Onboard the Iberostar –

As soon as we stepped onboard, we were stunned. The luxury. The comfort. The marble bathrooms and chilled champagne waiting in each incredibly appointed stateroom.

The Iberostar is a five-star cruising ship – on the Amazon.

It was an odd feeling, having spent the day before in one of the poorest neighborhoods in Brazil's river port city of Manaus. 

That was one side – and this was surely, strikingly, the other.

Michelle Kosinski/ NBC News

Sunset on the Rio Negro.

It is the first of its kind, a luxury cruise up the Rio Negro, a tributary of the Amazon, stopping in several villages, then going up the Rio Solimoes and returning to Manaus, the colorful sprawling city built into the hills of what was once a rubber barons' town.

The Iberostar has 74 cabins, and just about everything you could ever want or need.

The people who work here feel strongly that tourism – in a limited, responsible manner – can help the people of the Amazon. But it must be done the right way, without intruding or polluting.

Eco-tourism
The Rainforest Alliance is a big proponent of eco-tourism – promoting it as a means to raise awareness about the delicate ecosystem and help the region's economy. They believe that when wealthy outsiders spend cash in these towns, it presents a sustainable option for local people to make money, without cutting down more rainforest.

Surely, no one would like to see this place jammed with tourists or condos or hotels – or five-star cruises either. Its wildness is its magic – and of course – its draw.

How to strike a balance between increasing awareness about the area through tourism – while still treading lightly – is the primary concern.

Michelle Kosinski / NBC News

The Iberostar cruises along the Rio Negro.

Long before Iberostar started this cruise two years ago, they went into dozens of native villages along its banks, meeting with tribal chiefs and asking them if it would be OK to bring tourists through once a week or so.

Some said no way – they wanted to preserve their culture, and worried about what would happen to their villages once money started changing hands.

But others welcomed it.  Many tribes, the people here say, are very interested in improving their schools and quality of life. Many see tourism as the answer. Iberostar says the company contributes to these villages, with payments and by building schools.

But then there are those places that the guides say are just too dangerous to even think about going. 

Michelle Kosinski / NBC News

Antonio, one of the local guides.

"There is no law," Andre, the cruise director, told us after an incredibly luxurious dinner our first evening. "The natives could become angry and just kill us, and nothing could be done."

There are large regions of protected land where the tribes live --and where outsiders rarely venture.

(Some of the passengers were also worried about animals -- jaguars, anacondas, boas, piranhas. One of the guides was supposedly nearly killed by an anaconda that got into his boat when he was a teenager and we saw his scars as proof. All guides into the jungle, we were told, carry machetes.)

Just before setting sail, Rafael, one of the ship's crew, rushed me to a nearby store so I could quickly buy another camera for the journey. We raced through the nearly-empty streets at dusk, past the last few people walking home from the market.

Suddenly, a monster-sized mall appeared before us. It was a glittering, jam-packed shopping mecca that would rival any modern American mall.

Rafael laughed –  knowing I was expecting something more along the lines of the bustling and extremely pungent market in the town center, where we had spent the rainy afternoon.

"People even from other parts of Brazil come here, and say 'Where are your jaguars?  What, you are not living in the woods in a house on stilts? Where is your boat?'" he sighed. "I say to them, you must not be from the same country as me. We have shopping."

Rafael grew up in Manaus, and said that he hasn't traveled much, not even to other cities in Brazil, but he did spend a year in Switzerland with his church group.

"A beautiful country," he said as he masterfully sped his bosses' van past row upon row of colorful little homes. "But they don't have friendships like we have here. It took me five months to figure out who lived across the street! Here, we all know each other from the streets, and look out for one another."

We made it back to the ship just in time to set sail, caipirinhas (Brazil's national cocktail) in hand.

As I sat down to write this, we were imperceptibly moving up the river at midnight. The silence outside was perhaps unlike any I've ever experienced. There were no stars visible through the clouds, but the moon was illuminating the river bank. Otherwise the sky was as dark as the black water of the Rio Negro, burbling like a brook below the ship. There was no rocking or feeling of motion at all.

The wild rainforest – just up the river from the Manaus mega-mall and just outside our palatial ship. Amazing.

Pakistan's Pervez Musharraf has long been a true political survivor. In the eight years since he seized power in a military coup and pursued a vision for a non-theological Islamic state, he has endured three assassination attempts as well as weathering many political storms -- from the opposition parties, Islamic parties and even from within his own political base.

But he may now have picked a fight he cannot win.

His decision on March 9 to suspend the Supreme Court's chief justice, Iftikhar Muhammad Chaudhry, on allegations of misconduct has unleashed a crisis that has left his regime struggling to survive as it faces a countrywide pro-democracy movement, with Chaudhry becoming a touchstone for those who want to see an end to military rule.

"Go Musharraf Go!" shouted the thousands gathered outside the Pakistan Supreme Court building in the nation's capital, Islamabad, last Saturday night.

"Absolute power corrupts absolutely," warned Chaudhry, quoting the 19th century English historian Lord Acton in a 25-minute speech against military dictatorship.

The protests against Musharraf have become more widespread and more violent -- plunging the country into the worst political crisis it has seen since the army seized power in a bloodless coup in 1999.

More than 40 people were killed in Karachi, Pakistan's largest city and financial hub, when Chaudhry tried to address the local bar association. Most Pakistanis blame Musharraf and his political allies for the carnage.

Lead-up to the dismissal
A well-placed intelligence source who was privy to the lead-up to Chaudhry's dismissal said that the removal of the chief justice came "because he had annoyed those who matter in the intelligence ranks and among the police."

The same source, who requested anonymity, added that Chaudhry "had passed down judgments and questioned the authority of the intelligence agencies in the cases of missing persons."

Hundreds of people have disappeared in Pakistan, many of them picked up by Pakistan's powerful intelligence agents and kept in secret detention centers, critics charge. These same people say the government has exploited the current anti-terrorism climate to get rid of those who they deem to be enemies of the state.

As chief justice, Chaudhry had started investigations and called the government's actions a "violation of fundamental human rights."

"When I was arrested and taken into a torture cell," said one recently released prisoner who spoke on the condition of anonymity, "intelligence guys were saying that this chief justice couldn't rule against them. The moment he does, he will be out of his job."

But it was not just the anger of Pakistan's spies that cost Chaudhry his job, observers say. Many believe that Musharraf saw the former chief justice as someone who would challenge his plans to run for re-election later this year.

On February 24, just two weeks before he was dismissed, Chaudhry was asked whether it was constitutional for Musharraf to seek re-election as president. He responded, "I will decide according to the law and the constitution." Apparently, that was not the response Musharraf was looking for.

Verdict still out
Not everyone is counting Musharraf out yet. Many Pakistanis think that he will weather this storm, primarily because he has the backing of the United States government.

"The U.S. will continue to support President Musharraf because there is no substitute for him in the army who can, and will, give the kind of support the U.S. wants in the war on terror," said Lt. General Hamid Javed, formerly Pakistan's Secretary of Defense.

And even more important are the top generals at home. The very powerful Pakistan Army Corp commanders are still with Musharraf. As long as they don't withdraw their support his grip on power seems assured.

As Iraqis, the everyday scenes of blood and killing have become normal to us and even our children; we have become numb to a certain extent.

But it is different when you hear news about the death of a relative or friend. 

I got a early phone call on a recent morning; I'm always afraid of early-morning calls because they are almost always bad news.

It was from my brother who told me that a close cousin had been killed after evening prayers. He was coming back home from the mosque and was carrying a big bottle of Pepsi he had bought for his kids on the way back. I was upset, as he was family.

But what was almost worse was hearing about the death of a close friend on the very same day.

Best friend gone
Omar Al-biyati was my best friend; I can see him even now when I close my eyes. I had just come back from a vacation and was eager to catch up with him.

Omar worked at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; he was a successful diplomat who had recently been posted elsewhere around the world, but he was now back in Baghdad, working here until he got his next assignment.

Our friendship developed in college where we studied together for six years. We inseparable: I would never be found without Omar and vice versa. He was an only child from a very distinguished family, the sort of person who could never say "no" to anybody, always incredibly agreeable and very humble.

But when I called him, I kept on getting a wrong number message. I couldn't understand what the problem was since I was dialing from my saved numbers.

So I tried his office number and was again surprised when it was answered by a woman -- I couldn't figure out why I was having such a difficult time reaching him.

"Is this Omar Muneer Al-biyati office?" I asked.

"Omar was killed a month ago by gunmen who kidnapped him with his own car and then threw his body the next day in the same neighborhood," she responded.

I couldn't speak anymore, all the memories came flooding in: the graduation party and how we drank until morning; how Omar introduced me to my wife for the first time; how much he loved his wife Abeer; the son and daughter he doted on; how we hugged each other for ages when he came back from a two-year assignment in India.

I can't bear to think that I won't see Omar anymore. He was busy during our last telephone conversation; he was preparing to travel with the foreign minister to Egypt. I learned from his colleagues that it was his last day.

I am in pain when I think about what his wife and two beautiful children must be going through. What I cannot accept is that his life was taken away because he was a decent, successful officer working in a government ministry.

A lot of things come to mind when visitors think of Beijing: the Forbidden City, Peking duck, urban renewal, traffic, and pollution. But modern art probably isn't one of them.

It turns out, however, that it has a vibrant arts community, with one of the capital's biggest recent draws being avant-garde art communes, which group studios, workshops and galleries in industrial spaces.

Adrienne Mong / NBC News

Chinese contemporary art has become so popular in the west that copies of famous works are available on the streets of Beijing.

The best known of these is 798 Art District or Dashanzi in East Beijing, where artists and dealers work out of Bauhaus-style factories built in the 1950s. Since it surfaced six years ago, Dashanzi has grown so popular that traffic jams spring up on weekends as locals and tourists flock to the area, seeking not just art but also commerce – trendy cafes and teahouses, the odd nightclub and antiques shop. 

Now it faces the growing pains and soul-searching encountered by similar districts across the world. Critics now decry Dashanzi for having succumbed to rampant commercialism, driven in part by an international market looking for the next big trend and eager to snap up anything Chinese. Those making money, of course, welcome its financial success.

The signs, certainly, are everywhere. On Monday, for instance, at the start of a four-day auction of modern Chinese art at Christie's auction house in Hong Kong, a painting by artist Zao Wou-ki netted $3.8 million. The 1959 painting, "14.12.59," had phone bidders vying with viewers in a packed convention hall, according to local reports.

Another artist, Zhang Xiaogang, is perhaps the most successful of his peers on the auction circuit. "Tiananmen Square," a 1993 painting, sold for $2.3 million in Hong Kong late last year. His work has become so popular that you can buy reproductions of his Bloodline series – disturbing portraits of blank-faced Chinese families from the Cultural Revolution era – at the local antiques market for a fraction of auction prices. 

Sky-high prices have prompted some commentators to wonder whether there isn't a bubble in the making.  Earlier this year, for example, a review of a major Chinese contemporary art at the Tate Liverpool called the displayed work derivative – material and ideas that had already been thoroughly mined by western artists decades ago.

"For years now we've been hearing about the vibrancy of the art coming out of Beijing and Shanghai - and it's all baloney," said the review in the Daily Telegraph newspaper. The article also called the boom in sales of contemporary Chinese art "The Great Chinese Art Swindle."

Wang Weiwei, the director of collections at Universal Studios, a cutting-edge gallery in Cao Chang Di, home to a handful of avant-garde art galleries and workshops, says "many Chinese artists these days seem to be driven by making money." 

But she also thinks there's a lot of good work being produced and, more important, interesting ideas being generated. "Chinese contemporary artists are very conceptual," said Wang.  "And they are very open to using different types of media."

Adrienne Mong / NBC News

Contemporary Chinese artists are conceptual and tend towards multi-media forms, as seen here with work by Peng Rong.

A New York-based art critic, Barbara Pollack, told me the problem is not the artwork itself, but its curation. "There aren't enough well-trained curators who know contemporary Chinese art," she said.  Essentially, she said, there are not enough people qualified to sort the wheat from the chaff.

China's avant-garde scene gets Saatchi's support
But things may be changing, as witnessed by two noteworthy events that took place in Beijing last week.

First, the Saatchi Gallery  launched a Chinese-language Web site for artists to display and discuss their work. It was set up after Charles Saatchi, the British advertising executive and major art collector, noticed that Chinese artists – mostly non-English speakers – wanted to interact with each other online but were struggling with his English-language Web site. 

It may prove to be a smart move for Saatchi – who is famous for having promoted contemporary British artists such as Damien Hirst (he of the dead shark in tank of formaldehyde). There are more than 20,000 artists in China, and the Saatchi gallery estimates another 1,000 students graduate every year from art schools.

Until now, Saatchi has been a quietly avid collector of contemporary Chinese art; later this year, he plans to launch a new gallery in London with a major exhibition of contemporary Chinese artwork.

Second, the widely-respected Pekin Fine Arts gallery opened its new digs way, way out in Cao Chang Di, in northeast Beijing, near the Fifth Ring Road.

The art consultancy-cum-gallery's location is between Dashanzi and Jiuchang, the latter being a relatively new artist's commune that a local paper has billed as the anti-Dashanzi.  (The area is so remote – and unknown to Beijing cab drivers – that visitors would do well to arm themselves with a cell phone, gallery phone numbers, and some patience.)

Ai Weiwei, the patriach of Chinese contemporary art, designed the gallery's minimalist 650-square foot space. And the owner is Meg Maggio, a 20-year China resident who has a keen eye for good work she wants to introduce to the world. 

The two artists showing work at the moment are Zhang O, a young woman who divides her time between China and overseas, and Huang Zhiyang, a rail-thin native Taiwanese.

In one room hang three rows of large square color photographs of young Chinese girls crouching on the ground and staring into the camera lens – an interplay of themes on rural life, girls in China and the Chinese landscape.

Adrienne Mong/NBC News

Zhang O's "Horizon" photographs at Pekin Fine Arts.

The other main room features Huang's long scrolls with animated black ink-wash paintings, whose patterns are inspired by whatever the artist puts under a microscope. 

Huang, who works out of a large studio nearby, moved to Beijing almost a year ago.  "The market in Taiwan is too small," he explained. "Here, with all the interest in Chinese artists, you have support. You have opportunities to flourish, and you get exposure."

Maybe there are advantages to rampant commercialism after all.

MANAUS, Brazil – Rubens Gomes is not the easiest man to find. But when we had trouble reaching him by phone or email, we decided to set out in a taxi from Manaus – a city of more than a million people, surrounded by rainforest – to find the illustrious Brazilian musician and environmental innovator.

It was a fairly long and uncertain ride to Barrio Zumbi, where Gomes was said to live, past myriad shops and markets full of fantastic colors. One thing that struck us was the large number of workers, wearing uniforms from head to toe in the brightest orange imaginable, who clean the streets and sidewalks at all hours of the day and night. The city was amazingly clean.

Soon after we arrived in Barrio Zumbi, we stopped to ask for directions. By luck, we came across a shop selling musical instruments. The owner immediately knew where to find Gomes, and even climbed into our cab to come along and give us perfect directions, up and down the steep hills and heavily potholed roads of the town.    

It was a Saturday afternoon, and on the corners, in open air convenience stores, men gathered to play pool in large groups. Children ran around with their dogs. A boy had a weathered wooden skateboard. One little sweet-faced girl was hugging a puppy almost as big as she was.

And, we actually found him –  there was Gomes, a forty-something year-old man, in his home/workshop.  He was immediately welcoming even though: a) he had no idea who we were or why we had suddenly shown up in the middle of his day to interview him, and  b) none of us spoke Portuguese and we had to rely on my broken Spanish (which my friends would probably laugh at the thought of) to communicate.

He was a gentle man with a big smile. (Our cameraman commented on how much he looked like Jerry Garcia. As another musician, the similarities were hard to ignore.)

His life started in the same rough way of the children he now calls his students. He was a poor kid who wanted to take music classes, but he had no money for instruments.

However there was plenty of wood – all around him – so he taught himself how to build his own instruments.  And, he was good at it. People noticed. They wanted guitars, violins and mandolins, too.

Now, as an adult, Gomes has started a school for teenagers, to teach them to become master luthiers. Their work is jaw-droppingly beautiful – full of detail, with inlaid wood in every design imaginable. The tops of each instrument are crafted to resemble the top of the magnificent opera house in Manaus. 

As we took pictures of the work these kids have done, Gomes spent the entire time playing one of his hand-made guitars. It was magical. The town children watched us through the iron gate of the workshop. Gomes knew all of their names, and could keep every one of them in line with a glance. 

His school now teaches 60 students, and we spoke to a few of them who were there.  They say the students' lives are difficult, and learning a craft like this is more than a profession, it's an art form that gives them a sense of purpose. 

All of the wood they use is scrap, and it comes ONLY from companies whose practices are certified by non-profit organizations to be sustainable and safe for the environment.  Now Gibson, a large American musical instrument company, has started selling some of these creations. Other companies are doing the same.

And Gomes' school has drawn praise – and funding – from the Ford Foundation and the Rainforest Alliance.

As dusk was advancing and we are losing precious light quickly, we shoot everything we could – a feast for the senses, while Gomes continued to play intricate tunes on his intricately-crafted guitar. There were pieces of wood, the shapes of instruments in every stage of production, all over the place. Tools were neatly stored for the weekend.  Graceful curves of wood strips starting to look like the bodies of mandolins.

Gomes explained how the students learn so much here – they learn to be artisans, but also patience and respect. And most importantly, he believes, they gain an appreciation for the preservation and conservation of the Amazon and its riches.

It is striking how differently they live from us in the United States, but the level of comfort here feels wonderful. We could feel the power and beauty of the forest, living and breathing around us.

As we were leaving Gomes said, "Anytime you are in the Amazon, this is your home."  We laughed, wondering when we might come back. And we wished that anyone who enjoys the sound of one of these fine instruments, anywhere in the world, would be able to hear the soft, inspiring words of the man who is at its source.

By Carol Grisanti, NBC News Producer

 

"In

By Adrienne Mong, NBC News producer

 

Near

 

 No matter how many times I've visited the country, or been embedded with U.S. forces, or covered the lives of ordinary Afghans caught up in the almost 6-year-old war, I still cringe when asked – and I'm ALWAYS asked when I get back – 'How's things in Afghanistan?'' Invariably I pause for a few seconds, hoping to find the magic answer as I collect my thoughts. But there is no silver bullet: ''Good,'' I venture. ''And bad.''

In fact, if you were to list – as I often do after each trip – both the encouraging and disturbing developments in Afghanistan, or what is better now than, say, a year ago, I suspect your columns would be pretty much like mine: equal. And that holds true on ANY scale. Take Kabul, for instance. On the plus side, business is booming. 5-star hotels, shopping malls, modern glassy trade centers, electronics stores and expensive foreign cars jam the streets. Also, former enemies now seem to be working together. At a recent reception for the Ahmad Shah Masood Foundation, held at the relatively luxurious Serena Hotel in central Kabul, the 'beautiful' people I saw tended to be former Mujihadeen generals and wily warlords. Those nice, smiling men sipping their black tea and chatting now were killing each other's militias 10 years ago.

But, say critics, Kabul's success is built on nothing but funny money: either from the billions of dollars in humanitarian assistance that never spread beyond the capital, or from war booty and drug money. And while there may be bubbles of peace here and there, overall, Kabul is too unsafe today for a foreign reporter to walk its streets without the kind of protection he would take into the streets of Baghdad. What about Afghanistan's progressive president, former Baltimore restaurateur Hamid Karzai? We, in the West, tend to see him as a bastion of moderation, a leader who understands the value of bringing democracy to a nation that still lingers in a previous millennium. But many Afghans see Karzai as the failed leader of a failed state, rampant with corruption.

''This government and all of those in it are thinking only of themselves, '' says one outspoken critic, Dr. Wadi Safi of Kabul University. ''They don't know the nation, and they don't think they are accountable to the people because nobody punishes them.''

Now zoom out and take in the bigger picture…those U.S. forces – some 10,000 - that operate in the Eastern part of the country, along the border with Pakistan. They say that, by any measure of success, they are winning the war there. What WAS the Taliban's backyard is now theirs. Local economies are thriving as U.S. commanders fund important infrastructure and health projects – a new road, a bridge, a school - that improve lives in areas where Americans dared not tread just a year ago. Local tips on insurgent activity and local cooperation are up; enemy attacks are down. It's a counter-insurgency model that U.S. Centcom Commander Admiral William Fallon is keen to use elsewhere. He choppered into Kunar province during our embed to personally grasp that model and spoke to me of its merits in a rich green valley that, only months before, had been a hot zone for Taliban attacks.

''Frankly, we were focused on other places, like Iraq, but now we're back in it,'' he said. ''I see Afghans who welcome us and want to work with us, and I think this is exactly what we want to do.'' And, in the southern provinces, after a 4-year power vacuum,  a 35,000-strong NATO force is now fighting ITS war against the Taliban. And it's made huge gains since the spring, decimating whole companies of militants who dare go toe-to-toe with the U.S.-led troops. Just days before our embed ended, there was news that the Taliban's most dreaded – and efficient – commander, Mullah Dadullah, had been killed in an intelligence-driven attack by U.S. and Afghan forces in the volatile Helmand province.

But all of this GOOD military news has a political flip side. U.S. forces may be winning the war, but not necessarily the people needed to sustain that battle. In many Afghan provinces, locals tend to mistrust their own government representatives even more than U.S. forces.  But that equation is getting WORSE: as U.S. and NATO forces step up their attacks – including devastating air strikes – against Taliban fighters, hundreds of civilians have been killed in the crossfire as well. Now Afghans are DOUBLY angry: they see President Karzai as both ineffective AND too pro-U.S.

''Certainly militarily we are winning the war, '' says Afghanistan expert Dr Barnett Rubin. ''The question is whether we are building a political base, and that is very much in question…because the Afghan government is increasingly unpopular.''

So, how IS it going in Afghanistan? Are we winning or losing the war? Or the peace?  I see no pat answer. No 10-second sound bite. We are winning some hearts, but losing other minds. We are bringing a sense of peace to parts of the country where we have soldiers at least, but the Taliban is still intimidating whole towns, elsewhere, with death threats posted on residential doors at night, with school burnings, ambushes and roadside bombs. We have defeated Taliban and al-Qaida militants in dozens upon dozens of battles this year, but their suicide bombers keep on coming – and exploding – from inside the Pakistan border, where they are trained and equipped.

Some have called this 'reaching a tipping point'. Perhaps that's the best answer: Afghanistan IS balanced between good and bad, war and peace, winning and losing. Some days, in some ways, look very positive indeed. But winning in Afghanistan still appears no better than a 50-50 bet. It could go either way. There are still too many reasons why Afghans could see a low-burn guerilla war that kills thousands of civilians – as well as several hundred American and allied soldiers - every year…for years to come.

Jim Maceda is an NBC News correspondent is based in London who has just returned from an extended assignment in Afghanistan.

 Baghdad's dwindling press corps learned today that two of our own were brutally murdered, apparently for doing nothing more than their jobs. 

ABC News announced that its Baghdad-based cameraman Alaa Uldeen Aziz, 33, and soundman Saif Laith Yousuf, 26, were ambushed yesterday while driving home in western Baghdad. Their bodies were discovered today.  Iraqi police told us they'd apparently been tortured before they were killed, and then shot in the head execution style.

I was always impressed with Alaa. He was smart, well connected and savvy. I liked him so much I tried to hire him for NBC News about a year ago, but he didn't want to come. He liked his job at ABC. They respected him, he told me, and felt he was a critical part of their Baghdad-based newsgathering team.

But why kill Alaa and his soundman Saif? Why have insurgents in Iraq murdered 102 journalists and kidnapped 48 since 2003, according to the New York-based Committee to Protect Journalists, making Iraq the deadliest conflict ever to cover?

Technology has changed role of reporters
It used to be that militant groups appreciated reporters and wanted to use us to tell their stories.  They wanted to talk to the press to counter the statements of whatever government or political faction they were fighting.  Now from Gaza to Afghanistan, journalists are considered legitimate targets.

I have a theory that technology is in part to blame. Once militant groups started posting their statements and videos on the Internet, they no longer needed us. Today all they need is a DV camera and an Internet connection to assure that their message will be posted as they intended, and not filtered through a reporter.

I get it. Why risk meeting a journalist you think is probably a spy anyway, if you can get your message out on your own? But in Iraq, insurgents are hunting down and killing us. In Baghdad, life seems to truly mean nothing. This ancient country, one of the earliest civilizations on the planet, seems to have lost any grip on humanity and rationality.

Last week the neighbor of one of our engineers in Baghdad was killed. He was a Shiite living in a Sunni neighborhood in western Baghdad. But he wasn't just murdered for living in what is now "the wrong" neighborhood. Holes were drilled into his chest. His ears and penis were cut off.

"He was just an old man," one of our staff told me.

For several years, Iraqi reporters have been telling us stories like this one from neighborhoods in Baghdad where Western reporters wouldn't stand a chance of surviving. Most foreign journalists in Baghdad still go out reporting everyday, but many now travel with security teams befitting the head of a small third world country. 

Local reporters - our eyes and ears
Our Iraqi reporters go out alone. Most prefer it that way, assuming that as locals they can operate under the insurgents' radar. Many of our reporters have moved into our bureaus, basically living at the office. Others want to stay outside to be closer to their families. Outside, they lie about what they do, telling neighbors they are unemployed or drive taxis. Deception is their protection. 

Our local reporters, translators and cameramen are not just our friends and colleagues; they are our eyes and ears. Without them, the world would have no idea what happens in so many Baghdad neighborhoods today in the grips of warring Shiite and Sunni militias. 

Most Iraqi journalists do it because they believe the world should know what is happening in their country. But after four years in Iraq, nearly all of the local reporters I know want to leave the country. It's not surprising why, but it would be a tremendous loss. If Iraqis cannot report in Baghdad, Westerners don't stand a chance.

What is it about some news stories that capture a nation's attention and have the public clinging to its every twist and turn?

Such a story has captivated the British media and its audience: the disappearance of 4-year-old Madeleine McCann two weeks ago. 

Her parents Kate and Gerry McCann – both doctors in their late thirties – left Madeleine with her two-year-old twin siblings in bed in their holiday apartment in Portugal – a popular family-friendly destination for Britons – while they ate with friends just a hundred yards away.

Every half hour Gerry or Kate went back to check on them. They were sound asleep.

Then came the moment of horror that every parent in the world surely dreads: Madeleine was gone. No one knows where. No one knows how.

Did she wake and wander off? Or – as seems more likely – was she taken?

Media mayhem
And so, for two long weeks, TV newscasts, newspaper front pages, and web sites around the world have carried beguiling pictures of this pretty little girl.

Her parents refuse to come home until they find her. Every day Kate McCann goes to church to pray for Madeleine's safe return and to seek what comfort she can find. You can see from her eyes that she is dying inside. God knows what the future holds for her and her family.

She and her husband talk to the media, every word edged with pain, as they try to keep the hopes for Madeleine safe return alive. It is haunting, disturbing, and desperate.

The public has embraced their cause. Some have traveled to Portugal to help with the search. Others sport yellow ribbons in support. And Madeleine's photo – downloaded as a "missing" poster – has been pinned up wherever volunteers think it may be of help, anywhere Madeleine may have been taken to.

Famous names – J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter books, and American Idol's Simon Cowell among them – have contributed to a $5 million reward for her safe return.

And a special web site  – www.findmadeleine.com  – has reportedly had 40 million hits in just a couple of days, including from concerned folk in the U.S.A.

So what is it about this story?
For sure, Madeleine is not the only child to go missing. She's not the only child who may have fallen victim to predators.

But somehow this story has crossed a line.

Is it simply a phenomenon created by the voracious appetite of Britain's round-the-clock news media that is reporting every moment of this story, so hungry for detail that at times it seems to suck the very air from around it? I don't think so. There's more to it.

In the U.K. one of the most notorious stories involving children happened long before satellite TV and the internet.

VIDEO May 12: U.K. kidnap victim turns 4 years old while missing

Back in the 1960s a couple of sadistic lovers murdered five children in the North of England and buried their bodies on moorland. Though others may have claimed more victims, the Moors Murderers – as Ian Brady and Myra Hindley were known – became two of the most reviled killers in recent history. They still are.

What shocked then – and shocks us now – is how vulnerable children can be, despite the love and care of good parents. And how cruel some human beings are.

Sense of empathy
It has been a matter of impassioned debate that the McCanns – by every account adoring and devoted parents  – left their children sleeping soundly while they dined at a tapas bar nearby.

Their grief at not knowing what has happened to their daughter is, I am sure, magnified a million times by remorse and guilt.

But many parents have been tempted to do the same. I would. I did. My kids survived.

And so we are watching and sharing this family's agony unfold in front of our eyes.

Although we don't know them, we find ourselves wishing, in many cases praying, for Madeleine's safe return. Every passing day becomes more desperate.

And each of us who has children of our own knows the one chilling truth that makes us part of this story: there but for fortune go we.

Israel has moved tanks, artillery and infantry into positions inside the north end of the Gaza Strip to stop the militant Palestinian group Hamas firing rockets at the Israeli town of Sderot, which has been partially evacuated. Israeli airstrikes have been targeting Hamas military commanders in their Gaza hideouts. It's the most serious confrontation between Israel and Hamas in six months.

Inside Gaza, gunmen from Hamas and its Palestinian rival Fatah have been fighting each other for the past week.  Dozens of Palestinians have been killed.  The street battles have destroyed a unity government formed two months ago by Hamas and Fatah to avoid such clashes, and dampened hopes of peace talks with Israel.     

Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert is under pressure to respond to Hamas rocket attacks and is fighting for political survival in the face of criticism of his handling of last summer's war in Lebanon.
 
Trying not to take sides
But although Israeli airstrikes on Hamas positions are likely to continue for as long as rockets are fired at Israeli towns, military analysts here say it's unlikely Israel will launch a full-scale incursion into Gaza for fear of uniting Hamas and Fatah into a common enemy.

Maintaining a measured response to Hamas rocket attacks allows Israel to refrain from openly taking sides in the Hamas-Fatah fight, although Hamas has accused Israel of working with Fatah fighters headed by Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas.

Fatah fighters have been losing ground to Hamas in Gaza over the past week partly because Hamas appears to have been better motivated. Western military observers say Fatah forces have fought well in one battle, but that Hamas fighters are heavily armed and well trained.

Israel can take little comfort from two Palestinian factions battling each other for control of Gaza because one day the fighting and the sentiment of confrontation behind it could spread to the West Bank where it would be difficult and costly to contain.

We received a number of emails asking for contact information for Dr. Ho @!$%#iu, the renowned Chinese doctor featured in the blog "Pilgrims flock to famed Chinese herbalist." He can be reached via email at: jdsmchmcl@yahoo.com.cn .

Thank you for your continued interest in the World Blog. 

I speak by telephone with my friends and colleagues in Gaza almost every day, and they say what's happening right now in Gaza is gruesome.

My friends tell me that when you walk down the streets of Gaza you see masked people, everyone is masked. Not just militants, but civilians as well. Everyone is scared to be seen.

They are scared because they could be killed or injured randomly, regardless of whether they have done anything wrong.

Inexplicable violence
Last Sunday when the top leader of Fatah militants was killed by Hamas militants, Gaza was immediately paralyzed. Schools closed, shops closed, everybody took cover and waited for events to unfold.

It's not like this was the first time a killing like that had occurred in Gaza, but this one was different because it wasn't clear what had provoked the shooting.

In previous acts of violence there was always a reasonable explanation (if you can call any killing reasonable). One time it was Hamas wanting to get more power in the negotiations for unity government; another time it was Fatah wanting to get even in the government. But this time, while both parties are sharing the government, there was no clear motive and that was what got everybody so scared.

Gaza residents now believe both parties have started killing simply for the sake of killing. The biggest fear of Gazans has come true; with no law and order this is the time for anyone bearing an old grudge to act.
Settling old scores
In the past few months, as the political situation has deteriorated, law, order and reason have disappeared. Many of the killings and kidnappings have been the result of old scores being settled between families.

On Monday two journalists were traveling in their car in Gaza City. They were stopped and grabbed from the car by militants. They were killed on the spot not because they were leaders, or activists or party members. They were killed because they had beards.

Hamas members wear beards more often than Fatah members, so the speculation was that their beards were seen as a sign to Fatah militants. But as the journalists were neither; they were just two more casualties in a long list of indiscriminate killings.

In interviews with residents, the sense is that it's not important anymore whether you belong to Hamas or Fatah. If you run into militants, the chances are that you will be killed.

Now what?
And a truce now feels out of reach. Neither the local authorities nor the government can control the situation or provide security.

Until this week the two parties had something to gain from a ceasefire. But now, people ask themselves why the fighting? Why the killing? Is there an explanation for killing eight presidential guards at close range? And in this situation where there is no clear explanation for what is going on -- anything might happen.

In this chaos where the government is isolated internationally, authority paralyzed from within, and weapons everywhere, there is nothing to stop anything from happening -- for Gazan people it is hell.

It is time to wear a mask.

Baisha, Yunnan Province --   

It's not often that an 84-year-old in China's remote southwestern mountains can build a successful cottage industry around one 3,000-word article, but that's exactly what Dr. Ho @!$%#iu has done.

Ho, a spry herbal medicine practitioner from the Naxi tribe -- descendants of a Tibetan tribe with a matriarchal bent -- has been researching herbs and plants in the surrounding Jade Dragon Snow Mountains for half a century.

The octogenarian started out with a degree in mechanical engineering at Nanjing University, but his course of study was interrupted when he fell ill and had to return to his home village, where he immersed himself in the mysteries of herbs.

Adrienne Mong / NBC News

Dr. Ho @!$%#iu at work in his "laboratory."

"My father knew some herbal medicine," said Ho during a recent interview. "I read many books and studied in the mountains."

One of his tutors was the Austrian-American botanist Joseph Rock, who traveled in the region from 1922 to 1949.

And it was an interest in Rock that led British travel writer Bruce Chatwin to the tiny Naxi town of Baisha (pop. 2,000) in northeastern Yunnan province and, eventually, to Ho.

Chatwin's vivid portrait of the doctor sowed the seeds of an international celebritydom.

On display outside the rustic clinic are hundreds of framed articles charting Ho's career alongside scads of business cards and letters of correspondence from more-prominent visitors: ambassadors, ministers, journalists, and, most notably, an American patient who ten years ago was cured of leukemia.

"That was the most meaningful [point] of my career," Ho recounted.  "I was very happy [to hear] those words from his letter that four years later, he had no remission, no cancerous blood cells."

Ho also treats the less privileged. On the day we observed him, foreigners and locals alike passed through the doors of his clinic. One man caught our eye -- a 52-year-old farmer who had climbed two hours down a mountain, followed by a two-and-a-half hour bus ride and then a shuffle through this one-horse town to find Ho. 

What had brought him here was rheumatism of the knee.  His impassive face gave little indication of the pain he was in.

Ho looked him over and asked some questions before prescribing a mix of herbs which had been dried and mashed into powder. He gave the farmer both oral and topical medication to tide him over for two months and then sent him on his way to the next minibus to take him back to his hometown.

The doctor doesn't charge most of his patients, especially not the local ones who tramp over from faraway villages. 

Adrienne Mong / NBC News

The Jade Dragon Snow Mountain range where Dr. Ho finds the herbs and plants for his medicine seen from a surrounding village.

But for far-flung visitors like Laura and Sonia, both natives from Turin, Italy, he welcomes donations. Laura, who now lives and works in Shanghai, came to see him about occasional blurry and double vision while Sonia wanted treatment for a gastrointestinal affliction.

Both of them are fans of herbal medicine. "I prefer not to take [western] medicine," said Sonia.  "I prefer natural medicine… There are no side effects."

But each admits that for "serious" diseases, they would probably resort to conventional medical care.

When I asked Ho about his feelings towards conventional medicine, he neatly sidestepped the issue, "My philosophy is, it depends on conditions. Sometimes you use western medicine, sometimes you use Chinese medicine."

What he would opine about vociferously, however, was the human diet.

"For me, simpler life is better," said the doctor, beginning a lengthy discourse on how many illnesses today are rooted in diet. "Don't use much salt, cut down on eggs… And eat turnips."

Turnips?

Ho is a big fan of turnips.

They were featured front and center at our shared lunch.

Maybe we should have eaten more. A few days later, after scaling a few more hundred feet higher, all three members of our NBC crew were mysteriously taken ill during our trip. 

And we wondered about the turnips. 

"I expected NATO forces to apologize to me. They never came; no one ever came. They killed my son," said Akhtar, his voice faltering as he recounted the night of March 4 when his youngest son, Faiz, 25, was shot and killed by NATO troops on a well-traveled road in Kandahar, Afghanistan.

"A NATO convoy was parked alongside of the road with full headlights blinding the oncoming traffic," said Akhtar. "My son would not have known what to do, because he would have been blinded by the lights. Eyewitnesses told me the soldiers fired into his car, then took him from the car and shot him over and over again. His body had more than 30 bullet wounds from his head down to his legs. How can a father bear this?" asked Akhtar, who goes by one name as is common in Afghanistan, and whose eyes, by now, were brimming with tears.

NBC News Akhtar plays with his grandaughter's Frishta and Madina, the children of his son who was killed, inside his home in Kandahar.Â

"When I told his mother she screamed, tore her clothes and then collapsed," said Akhtar.

Family scarred by decades of war
Akhtar, dressed in the traditional baggy trousers and long shirt, wore a black and grey striped turban, typical of Kandahar tribesmen. He thinks he is around 40 years old, but can't be positive, he said.  His dark furrowed skin, like the shell of a walnut, with a Santa white beard and snow -- white hair visible from underneath his turban, made him appear much older.  

Faiz is the third son Akhtar has lost. The eldest was shot by the Soviets in 1980 during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. His other son, two brothers and a nephew were killed during a bombing raid the same year. Akhtar wanted another son and Faiz was born in 1982.

Faiz owned a little food shop on Shahrinow Street, a main street in Kandahar. What he earned from selling biscuits, water, soft drinks and convenience items went to support his wife, two baby daughters and his aging parents. By any standards the family is poor and can barely scrape by. Faiz's friend minds the shop now.

The family house is made from mud and wood. A triangular opening is cut out in the roof to let in shafts of light. There is no electricity. The room where we sat together was about nine feet long and 12 feet wide. It was sparsely furnished with traditional carpets on the floors and red and pink floral-patterned fabrics on the walls. The inside of the house smelt from the cows and goats that were kept in the small garden outside.

We sat together on the floor and drank tea as Akhtar's granddaughters, Faiz's children -- 2-year-old Madina, and 3-year-old Frishta, -- demanded their grandfather's attention.

Kandahar is Afghanistan's second largest city with a population somewhere around 500,000 inhabitants. Founded by Alexander the Great in 330 BC, it was an ancient trading center on the routes to India and the Middle East. The great armies throughout the millennia have invaded and conquered Kandahar.

Today Kandahar is better known as the spiritual center of the Taliban, the nerve center of the insurgents battling U.S. and NATO forces. Taliban leader Mullah Omar is from Kandahar -- so is Afghanistan's President Hamid Karzai.

The drive from Kabul to Kandahar took seven hours. The road, built by the Americans, as part of the reconstruction and development efforts, is teeming with armed Taliban, bandits and warlords all up to no good. I made sure I drove at break-neck speed.

NATO says convoy signs are clear
After visiting Akhtar, I went to the NATO base in Kandahar to try and find out any information about Faiz.

NATO's spokesman, Lt Col Stephan Grenier was not aware of the incident or of  Faiz's death..

"There are red signs on all vehicles that say 'keep back, keep away, pull over to the side of the road and let the convoy pass,'" Grenier said. "Only if all those warning have been ignored, do we actually assume that the vehicle is a suicide vehicle and open up."

"What happens when someone can't read the signs?" I asked. "After all, over 60 percent of Afghans are illiterate."

Grenier's response was swift: "When you see ISAF (U.S. NATO and Afghan army) convoys, pull off the road, obey all signals and obey instantly."

But locals complain that at nighttime the lights on the military convoys are blinding, they get confused and don't know what to do.

Question still unanswered: why?
The U.S., NATO and coalition forces have come under heavy criticism for the most recent surge in civilian casualties. Last week in Kabul, Karzai said the Afghan people can no longer tolerate such casualties. "It is becoming heavy for us; it is not understandable," said Karzai.

"Civilian casualties are a tragedy in any conflict, wherever, whenever" said William Wood, the U.S. Ambassador to Afghanistan. "In recent cases I can say with absolute certainty, the coalition has followed its rules of engagement and indeed where the coalition was carrying out operations as planned, there were not civilian casualties."

But for Akhtar there are still no answers on what happened to Faiz on the evening of March 4 or why.

You know when you've been around a long time when you can't readily recall how many prime ministers have been through 10 Downing Street in your lifetime.

I can vividly remember Maggie Thatcher's victory in 1979.  I got my job as a political correspondent for a national newspaper on the back of it. She changed my life, and – for better or worse, depending on your politics – the nation's as well.

VIDEO: Tony Blair's decade as Labour leader

Eleven years later I recollect, equally intensely, watching the removal men pack up her furniture and move her out of Downing Street, her belongings in packing cases and the Iron Lady in tears.

But most of all I remember May 2, 1997 – when Tony Blair became the country's youngest prime minister of the 20th century, ending 18 years of Conservative rule, with promises of a different Britain.

He had succeeded where many distinguished politicians had failed, in transforming the feuding, ideologically-riven, left-leaning Labour movement from a party of protest, to a party of government. Their traditional Red Flag image was finally buried – and the center ground of politics firmly seized. The victory left his political opposition foundering for years.

Love him or hate him, he brought change
I was brought up in a Labour household, right next door to where the party workers would gather during elections to rally the faithful.

That wasn't a hard task in the industrial engine-room of the North West of England where I was raised in the 1950s and '60s. In my street you'd sooner admit to beating your children than voting Conservative. 

My father used to say that he would never knowingly let a Tory in the house. Thatcher made him curse. My brother never dared to tell him he had once transgressed and voted for the lady.

So, had he lived to see it, my dad would have joined the celebrations and danced a little jig on Blair's landslide victory. The atmosphere was electric. Love him or hate him, you knew some things were going to be different.

Now 10 years later – but a lot, lot older – Blair is also packing up and moving on, handing over the reins to his next-door neighbor in Downing Street, Chancellor Gordon Brown.

As well as running the country, Brown now has to rebuild Labor's flagging popularity in the face of a resurgent Conservative party.

Legacy? Depends on the beholder
How will history judge Blair? That depends to some extent where you're reading this.

If you're sitting in Northern Ireland, you can look safely out of your window without the risk of a petrol bomb or bullet crashing through it. The Troubles, as the sectarian violence became known, have been consigned to history. That is Blair's chosen legacy.

In you're in the United States, you will likely regard the British prime minister as a friend and ally who supported the country in the War on Terror.

But over here, Blair's closeness to President Bush and his backing of the invasion of Iraq is seen by many of Labour's bedrock supporters as a huge mistake – by some a betrayal – that colors everything else he's done.

In his resignation speech Blair asked that whatever else people think, they accept one thing: that while he may have made mistakes, "Hand on heart, I did what I thought was right."

There are those, no doubt, who will be dancing a jig at his going. Others will perhaps pause a little longer to reflect. 

It's not too often you see people of Blair's political charisma cross the world stage. For sure, he's one prime minister that I, for one, will have no trouble recalling.

NBC News' Ann Curry conducted a lengthy interview with Syrian President Bashar Assad about Syria's role in global politics, Iraq, U.S. Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice's meeting with the Syrian foreign minister at the regional meeting in Sharm el-Sheik last week and the controversy over the recent visit of Rep. Nancy Pelosi. Watch the entire interview here.

VIDEO: The complete interview with Syrian President Bashar Assad

 

Binzhou, China –

Something was definitely amiss when we tried to film at the company headquarters of the Binzhou Futian Bio-Technology Company, one of the Chinese companies accused of using the mildly toxic chemical melamine as an additive to animal feed, exporting it to the U.S. and setting off a wave of animal deaths in March.

Housed in a building owned by the government's Grain Bureau, the privately run high-tech company showed no signs of life. Even the guardhouse at the gate, the first point of contact when trying to visit any government-run facility in China, was unguarded.

Gamay Palacios, the cameraman I was working with, began to roll his tape, pleasantly surprised by the rare measure of freedom to gather elements for a sensitive story. The official interference – usually expected when covering controversial news without prior Chinese governmental clearance – was nowhere in sight.

But it wasn't to last for long. As we made our way to the building entrance – with the idea of trying to seek out company officials for a possible interview – we were met by a firmly locked glass door. And then a young guard appeared. "No one allowed in, no company officials today," he shouted through the glass.  

He was very soon joined by other officialdom –  a car screeched into the company compound and three people emerged. They stopped Palacios from filming any further and checked my press card, issued by China's Foreign Ministry. There was some muttering about ordering us off the premises until they realized that they were misreading the year "2007" on my card as "2001" due to poor print.

They introduced themselves as officials from the local "Propaganda Department" and told us to wait for a "higher official" from the local government. Indeed, a frail-looking man introduced as "Mr. Chen" soon alighted out of another arriving government car.

Chen exuded authority in a soft-spoken, friendly way as he explained why we could not film or visit the company.

"Four government departments, including the Public Security Bureau, closed down the company for investigation on April 24," he said.

We asked to interview him on camera. He politely refused, but he did agree to disclose a little more information: The FDA inspectors from the United States were expected very soon, he said, so the company's state of affairs had to remain untouched to facilitate investigation. He also claimed the firm's officials were subjects of a criminal investigation – with some of them were even on the run – and the company's sample products were undergoing testing in government laboratories. 

"This company ought to be disbanded for damaging the reputation of our city," he said with a hint of honest pain on his face.

The conversation had proved valuable for background purposes, but since no more filming was allowed, it was time to go. Then, as we were discussing other elements we needed to cover, we realized we were being trailed by another car.

After a few quick twists and turns, we managed to lose our shadow and found a feed mill. We were happy with our find because we wanted to check reports that feed-makers have been mixing the chemical melamine with animal feed to boost protein content, a practice that is blamed for the recent wave of pet deaths in the U.S.

But our luck was short-lived. Soon, one of the propaganda officials, a Mr. Wang, mysteriously tracked us down. "I thought you were gone," he said smilingly while motioning Palacios to stop filming.

Learning his lesson, Wang volunteered to be our "escort" and sat in the back seat of our car as we drove around to check other related visuals for our story. Meanwhile, the friendly tractor driver who guided us to the feed mill became another person when he saw Wang. 

We decided to head back to the airport. "Let's have lunch next time we meet," were Wong's parting words.

The trip had been instructive, if only because I saw significant changes in the way China handles foreign journalists. In the past, instead of lunch-invitation-issuing men in suits, uniformed police would have appeared if we were discovered covering sensitive stories without prior official clearance. What would usually follow would be the confiscation of videotapes and temporary detention –  sometimes lasting for many hours –  until we would sign a "confession" of error.

Nowadays, the deployment of friendly civilian officials is the game, after China's Foreign Ministry announced new rules granting greater press freedom in the lead-up to the Beijing Olympics.

As we drove by green wheat fields along National Highway 220, I remained perplexed by the local government's interpretation of Information Vice-Minister Wang Guoqing's recent declaration: "We should serve the media, not manage them."

True, it wasn't as bad as it had been, but Chinese-style restrictions remain in place, just in a different form.

From my vantage point here in Baghdad, I'm aware that certain businesses are prospering. Glass for example, is in high demand to replace windows blown out by explosions. And despite limited electricity and rising prices due to inflation, sidewalks in shopping districts are overflowing with appliances.

One business I recently came across which sadly can't keep up with orders is a workshop which makes, as well as recycles, artificial limbs. It should hardly come as a surprise in a country ravaged by violence, but it still did.

The location for this shop is a secret. It was only found after one of our Iraqi producers canvassed various medical supply dealers and they deemed him trustworthy enough to disclose the shop's whereabouts.

Not willing to pay a bribe
Surprisingly, the owner is not under threat by terrorists. Rather, it's his refusal to pay an exorbitant bribe to the Ministry of Health to get official permission to fit those maimed by violence with prosthetic limbs that's keeping him in hiding.

Manufacturing an artificial leg and foot, or arm and hand, is quite expensive. Materials and parts must be imported, and it takes time to customize a limb for the many victims of explosions and bullets. It also requires several training sessions for someone to learn how to use a prosthetic device. Prices aren't cheap. An artificial leg can cost up to $5,000.

The man running this small workshop is not wealthy, nor does he strike me as greedy. He just prefers to provide a service for disabled adults and children without capitulating to the demands of corrupt officials. He also claims that official government approval will not result in subsidies or more of the materials he needs to allow him to lower prices.

Under Saddam Hussein, corruption was widespread due to government workers receiving low wages. Today, salaries are higher, but extortion appears to be as out of control as violence, and it's the most vulnerable who continue to suffer.

Americans often ask me why they're so unpopular in the Arab world. Finally I have a story that explains it.

For sheer obtuseness and poor manners, it was hard to beat the performance of Sean McCormack, Assistant Secretary of State for Public Affairs, while managing his boss's press conference in Sharm el Sheikh, Egypt on Friday. 

When Condoleezza Rice finished her presentation to a crowded room of journalists at the two-day regional conference on Iraq, McCormack threw the floor open to questions.

Practically every reporter in the very large room put up his or her hand. The small group of American reporters who traveled from Washington with Rice were seated together up front, along with their minders from the State Department: they make up what everyone refers to as the "Traveling Bubble."

VIDEO: Rice and the Iranian foreign minister exchange greetings Â

McCormack pointed to one of the American reporters to ask his question, then to another, and then to another. Finally he said, "One more question," and pointed to yet another American reporter from inside the "Bubble."

At this point one of the few hundred other reporters in the room shouted, "How about a question in Arabic?"

Fortunately, Rice has much sharper antennae than her Assistant Secretary of State for Public Affairs, because she immediately picked up on the appalling impression created by McCormack's limited worldview.

She insisted on continuing to answer questions, from Arab journalists and from Iranians too, giving detailed and exact responses to their many questions. She said to McCormack, "You've lost control!" They both laughed, but I believe the subtext was clear.

As Rice emphatically and expertly explained American policy on Iran, I kept my eyes fixed on the reactions of two Iranian journalists sitting nearby. Both listened intently and silently to every word. One nodded as if in agreement throughout. When Rice finished, the one reporter looked at the other, and they discussed the U.S. Secretary of State in obviously appreciative tones.

It was a tour de force of intuition and explanation by Rice; and the opposite by McCormack. His performance left Arab reporters in no doubt – America has no interest in their questions. Fortunately Rice did, and turned the Great Satan back into Uncle Sam.

VIDEO: Despite apartheid and poverty South Africans have hope that things will improve. Today Show's Tiki Barber takes a look at Cape Town's past and present.

I'm breathless, and so is everyone around me, tourists that is.

It's not just the spectacular view that's stolen our breath: It's the steep hike at this altitude.

The Bhutanese are used to this thin air, and thankfully they're politely not laughing at us. The climb to Tigers Nest is a challenge, especially for a flat-lander who lives at sea level like I do. This Buddhist monastery sits at 11,000 feet. The only way to get here is a long, narrow, well worn, mostly dirt path. The hike up begins at around 8500 feet.

If there is one must-stop for every tourist who comes to Bhutan, Tigers Nest is it. But if you're coming here, consider yourself in rare company: during 2006 only 18,000 tourists were given visas to travel to Bhutan.

Read more of NBC News' Kerry Sanders blog about his visit to the Tigers Nest in Bhutan while reporting for the Today Show's "Where in the World is Matt Lauer?"

"Things are starting to feel like the old days again," said a cautiously dressed woman in her early 30's doing some grocery shopping on Valiasr Street, Tehran's main thoroughfare. "I am very careful about what I wear these days. The police are arresting woman all over the city for what they think is immoral clothing."

"I don't like to wear the heavy clothing I have on now, especially as it's almost summer. I hope this doesn't last," she added.

Under the previous leadership of reformist President Mohammad Khatami, women started to enjoy some freedom about how they could dress. "Moral codes" loosened - allowing woman to show more hair under their headscarves and some flexibility in the style of the "montos" or gowns they wore.  

Over time women began sporting outlandish hairstyles under their headscarves, putting on heavy make-up and wearing shorter and tighter montos.

An Iranian woman shows off a bit of her own personal style in Tehran. NBC News/ Ali Arouzi.

But when President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad came to power in 2005, there were warnings that strict Islamic codes would be reinforced. Nothing really came of the warnings and commentators predicted that Ahmadinejad's rhetoric was just hot air. Many believed it was too late to roll back social reforms – especially in Tehran.

But the mood on the streets has changed dramatically in recent days. Thousands of Iranian women have been cautioned about their dress and many more have been arrested in the capital in the fiercest crackdown on what's known as "bad hijab" since the mid-1990's.

Morality police at the mall
The morality police, who enforce dress codes, are stationed outside shopping malls and crowded streets, warning pedestrians and drivers if they are showing too much hair or wearing clothes that are too tight. If people argue with them, they are shown to a police van and taken to the police station. And shops showcasing what are deemed racy window displays also have been shuttered.

"The police came to my shop, took a look at the clothes we sell and warned me not sell anything that was tight or revealing," said the owner of an upscale boutique in the north of Tehran. "Imagine that? Telling people what they can and can't wear? This is going to hurt business, everyone will be dressed the same again." 

Adding to concerns, enforcement of the dress codes has now been assigned to the Basij, a hard-line government-backed militia.

Iranian women don't let government restrictions on their dress curb their fun. NBC News/ Ali Arouzi.

The young and trendy men of Tehran - who have embraced a wild, heavily gelled, spiky hairstyle known as the "Rooster" – also have been targeted in the recent clampdown. Police have warned barber shops not to give men Western-style haircuts or pluck customers eyebrows.

"It's so difficult living like this," said Milad, a young man in his early 20's, as he walked out of a barber shop, sporting the "Rooster" hairstyle.

"I remember when my brother was a teenager and I was still a young boy, he came home one day wearing a t-shirt and his forearms had been painted black. My mother asked him what happened and he explained that the morality police had detained him because he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. As punishment, the section of his arms that were exposed were painted," said Milad. "That was over 10 years ago and he still wears t-shirts and I will still wear my hair like this."

Some say the recent crackdown is simply a ruse by the government to deflect attention from more pressing issues – like the heightened cost of living in Iran, rising gas prices, and tensions with the international community over the nuclear issue.

If that is indeed the government's strategy, it risks widening the ever-increasing gulf between themselves and ordinary Iranians in the process.