JERUSALEM - Think things through: Gaza is burning, and I'm in Beirut.

There's nothing better than being frantically under control. Nothing better than looking at the phone as it rings and reading, "CNN Mothership." 99 times out of 100 it's a conversation about that day's piece, or future pieces - in this case, it's my favorite call. Either Earl or Bruce is calling to say, "Get moving now Perry."

Besides wanting to jump out of your skin and directly into the story - you have to stop and think. Remember your training from all those years past, of security advisers with various accents telling you "plan, plan, plan."

Fine.

I suppose you can take a reporter out of Iraq, but you'll never get the Iraq out of the reporter.

So, first, where are you headed? In this case, we'll need things like a flak jacket, bandages, tourniquet, bug spray and warm clothing. Then the equipment. Cameras, computer – basically all the various cool toys that enable us to get pictures and information out to the world. The apartment quickly starts to look like a tornado aftermath zone.

Then there's the passport question. Any stamp from Israel in your passport will immediately prevent you from going to countries like Syria and Iraq. No good if you're covering the region for an international news organization. So, you better have two, or convince the Israeli authorities to give you an entry stamp on a separate piece of paper (something they are quite good about and willing to do).

If you have two passports: you best hand the right one to the right authorities at the borders. Otherwise, you'll find yourself in a very long conversation with very strange questions. Lots of fun in that scenario – trust me.

The distance from Beirut to Jerusalem is a simple 145 miles. Beirut is directly to the north, but is separated by a border that is locked down as tight as any border in the world. Hezbollah controls the southern part of Lebanon - and Israel has armed forces right up against its northern border: the two view each other as constant, and considerable threats.

They should – after a summer war in 2006 that changed the region forever. At the very least, Lebanon was changed - and is still changing today.

So getting from Beirut to Jerusalem is the equivalent of a crash course in Middle Eastern politics. It's a lot like the TV show, "The Amazing Race" ... only with lots of guns and periods of incredible boredom.

There are two travel options: neither of them appealing. First, you can drive, across Lebanon, through Syria into Jordan ... and then across the bridge into Israel. It's one giant desert. By desert, I mean: there is NOTHING out there. If you're lucky - that may only take you 15 to 16 hours depending on how long you sit at border crossings, explaining to various intelligence officers where you're going and why in the world you would want to go there. But 24 hours ago that option closed down - the border between Jordan and Israel was shut.

In some ways it's a relief because I've done that drive 3 times in the past 2 years - and it's about as much fun as a trip to the dentist. So, with the border shut: it's option number 2.

Fly. Of course, there are no direct flights from Beirut to Jerusalem – so, you fly to Amman, Jordan. From Amman you sit and wait for the flight to Tel Aviv - it's about a 7-hour layover.

As painful as it is: you get a feel for where things are, what the situation is - and how the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. It's because between the flights, the airports and the border crossings ... are cab drivers. They fill in the gaps despite the massive amounts of information coming across your Blackberry - which is great, because the minute you hit the ground, you're off and staring into a camera.

As a story is still breaking, you can often learn more about the situation in the region from them. More important than that, you get far greater information: a genuine "feel" of the situation. In Lebanon I heard that everything was Israel's fault. They started it, the driver said - and things are going to spin totally out of control. In Jordan I heard that it was Egypt's fault. They're the ones that silently gave the nod to Israel to start its campaign in Gaza.

In Israel, in the past 24 hours I've heard two versions: one, everything is fine – this is something "we (Israelis) need to take care of," Hamas is to blame. And the old Middle East adage ... it's mostly "everyone's fault."

So, from Beirut to Jerusalem I can safely say that the region is like a pot of pasta simmering on your stove: you watch it simmer and as the water and foam rises, you can turn down the heat. But have you done it in time?

Or is it going to boil over anyway - and make a complete mess of your kitchen?

HEATHROW, England - It's been a long few months - from the war in Georgia to a plane crash in Spain, a visit to Syria and then a tour of Iraq - I've been on the road. For me, it's the attraction and dream of working for CNN. But, a bit of bad luck has crept up on me: one morning in Baghdad I awoke, my face swollen and my head in incredible pain. Sometimes, you can't help but laugh at the pain, as an impacted, infected wisdom tooth has crept into your life - at the most inopportune time.Off to the combat hospital I went. Normally I would not worry so much, but I was, and still am running a pretty high fever.

The U.S. Combat Hospital in Baghdad is one of the best medical facilities in the world. CNN has spent some time there: we reported on the advances they've made in battlefield medicine. They, in typical military fashion x-rayed my entire head then sat me down.

"It's just no good," said the captain. "It's infected, it's impacted, and it's deep. You need to see a surgeon in the U.S. quickly - and get that pulled." He then proceeded to give me two buckets of pills and a bottle of some liquid. "This one for the infection," he said. "This one for the pain," he said. "And this needle goes into this bucket of fluid - you inject it into the back of your mouth."

Fantastic, I thought.

No problem Sir, I'll just shove that thing right back there. I mean, I am tough – but who's shoving a needle into the back of their swollen mouth?

"That fever gets any worse - you come back here - and we're going to have to fly you out. Otherwise, get yourself home." he said.

So, back to the bureau I went - fever, pills, weird looking needle and all, to plot my way home. After three days of resting and struggling to learn the effects of the various crazy medications he had put me on, I was off to Baghdad's International Airport.

Booked on Iraqi Airways to Beirut - it was my quickest route to the U.S., home for surgery. Luckily for me, I had one of our local producers with me - to make sure I got checked in and into the waiting area OK. For someone as well traveled as I am - I was still so very happy to have him. When you're running a fever of 101 degrees and are on various medications, it's easy to get confused. Especially in Iraq, where nothing goes as planned.

Which brings us to the "your life has entered the twilight zone" section of the piece. As I was waiting to board the plane the public announcement said "please proceed to gate 45 for Iraqi Airlines flight 131 to Beirut." So, I went to the gate, handed my ticket to the woman from Iraqi airlines and she said, "it's now Basra-Beirut."

Basra-Beirut? Did she just say Basra? Basra? Like, the southern Iraqi port city of ...

"Basra?" I asked.

Although with a puffy face it came out more something like "Bassswrwa?"

"I'm sorrwy," I slurred. "We're stopping in Baswwra?"

"Inshallah," she answered.

Inshallah, literally translated from Arabic means "God willing." But it's a term that is used with such repetition; it can also mean, "We hope," "probably," "think so," "most likely," and in some cases, "yes."

Now - for an American boarding a plane to Beirut, a stop in Basra can be a bit off putting - especially when you're struggling to focus on anything due to a fever and a bucket of pills that Captain America has given you three days earlier.

"Do I change plawwnes in Basswwra - or is it the same one?" I drooled in her direction.

"Same plane - Inshallah," she said.

I called the bureau - to let them know I was flying to Basra. I said to our Bureau Chief, Ingrid, who has had more of these strange moments than I think anyone else in the business that I was worried about being "strwwanded in Baswwra."

She understood, we talked it over, security is always a concern - but I am sick - have to get out.

So, on the plane I went. As it turned out - it was a code-share flight between Iraqi Airlines and "Flying Carpet."

After an hour, we landed in Basra. Three people got off. We waited about 40 minutes, and the same three people got on. My Arabic is not even close to fluent, but people were making phone calls to Beirut - letting folks know - we've made a random stop. I figure we stopped so three people could have a meeting! But, who knows for sure – and there was no "dental, English-Arabic" producer on board, so my questions would have only been confusing.

Without re-fueling, we took off again, and over two hours later, we landed in Beirut.

Now in Heathrow Airport in London, I'll soon board a flight to Washington. Should be there in about 8 hours if United does not decided to make a random stop in Sweden.
Inshallah.

YEREVAN, Georgia – The first thing I did when I learned CNN was sending me to Tbilisi was pull out a map. Not only had I never been to Georgia, but to make matters more difficult I was flying into neighboring Armenia.I would have to drive the six hours from Yerevan, Armenia, across the border into Georgia. The Russians had destroyed the military airfield near the airport and no airline was flying.

When I landed in Yerevan my driver didn't speak English. Not a word. He had no idea how to get out of Yerevan, nor for that matter how to get on any road heading north. He was Georgian, and kept using the wood ‘boom.' Always a positive sign. We stopped maybe 15 times in an hour asking for directions before being righted and set on our way.

There's nothing on the drive but mountains and little towns, hundreds that can't have more than $5,000 worth of money being thrown through them. The road is like something from a horror novel, coming down to one lane at times beside a cliff with a huge drop-off (a little yellow sign showing this is coming: which is supposed to save you from your crazy driver).

If you're planning a family road trip – I'd avoid the entire area.

But none of that was actually in my head. I was thinking about the map – and where I was geographically. I knew once I got to Tbilisi there were going to be tens of thousands displaced – thousands dead and dying. The checkpoint at the border told me that. I knew that would be the part we could show people on video.

But I was geographically in what has become potentially the prime piece of real estate on the globe.

450 miles separate the Black Sea from the Caspian Sea from West to East. I was driving through the center of it from South to North. This tiny spot of land is only a bit larger than the UK and separates Russia from half of the world. Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia separate Saudi Arabia and the surrounding gulf countries, Iran, Iraq and Syria from giant Russia.

Partly because of exactly what was happening now – a giant Russian invasion of Georgia, it's been nearly impossible to get more than a handful of pipelines up and running. The second longest one in the world (pumping 1.2M barrels a day) was hit, set on fire – and shut down for more than a week.

The media hits hard on the Middle East, how its conflicts are all oil related. The thing is; I work in the Middle East, and I know I'll be back here in this tiny, but important sliver of land... and I'm sure that not so ironically, the taps on the pipelines will be off then too.

TBILISI, Georgia - After a week of no sleep in Tbilisi Georgia, covering the war with Russia, I was finally checking in for my flight to Munich last Monday. All I could think about was getting on the plane, and getting some much needed sleep. Sleep is not necessarily conducive to war zone coverage.

Biden has been named as Obama's running mate.

While waiting for my flight to board, I sat in the business lounge enjoying a relaxing drink; finally, an opportunity to simply listen to my iPod and clear my head. All of a sudden I look up – and walking towards me is Joseph Biden, the Democratic senator from Delaware.

Are you freaking kidding me, I thought?

I wandered over, introduced myself - said: "Senator, my name is Cal Perry, I'm a reporter from CNN and just wanted to say hello." He immediately smiled and he then asked me to sit with him while we waited for the flight. Strange I thought - for someone who was at the time involved in a heated US debate as to whether he could potentially be the VP candidate for Barack Obama.

But he quickly directed the conversation to Iraq - a place I spent four years covering for CNN. He peppered me with questions: How are things going there do you think? Who are the most important and reliable politicians in your opinion? Do you think Abdul Aziz Hakim is the man who wields the most power? He clearly already knew that I had spent time there, and wanted to get straightforward opinion from a reporter.

Which is unusual, because as reporters, we keep our own opinions to ourselves, just reporting the facts. Being asked my opinion was a bit awkward - but I gave it to him anyway.

Then, like any reporter would: I started in on him ...

He told me about his trips to Iraq, saying how amazed he was at the bravery of US troops, how young they are, and how they have to make life and death decisions on a daily basis.

We spoke at length about combat hospitals in Iraq - places I've spent a great deal of time. You could see it in his eyes –  he clearly cares so deeply for the young U.S. men and women stationed overseas.

He mentioned to me: "I was only 29 years old when I was elected to the U.S. Senate" then comparing the decisions he's had to make in the Senate with the decisions the troops make under combat conditions. He made it sound like there is no comparison - that what they do, is far and above any call of duty.

Just before his aide came overand said "Senator, it's time to go back to the United States" I asked him the obvious question: Do you think you'll be named as running mate for Barack Obama? His answer was brief, but it came with a smile on his face, "that question is the reason I'm not doing interviews while in Georgia."

As I boarded my plane with Senator Biden I could not help think: Did I just meet the next Vice President of the United States?

If so, how random, how cool.

EDITOR'S NOTE: A reference to Joe Biden being a military veteran was removed from an earlier vesion of this blog.

BEIRUT, Lebanon – Can't stop thinking about what one of my former security advisors from Iraq said to me in a cafe here in Beirut just two days ago. "It's quiet now Cal - but this is Beirut ... at any moment, within 24 hours, the city and country could be thrust into complete chaos."

Government loyalists add tires to a burning barricade outside Beirut.

Today, chaos is what happened.

The Hezbollah leader, Hassan Nasrallah, gave a speech in the afternoon, reacting to what the government had said about Hezbollah's telecommunication network (a private network used by Hezbollah for communication.) It was exactly as expected - a fiery speech in which he said the government's actions were tantamount to a declaration of war against his group.

After the speech we headed out into the streets to tape a brief "piece to camera," while it was still light outside. Within minutes, deafening gunfire broke out all around us. A group of Lebanese Army soldiers starting yelling at us to come towards them and take cover behind a large building. The rounds were snapping close to us as we ran behind the building.

Cameraman Christian Streib, who has lived in Beirut for a decade, snapped into action - immediately filming. We tried to do a "piece to camera" but with all the gunfire, I could hardly hear my own voice. I found myself screaming at times, and gave up pretty quickly.

The firefight was raging when Christian spotted gunmen on a nearby rooftop. He remarked that he got it on film - something I still cannot believe. I kept telling him he was making me nervous as he filmed about, but the truth is he's a seasoned as they get, and it was the simple gunfire, now coupled with large explosions from rocket-propelled grenades that was really making me nervous.

For the Lebanese Army, gunmen on rooftops is a nightmare. Snipers are tantamount to death in gun battles, and it almost assured that no-one was going to brave this street.

After a short while we made the decision to make a dash to our car, and try to get back to the bureau. With no medical gear or security and the city getting dark, we had to go. We ran to our car ... all the while rounds snapped close. In the car I could hear our Senior International Correspondent Brent Sadler, who is the most knowledgeable person on Lebanon, remark that he had not heard RPG fire in Beirut in years. Not a good sign, I said to Christian.

As we drove around the city to avoid the neighborhoods where the fighting was continuing we passed a restaurant which was full with people. Less than a kilometer away from a raging gun battle, people were eating dinner - as we drove by in our flak jackets!

Such is Beirut – a place where it's quiet ... until it's not.

Watch my report from Beirut

BAGHDAD, Iraq - After four years, I’m standing in a room with the finest press corps in the world. After four years – they’re throwing ME a party.

We’ve been through hell and back ... and back again.

From Fallujah, Mosul, Ramadi, Tikrit and to the depths of Baghdad – we’ve literally, spilled the same blood, in the same dirt. Corny? Maybe ... But it’s true.

We’ve lost friends, loved ones, and colleagues. I choose not to count those who have died, gone missing – or simply disappeared. And that’s not counting those who have made ultimate sacrifice, and are often forgotten: those in the Iraqi press, choosing to try to make a difference in their own country. The numbers of lost are just too hard to imagine.

Many of my colleagues have not disappeared here in Iraq – they’ve gone “home” and we’ve never heard from them again. Truth is – what is “home” after four years in Iraq? I wonder how any of us can return home.

I’m humbled by a line I saw in a mini-series about World War II: “I wonder how I’ll explain all this when I get back home.” I do wonder how any of us will explain this place.

Our families – they don’t know ... and we would not expect them to – how could we? We don’t want them to have the burden of worrying about us. Because if they do, we can’t do our jobs with that on our shoulders along with everything else that we’re faced with.

And the simple, humbling truth is: we believe in this ... If anyone didn’t they would not be in this room.

We have had “close calls,” we have made mistakes – we stay up at night, wanting the world to care ... But they will never care enough in our minds. So we choose not to sleep.

We miss our families, our loved ones ... But there’s something about this story – we cannot shake it. It sticks to you like duct tape – something that is a running joke ... Injured? Stick some duct tape on it. Break that piece of equipment? Stick some duct tape on it. We do love our duct tape ...

Our tourniquets, bandages, flak jackets, gum, cigarettes, scotch, water, Gatorade, “wily-X eye protection glasses,” boots, radios, “go-bags”, lucky charms and helmets. Don’t leave the bureau without them. Especially the lucky charms – everyone’s got em’ and they work ... Until they don’t ... Welcome to the embed world. Welcome to Iraq.

We make jokes (bad ones), band together, and look after each other. We’d lay in front of oncoming traffic for any number of our staff members – everyone is equal here in Baghdad. We cut corners, we give the military cigars – and yes, we lie to each other, party together and forgive each other – because in the end – we’re bonded by something we can’t describe.

We love our security – for without them ... You’d see nothing from this country. The sound of silence would be overwhelming from a war that could not be covered without the names of many a former Special Forces soldiers; the names of which – you’ll never hear. Talk about a silent sacrifice.

I choose not to name names, not to list those that are forever my friends: rather this simple thought for those who know who they are.

These are the finest people I’ve ever had the honor of meeting, and they know full well; I breathe this story like it’s oxygen ... And I will be back again.