From the moment you cross the border at Rafah you realise that there is something particularly striking about Gaza. It isn't the bombed out shells of what used to be peoples homes and places of work that struck you the hardest. It isn't even the sounds of the fighter jets flying overhead, or the Israeli gunfire in the bay preventing Palestinian fishermen from making a living in their own waters. It isn't the bullet holes that riddled the cities or the man made poverty and squalor that people were forced to live in. It isn't the hum of the spy drones overhead.