The bus stop is a sandy square surrounded by apple orchards, where a cluster of people has assembled around a coach.

Talea, 24, gives his parents a final hug before boarding the bus that will bring him across the Syrian-Golan border in just a few minutes' time.

In the coming semester, Talea is going to finish his studies in medicine in Damascus. He won't come back to his home country until the beginning of next year's summer break.

Since Israel occupied the Golan Heights in 1967, the Druze, the muslim sect which constitutes the majority of the area's population, are allowed to cross the border into Syria on one condition only: Never to return.

Students are the only Golan residents allowed to visit Damascus (to attend university) without having to give up their home country. Nevertheless, every single permit must be confirmed by both Israeli and Syrian authorities.

The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) organizes the border crossings in cooperation with the United Nations, who control the de-militarized zone around the Syrian-Israeli border since 1974.

"We are bridging the divide between two countries at war, that's unique worldwide," says Marc Linning of ICRC.

Misaan is 19-years-old and one of the students crossing the border at Kuneitra this September. "Within Israel, I'd probably never been able to study pharmacy," she says, referring to perceived widespread educational discrimination against Arab students.

Studying in Israel also is expensive - too expensive for most Golan Heights students. "We don't have any chance to get a scholarship. It's usually the people who have completed their army service that are granted financial aid," says Misaan.

In Damascus, she does not have to pay for her studies or for accommodation. Golan Heights students also receive a monthly stipend of 100 dollars.

"We can enroll for every subject," says Misaan. "Only during the courses we have to show that we have the necessary qualifications."

But the students' enthusiasm dies down as soon as they are asked about their travel difficulties.

They are banned from travelling to the Golan Heights outside of the summer break. "Three months ago, my friend's father died. I wasn't allowed to attend the funeral," says one student.

Furthermore, students had to face the situation of choosing life in Syria or in the Golan at the end of their studies, he adds.

"If we return to the Golan, we choose life under occupation," says Misaan. "But if we stay in Syria, we'll never see our families and home villages again."

When a border line cuts through a family, the internet becomes a vital communication device. "It's just like my son was here with me all the time," says one mother, whose traditional Syrian appearance makes it hard to imagine her having a webcam chat.

The idea that necessity is the mother of invention is also proven by "the mountain of shouting." For decades, families and friends have met on the flank of a hill outside the Druze town of Majd al-Shams and had conversations across the border and minefields, using megaphones.

"It is strange, we're only within a stone's throw from each other, but sometimes it feels as if we were poles apart," says Misaan boarding the coach which then slowly approaches the border crossing.

The families staying behind make a sad picture. Sorrowful they get in their cars and only a few minutes later, the square is empty. Until next summer.