MOUNT EVEREST BASE CAMP, Tibet Autonomous Region, China — After the first night at the media center near Mount Everest’s base camp, we woke up to a freezing morning. Fortunately the sun quickly warms up the air. One journalist had to be taken to lower altitudes late last night. Our colleague from Hong Kong got a severe case of altitude sickness and had to be evacuated. As if that was not enough, the ambulance that was transporting him turned over. An accompanying nurse suffered a cut to her head, and the journalist is now recovering in the town of Shigatse.

He may as well enjoy his time there because he is certainly not missing anything here. The situation at the Mount Qomolangma Media Center came to a virtual lockdown. Inexplicably, we are not allowed to leave the center. Our requests to visit the base camp were denied. We were also asked not to visit nearby Rongbo monastery. One reporter described the situation akin to being in prison.

A Japanese journalist, an experienced mountaineer, decided to hike up toward the base camp on his own, carrying just a stills camera. Thirty minutes later he returned, frightened, saying that he had been turned back at a gunpoint by Chinese police.

Even worse is the lack of any information. After a week in Tibet, all we know is that the torch is somewhere on the mountain. But where is it? Base camp? Already climbing? Where is the torch that the whole world is watching? Nobody seems to have any answers. Actually, at least one official does; at a press briefing, one official said: “We cannot provide this information due to the difficult meteorological situation on the mountain.” But the weather is sunny and clear. “There is a tropical storm forming in Bangladesh.”

But we keep pressing for the information. It is our job to find out what is going on and we have an obligation to our readers, viewers or listeners to provide them with reliable news, not guesses. “We pass your concerns to our superiors,” we hear the answer for the 100th time.

It is absurd and maddening. Why were we invited here if we are kept locked down? The original idea to bring international journalists here to cover the event was born months ago. I went to the first meeting between the invited journalists and organizers of the Beijing Olympics and the torch relay seven weeks ago. The atmosphere was cordial, friendly and business-like. Then came the March unrest in Lhasa, followed by the torch relay protests in London, Paris and San Francisco. The atmosphere of the relationship between media and organizers of this trip has changed.

The fact is, however, that the trip was not canceled and we are here. And since we are here we should have access to full and uncensored information. I tried to talk to one of the organizing officials in person, trying to explain that all I am interested in is the progress of the climb. All I want to know is when the climbers move from point A to point B; what is the elevation of point B; and when will they arrive to point Z.

“We are trying all we can,” she replied. Maybe they are.

AMSTETTEN, Austria — “We want to show the world that not all Amstetteners are bad people,” Christian Dunkl says as he lights a candle in the pouring rain. About 200 people came to a candlelight vigil in the evening to show solidarity with the victims of what Austrians officials say is one of the worst crimes in their country’s history.

Amstetten, a small town in Western Austria remains in shock after police discovered a local man, 73-year old Josef Fritzl was holding his own daughter as a sex slave in a dungeon underneath his house for 24 years. Elizabeth is now 42 years old and she claims her father raped and beat her on many occasions during her ordeal. Fathering seven children with her, one of which died shortly after birth and whose body Fritzl has admitted he burned in a furnace in the house.Gertrude Baumgarten can’t conceal her outrage. “I only have a small pension,” she tells me as we are sitting in her kitchen, “but I would spend my money to see him hang on a rope.” Gertrude worked in the same company as Fritzl in Amstetten, but she says she almost never talked to him and never wanted to be in his presence. “He had such an arrogant posture,” she says, “I just never wanted to be close to him.”

But Gertrude was close to Fritzl’s wife Rosemarie, who authorities say, never knew her husband was hiding their daughter in the cellar and sexually abusing her. “Rosemarie was always a sweet person,” she says, “she did not know what was going on, she said her daughter had run away from home.”

Fritzl took three of the six surviving children away from their mother, his daughter, and told his wife, Elizabeth, the alleged runaway had left them at the doorstep because she could not take care of them. Gertrude Baumgarten recalls the first time Rosemarie told her about finding a child. “She said Elizabeth had probably had the baby with a cult member and couldn’t take care of if, and then she said: “What can we do, we have to take care of the child.”

Verena Huber, a 14-year-old high school student, went to school with one of the children raised by Josef and Rosemarie Fritzl. Verena says 12-year-old Alexander seemed to have no clue about what was going on. “He always told us his mother was dead,” she says, but describes Alexander as a happy and “normal” child.

Most people in Amstetten say that although Josef Fritzl was reclusive, there was never a reason to believe something was amiss. Karl Dallinger is in the Amstetten fire brigade. He says two of the children, Monika and Alexander, participated in the brigade’s “youth days,” where young people learn the basics of fighting fires and First-aid. “They were both always willing to learn,” he says now, adding, “they were good kids, they seemed to be happy kids.” And he adds their grandmother often came to fire brigade events with her grandchildren even helping to cook spaghetti there.

By almost all accounts, the Fritzl family was a normal part of the Amstetten community. That, it seems, is what most shocks people in this western Austrian town.

MOUNT EVEREST BASE CAMP, Tibet Autonomous Region, China — Although the Chinese effort to bring an Olympic torch to the summit of Mount Everest is being watched by the world, the trip by journalists to cover the event is shrouded in secrecy and mystery. It has been close to impossible, for example, to find an exact itinerary of our travels. “We will visit some locations that will interest you,” is the usual answer to questions where are we going tomorrow.

The press center, near Mount Everest base camp.  No Olympic flame to be seen.

The most puzzling is the faith in the Olympic torch itself. Since landing in Lhasa on Friday, we have been asking about the location of the torch. Is it on the way to the base camp? Is it in the base camp? Is it already being carried up the mountain? When is it supposed to reach the summit? None of these questions have been answered by the organizers of the journalistic delegation. The usual responses have been: “We do not have the information at the moment.” “We cannot reach anybody in the base camp, the phones are not working. ” “We’ll try to get you this information as soon as possible.” For two-and-a-half days we have been left in the dark.

Monday is the big day, as we finally arrive at the Mount Everest base camp. The departure for the camp is delayed because some of the Western media are trying to send the stories they could not manage to send the previous night. That annoys our Chinese colleagues, who are waiting for two-and-a-half hours. Before we get to the final approach to the base camp we must cross one more pass. The convoy negotiates a steep climb on a dirt road with 33 sharp curves to the elevation of more than 5,000 meters.

I have been a rock climber and mountaineer for nearly 30 years, but nothing has prepared me for the view from Tsuo La pass. From the fifth tallest mountain in the world Makalu in the west, one can see some of the highest mountains in the world, including Lhotse, Everest, Cho Oyu and Shisha Pangma in the east. This must be the most powerful mountain view in the world. The sheer magnitude of the snow- and glacier-covered range is overwhelming. I am standing speechless, staring at this natural wonder, filled with emotions and unable to even think of filming for at least five minutes.

I eventually got the shots I wanted and off we were again. There is another 80 kilometers (50 miles) to go and traveling on the dirt roads will take at least two more hours. Although you do not always see it you can feel the closeness of the biggest mountain in the world. The valleys are narrower, mountain slopes steeper, glacier creeks faster and wilder. With every new view of the giant, Everest is getting closer and closer. Anther curve and the giant north face of Qomolangma displays its might to ooohing and aawing newcomers.

Thirty arriving journalists are greeted by a horde of another group of filming and photographing Chinese journalists who arrived here a few weeks earlier. After filming each other for a few minutes we are given keys to our huts. The media center is located in a small Hotel Qomolangma, but the journalists sleep in 20 small unheated huts made of plywood next to the hotel. Each hut has three beds, a table, a power supply and an Internet connection which is not working at the time of our arrival.

At base camp I am sharing a room with a journalist from a German public television station and Japanese news agency. The 25-square-meter space soon turns into an international newsroom, editing bay and a broadcast center. We share candies, tea and Nescafe.

After lunch in another hut seating 80 people we are off to work. There are a couple of hours of light left and everybody is taking advantage of it. We are filming a press camp, the highest in the world and, of course, Mount Everest towering in near distance. One correspondent from a major international news network falls sick, the first casualty of the high altitude. Although competitors in our jobs we are here on the same boat and all wish him well and quick recovery.

At the news briefing held later in the evening we are finally officially told that the Olympic torch is in the base camp, which is some five kilometers from the press center. But that’s all we get. No information if the torchbearers started their ascent or when the torch may reach the summit.

“We do not have that information at the moment” is the official’s response. I do not believe that and argue that the torch expedition climbers have radios and walkie-talkies and that they are in constant touch with the expedition leader. All we need is the opening of the information channel between the leadership of the expedition and the media. We were brought here to cover the torch ascent and without reliable information our stay here is useless. China and the rest of the world are watching, so give us the information please. “We will try our best.” The discussion is over.

The camp has a limited power supply (most of is solar generated) and the lights go off at 11 p.m. We continue to work at candlelight but there is another problem. The temperature in the hut is now well below freezing, and falling. The only solution to this is to put on even more clothes and climb into a dawn sleeping bag.

Editor’s note: Tomas Etzler is a journalist heading to the Base Camp of Mount Everest to chronicle that leg of the Olympic torch relay.

LAZI, Tibet Autonomous Region, China — Covering an Olympic torch rally as a journalist is a rare prospect at any given circumstance. Covering an Olympic torch being carried to the top of the world’s highest mountain is a once in a lifetime, if not a once in history, opportunity.

So when asked if I want to spend two weeks in rough conditions at the base camp of Mount Everest’s north side, reporting on the event, I did not hesitate for a second.

The journey to Mount Everest, which the Chinese call Qomolangma, started at the brand new Terminal 3 of the Beijing International Airport on Friday, April 25. The terminal was crowded even at 6 a.m. Travelers to Lhasa, including 11 international journalists covering the Beijing Olympic torch rally have to queue in a special security gate assigned for Tibet.

During the 16 months I have been working in and extensively traveling through China, I do not recall a more thorough security check. Polite, occasionally smiling, but strict guards searched through every piece of carry-on luggage and equipment. Finally, two and a half hours after checking in we were on the plane.

At Lhasa Airport, located about a 45-minute drive from the city, we were greeted by Mr. Shen Kaiyun, a director of the Tibetan autonomous region information office, and other officials. We were joined by 19 Chinese journalists, a number of minders and quickly boarded three buses. Our convoy, which also included a CCTV (China Central Television) truck in military colors carrying our luggage and several SUVs with officials, left not for Lhasa but for the second largest Tibetan city, Shigatse.

It was not an entirely surprising move. Lhasa was an epicenter of last month’s deadly riots and remains off limits to foreign journalists and tourists. This trip was purely designed for the coverage of the Olympic torch and its organizers stuck to its purpose.

However, on Friday, April 25, China Daily — a government-run newspaper — reported that the first group of 15 tourists from mainland China was allowed into the city.

Shigatse is some 300 km (186 miles) west of Lhasa. The road first runs along the Lhasa River. It is embellished by small hamlets with typical Tibetan two-story houses made of stone. Every house is decorated by Buddhist flags.

The road later turns into a valley of Brahmaputra, one of the biggest Asian rivers which is swollen by melting snow from the high peaks of the Tibetan Plateau at this time of the year. The valley narrows and the river rushes deep under the roads carved into the steep slopes. During the rainy season, landslides often block the road. Even on this sunny April day, our bus is almost hit by a falling boulder.

After 45 minutes of this spectacular drive, the valley widens into an arid plain. Here, one can see third-hand the uphill battle the Chinese government is fighting against desertification of many Tibetan areas. It is mostly caused by overgrazing. Enormous sand dunes cover mountains on both sides of the plain. Our bus drives through several large yellow dust clouds.

Shigatse lies almost 3,900 meters (12,795 feet) above sea level. Although the journalists who just arrived from low-lying Beijing feel OK, there are concerns about the effect of the high altitude. The plan is to be in the Mount Everest base camp at the elevation of 5,150 meters (16,896 feet) within 48 hours and some consider it dangerous without the proper acclimatization. The organizers of the trip are initially reluctant to change the itinerary. After the delegation’s Chinese doctor also raises his concerns about the rapid ascent, the minders conclude the evening: “We are happy to have you on this trip and we will consider your concerns.”

The altitude issues and related health concerns are again discussed the next morning on Saturday. After the intervention of Mr. Kaiyun, it is agreed that an extra day of acclimatization will be added to our journey to the base camp.

The journey continues westward. First, we have to drive up to Tsuo-la, a pass 4,500 meters (14,763 feet) above sea level. The pass is covered by thousands of Buddhist flags attached to long strings. The whole scene resembles a giant spider web… with praying flags. As it has become a custom on every stop on this trip, the organizers have to call scattered filming and photographing journalists back to the buses. “Come down! Stop filming! The buses are leaving now.” They struggle to overcome strong winds.

The scenery is becoming familiar. Descent to a wide valley surrounded by brownish mountains with an occasional snow-covered peak behind them. Around sparse villages people work in their fields and tend to their herds of sheep and yaks. On almost all the houses in this valley there is a brand-new Chinese national flag flying next to the praying ones. “This is how local people celebrate the upcoming Olympics,” explains one of the officials accompanying us on the bus.

We have lunch in the She Chen hot springs recreational resort in Lazi county. Above the main entrance hangs a banner: “Green Olympics, Environmentally Balanced Qomolangma.” It is a small facility comprised of one large building with a restaurant, and two covered swimming pools, and a few smaller buildings with small baths — accommodation quarters for the local Tibetan staff.

The next stop is a treat. We are taken by surprise when our convoy turns from the pavement into a dirt road meandering through a dry wasteland. Soon we start a treacherous climb which proves to be too much for the larger buses carrying mostly the Chinese journalists.

At the top of the climb, is the Tsan monastery. It is a small complex sitting on the steep slopes 4,400 meters (14,435 feet) above sea level. It was first established in the 11th century A.D. It consists of a main temple, burial pagodas and living quarters. The monastery treasures over 12,000 books. Local monks and their helpers treat us to dried mutton meat.

The piousness of this place and the friendliness and generosity of its dwellers is humbling.

On the way back we picked up our disappointed Chinese colleagues and soon after we are arriving at a small town in Lazi. After dinner, there is a performance of a Tibetan folklore dance. Then there is more work to do, review the pictures filmed today, file the stories, recharge batteries, prepare for tomorrow.

With the exception of minor headaches, everybody is feeling well. And that is good news. The base camp of Mount Everest is only 180 km (111 miles) away.

Editor’s note: Tomas Etzler is a journalist heading to the Base Camp of Mount Everest to chronicle that leg of the Olympic torch relay.

LONDON, England – For our profile story on a 176-pound British “size 16″ teenager slated to compete in the Miss England pageant, we needed to see how a real-life beauty pageant works… so we checked out the Miss Bath competition at the Bath Race Course and Conference center in Bath, south-west England.

Samantha Del Greco, Miss Bath '07 and judge (center), award the tiara to 2008 winner Katya Floyd-Sanchez.

Putting aside the irony that segments of the Miss Bath beauty pageant were held between horse races, my cameraman and I entered a world where perhaps, only the bravest of girls should dare compete.

The climate of nervousness is not necessarily induced by their fellow competitors — we witnessed no ganging up on contestants, as in the movie “Carrie”, or catfights backstage. The harshest judges weren’t the judges. The only thing to fear was the audience itself.

I loved the idea that there was a diversity of contestants on stage: different heights, hair colors (not all of them natural), ethnicities, body shapes and degrees to what they dared-to-bare. But what was disconcerting were some of the petty comments about the ladies we heard from those who came to watch the competition unfold.

It takes a lot of chutzpah for these teens and twentysomethings to get up in front of a crowd, strutting in heels, evening gowns, sports/swimwear and bizarre outfits for the “Eco-Fashion Round” — clothes inspired by the contestants’ concern for the environment (plastic garbage bag dress, anyone?).

So it is not cool to overhear some of the spectators — who needed to hit the Stairmaster themselves — whisper the word ‘heifer’ as the heavier contestants worked the pageant catwalk.

Not classy.

Then again, perhaps one contestant should have expected to be mocked when the pageant host asked her: “If you could be a Disney character, what would you be? And why?”

The contestant answered — and remember, this is a beauty pageant: “Miss Piggy. Because she is an international superstar and a household name.”

That contestant didn’t win.

Watch my video report

BAGHDAD, Iraq — I knew something was strange as soon as I woke up. An eerie yellow haze at the window instead of the morning sun. I climbed up to the roof and looked out over Baghdad toward the blue Bunyah mosque. It had disappeared behind a thick curtain of microscopic dust.

Dust clouds the air over Baghdad.

I had never experienced a sandstorm. I instinctively tried to stop breathing until I could get indoors.

We were about to leave to shoot a report on an Iraqi paralympic competition. “They can’t go ahead with it!” I thought.

When we called, however, they said it was still on. So we piled into our car and set off for the running track.

On a good day, the streets of Baghdad are dusty, blanketed with dirt, crumbling concrete and assorted trash. This dust , swirling in the high winds, is lighter but more penetrating. It fills your lungs insidiously.

But, as we drove through Baghdad, I saw, at the most, two or three people with masks. Most were walking purposefully through the haze.

As we passed the Green Zone, where the United States Embassy and Iraqi government offices are located, I saw a man in running shorts and t-shirt jogging on the street.

At the running track the athletes were arriving, some missing legs, or arms. Many are victims of the war. In the distance, a loud explosion roared. The athletes and their friends muttered but quickly returned to more important things. Bombs, sandstorms - it’s a nuisance but nothing that will stop them from competing.

Paralympic athletes train on, despite the dust.

But the storm, the worst in years, did shut down Baghdad Airport. The helicopters that roar every few minutes through the skies of the capital were grounded.

Back in our bureau everything - computers, cameras, monitors, desks, pens, coffee cups, my eyeglasses -was covered within minutes with a fine yellow talcum. There was no getting away from it.

In 2003, just after the start of the invasion of Iraq , a giant sandstorm blanketed southern Iraq. Some Iraqis began calling it “Allah’s Shroud,” God’s protection from the “invaders.”

To me, it’s just as exotic. A sandstorm in Baghdad. Like Ali Baba’s 40 Thieves, I said the magic words “open sesame!” and waited for the skies to clear.

KATHMANDU, Nepal — There is a strange contradiction in Himalayan politics. In the tiny country of Bhutan the king, Jigme Khesar Wangchuk, has recently enforced democracy on subjects who’d really prefer to keep things as they are, thank you very much. They are blessed with a benign monarch, who is adored and worshipped by his subjects.

But the Oxford-educated, 27-year old King clearly realizes that absolute rule by a monarchy is fine when the ruler is a jolly nice fellow, but it has all the ingredients for a total disaster, should one of his descendants decide to abuse their power. He’s recently organized elections, where you guessed it — the monarchists won a thumping majority.

Bhutan is about as remote and isolated as you can get. Television was only allowed here in 1999 and much of the country is still without electricity, roads or the internet. But it’s the only country I can think of where democracy is being imposed on the people, largely against their will.

Contrast that then with neighboring Nepal, where King Gyanendra is about to lose his job. Here the election counting is still going on, amid growing allegations of fraud in some remote areas. So far the Maoists, until recently a guerrilla army that had been fighting a decade long insurgency, are in the lead.

They are still classified as a terrorist organization by the United States, but it looks like they will become a major player in the new assembly that’s been elected to draw up a new constitution. And the first thing that assembly will do is to declare that Nepal is to become a republic, meaning King Gyanendra will presumably be packing his bags soon.

King Gyanendra was suddenly thrust onto the throne after a terrible massacre when almost all of his other relatives were shot by the Crown Prince, who went berserk with a gun before killing himself in 2001. King Gyanendra was therefore the target of much unfair suspicion that he had somehow orchestrated the massacre to get his hands on the crown.

It sounds like a Shakespearean plot — but then much of political life here has a slightly surreal air. Gyanendra further compounded that initial suspicion by declaring martial law in 2005, claiming the government wasn’t doing its job in thwarting the Maoist insurgency. It was only when hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets in violent protests two years ago that he backed down and the Maoists started capitalizing on his mistake.

I was in Nepal in April 2006, dodging the flying bricks and remember the palpable feeling of anarchy in the thin mountain air. Now things seem more stable, and in some sense there is inevitability to events. It’s almost certain this king will be peacefully voted out of a job. The entire edifice of the Peacock throne will be dismantled and Gyanendra will be free to concentrate on his private business interests.

So what to do? Well, perhaps the Royalists among you are crying: “How about letting the King of Bhutan skip over the border and see if he can make a better fist of it than Gyanendra? Swap the Raven Crown for the Peacock throne?”

That’s sort of what happened in England during the 17th-century Glorious Revolution: a group of aristocrats got rid of the Catholic James II. They were infuriated by his autocracy and staged a coup, bringing in his protestant son-in-law, William of Orange from Holland, to become king instead.

But that kind of throne swap would never work between Nepal and Bhutan. There’s been years of acrimony between the two countries over the status of 100,000 refugees stuck in camps in Nepal, who arrived from Bhutan. The Bhutanese won’t allow them to return, saying they’ve forfeited their right to citizenship. The idea of King Jigme Khesar Wangchuk coming over to replace Gyanendra is a non-runner.

It seems nothing will preserve monarchy in Nepal: 240 years of history will end in a few weeks, leaving Bhutan as the only absolute monarchy in Asia.. for now.

The 19th-century political writer Walter Bagehot once said of monarchy: “We must not let daylight in upon the magic.” But daylight is streaming into the Himalayan palaces: the Maoists have pulled back the curtain in Nepal, but in Bhutan it’s the King himself who’s decided to break the spell.

GENEVA, Switzerland – Day 10 and about 14 interviews later, the team is ready to go home. We have had such fun on this trip but it’s been alot of hard work. From Heidi our positive producer’s planning expertise, Andrew our cameraman extraordinaire’s amazing footage and constantly smiling attitude, Paul our editor/cameraman/entertainment/social director/driver/all around good guy, I certainly have been blessed with an amazing group of people to work with.

When we travel for assignments around the world, I believe it’s the people who you spend all your time with that make the pieces we air amazing. They are the ones who become your family and it is through the shared energy that we all work harder and better.

The Geneva leg of our trip certainly felt like the work was all coming to a head and that we really had to summon up our reserves energy to complete our tasks. The weather has been horrible but since we all moved from our… uh… last place of stay to more refined digs, things moved on much more smoothly.

We have generated a lot of pieces for the network, each one bringing something different… even though the topic has been the same, and for the most part so have the products. Each CEO I met brought something different to the table.
They were each passionate about their jobs and their companies. And that is what I learn from. I learn from their abilities, their successes, and their challenges. After all, it doesn’t just come down to their job, it also comes down to them being people.

There is another world out there when looking at the luxury industry. One where money is no object. For me though, money is an object so perhaps it gives me that ability to see through the glitter and hopefully report with an eye on the pocketbooks of the majority of people in the world.

Still though, being around the glitter is no war zone… and I have the utmost respect for those who are reporting from perhaps less luxurious surroundings!

Michael Holmes, this is for you.

BAGHDAD, Iraq – They live at Camp Stryker, part of a massive military base in Baghdad, in an eight by 15-foot military trailer with two single beds pushed together. When we stop by to see them the electricity is out. They’re sitting on a storage box, holding a flashlight, chatting in the heat.

But 27-year-old Captain Jessica Hegenbart and 33-year-old Chief Warrant Officer Brian Hegenbart — both Blackhawk pilots — say they’re not complaining.

They’re married but under traditional Army rules they would not be allowed to live together. Now, under a policy quietly introduced in 2006, they can –- if housing is available. Watch video report

“I think it makes it easier for us to unwind than some of the other folks here that don’t have their spouse, their best friend, here to share that with,” Jessica says.  “It’s harder to communicate over the phone and through email and that’s something that we’re really lucky to have.”

I ask Brian if his fellow pilots are jealous. “Definitely!” he laughs.  ”Maybe not true jealousy, but in a joking manner I get it all the time from the guys, you know! If I complain about somethin’ they’re like, whatever, yeah, your wife’s here!”

But it’s no laughing matter to know up close the dangers your spouse faces. Brian flies infantry troops on assault missions against al-Qaeda in Iraq; Jessica transports military personnel. They fly the same black helicopters, with two gunners at each window, weapons ready.

“I don’t usually worry,” Jessica says, “unless he’s getting to the point that he should be home and it’s going on a couple hours and I feel like he should have been home by now. So I try not to think about it otherwise.”

Brian adds: “I call her right when I get back in the office,  just to let her know I’m back, just so she doesn’t have to worry.”

Back in their trailer — part of a row of the same white “mil vans” protected by concrete blast walls where other personnel, some of them married, live — the Hegenbarts show us the trappings of home: mini-refrigerator, microwave oven, a TV, Playstation and computer, all bought at the PX on base.

Their identical uniforms hang together on a coat stand. Jessica says that on early mornings, when she dresses in the dark, she sometimes puts on Brian’s uniform by mistake.

They’ve been married for three years but Army regulations still apply: no public displays of affection.

I ask them if they ever hug or kiss each other in public on the base. “No m’am,” Brian says. “It’s hard sometimes but it can wait until we get back to the room.”

Watch video report on married military life in Baghdad

LONDON, England – It costs a hundred dollars a shot. It’s allegedly the most expensive coffee in the world. Even the royal family are said to drink it. But this still doesn’t detract from the fact that some of the beans that make it are selected from… cat excrement!

Made by the Italian company De Longhi, Caffé Raro combines Jamaican Blue Mountain and Kupi Luwak, two rare coffees.  It’s the Kupi Luwak coffee which has the particularly fascinating … if somewhat delicate origins. The natural “barista” which selects this bean is the palm civit cat, a badger-like creature which resides in Asia. It apparently has a natural affinity for “quality” coffee cherries. Its superior palate cannot digest the beans within the cherries and so nature ensures that they leave the body. But it is man who has decided that the beans in the civit cat droppings are not just safe for human consumption, but should actually be considered a delicacy. A delicacy which costs $100 a shot!

The display for Caffe Raro at Peter Jones was a little underwhelming. Six boxes of the beans arranged in a pyramid formation. Some cups lined up. For something that costs so much, I half-expected an armed guard and a glass case. Marco Zacharia, the Strategic Operations Manager for Catering explained how the coffee sales were for a good cause. All money went to a cancer charity, Macmillan Support. It made the outrageous price slightly more palatable.

David McKenzie, our correspondent, actually tried the coffee. He seemed to like it but confessed that it just tasted like good coffee. Worth a hundred bucks? He didn’t think so.

But the place where the cat pooh coffee really caused a stir was in the CNN London newsroom. Our report was given priority in the editing queue. I was obliged to explain to give all the gory details to my colleagues about the delicate origins of this extraordinary coffee and we actually ended up buying a $100 tin for the anchors to try on air. 

But is it worth a hundred dollars a shot? Despite the seemingly painstaking production process and the rarity of this intriguing blend, it’s a lot of money to spend on a cup of coffee, even if it is for charity. However if it prompts some people with well-lined pockets to donate, then it’s probably an effective marketing ploy.

But I, for one, am well and truly bored of thinking and writing about cat dung coffee.