 minutes later to say that he and the journalist who was supposed to drive us had decided we should leave at noon, and then he just disappeared - didn't answer his mobile phone or respond to my SMS.
I was so irritated with him that I didn't answer the phone when he finally called me in the evening.
All my other weekend plans fell through as well, for various reasons. I even found myself locked out of my beloved Saturday morning yoga class because I was three minutes late. Grrr.
Re. the funeral: it's probably just as well that I missed it. Based on what I've heard from reporters who did cover the event, it was a pretty unpleasant scene - with huge crowds of people surging forward and threatening to trample those who stood in the way. I've experienced that kind of shoving and chaos at demonstrations in Abu Dis; once I was literally knocked off my feet, and was pulled up by the surprisingly strong arms of a kindly Palestinian grandmother wearing a traditional long dress and headscarf.
Before I close, here's a plug for a new weblog: my friend Y., who goes by the nom de blog Snowlet, has just started writing about her life as a high-powered Tokyo yuppie working in the cut-throat world of international finance. Go visit the Urban Tokyo Neurotic.