In 48 hours I went from being the reporter whose usual 'beat' is Baghdad to covering the Hajj, trading a flak jacket for an abaya, and stories of violence for ones of spirituality.

Hajj pilgrims at Mercy Mountain.

Having no real clue what to expect, I bounced a plethora of ideas of 'new' things we could do off of producer Mohammed Tawfeeq, who has covered the Hajj before, and who kept giving me that look of "you have no idea what you're getting into." He was right.

I had no idea how magical the al-Haram mosque looked at night with the swirling white river of humanity around the Kaaba, millions from all over the globe united, praying in unison.

We went inside one night with a flip cam.

Up close the river turns into hot sweaty bodies shoving up against each other caught up in the religious fervor of it all, arms outstretched desperately trying to touch the Kaaba and the black stone.

And yet there was a certain serenity to it all once you stepped back into the cool desert breeze.

Translating this religious journey into TV would be our job for the next week.

One of my so called strokes of brilliance was to try to go live from the base of Mount Mercy in Arafat, which was am amazing backdrop, but something of a nightmare when it comes to the practicalities of live TV, the amount of gear we have to carry and the reality of having to navigate the millions at the Hajj.

I remember sitting at our live position – precariously perched on top of one of the lower boulders – looking out at the sea of pilgrims that just seemed to pour off Mount Mercy into an endless stream that extended as far as the eye could see.

It was here in this moment that the pilgrims all said that they felt closest to God, that they walked away from Arafat feeling like their slate had been wiped clean, that they were given a second chance at life.

There was a soft mist pouring down from the sprinklers that gave everything a mystical feel.

I completely forget that we would somehow have to work our way through them – my 'brilliant' plan suddenly seeming not so much that after we ended up stuck in the sea of pilgrims with our cases of gear and backpacks for about two hours walking to our car.

It's crowded, hectic, hot, and cramped most places we go.

Mohammed keeps giving me that look of "you have no idea what you're getting us into" and most of the time he's right.

Still, it's an experience like no other. There's a passion in everyone's voice that's gripping – and it's a passion that's echoed by those who have saved for this journey all their lives and those who have been on the Hajj multiple times.

We've met people from all walks of life, all corners of the globe, all who will return home with peace of spirit.