Mirissa, Sri Lanka - It is not hard to see what happened five years ago in southern and eastern Sri Lanka. About 34,000 people died in this small South Asian country. Wreckage of the tsunami is still apparent and in some places seems to have grown to be part of the landscape. Fishing boats dropped along roadsides still lay there, some now sprouting grass and plants. In the southern town of Mirissa, locals and tourists enjoy the beaches, barely noticing the partial hull of a fishing boat. 

A woman remembers victims of the 2004 tsunami with flowers and candles in Peraliya, Sri Lanka, on Saturday.

Here workers are busy building a monument not to the tsunami, but to soldiers of Sri Lanka's recent victory in the war with rebel Tamil Tigers.  Many Sri Lankans are too young to remember a time when their country wasn’t at war. The conclusion of more than 25 years of civil war, and decades of terrorist bombings around the country draws their focus now.

Sri Lanka's President Mahinda Rajapaksa has called for an election two years before the conclusion of his term. Now that the war is over, Sri Lanka's economy needs attention: There is concern about Sri Lanka's economy and rising food prices.

In the years since the tsunami, the hordes of aid workers and well-meaning benefactors have drifted on leaving signs of renewal in some places and dried up expectations in others. Scatterings of foreign-built playgrounds, new schools and housing can be seen along the roadsides of southern and eastern Sri Lanka, the most tsunami devastated parts of the country.  Locals will say money is sorely needed for schools and the few apartment buildings are not liked by locals, since they were not used to living in such clusters.

In a village just outside Hikkaduwa, women wait for rides sitting on the remains of someone's kitchen counter.

This town was among the most devastated. Here a memorial shows an artist’s rendering of the horrifying aftermath when the deadly wave overturned a passing train, bodies strewn on the tracks and flung into trees. The train line still runs along the shore.

Go to the beaches in Yala on Sri Lanka's eastern shore and you will see a heartbreakingly beautiful beach.  

Stories abound about how the animals of Yala's National Park sensed the vibrations of the earthquake and ran inland before disaster struck.  On the beach here, is a memorial to the Japanese and German tourists and many locals who had no such warning.

Even though the mosque is several miles inland, it too was damaged by the tsunami waters. People clambered up the marble steps and clung to the white pillars, stretching out their arms to grab those swept up in the wave.

Banda Aceh's Grand Mosque was damaged by the Asian 2004 tsunami.

Today, the mosque has been restored and the courtyard, once clogged with mud and debris, is now a pleasant green park.

One of the striking details of the tsunami aftermath in Aceh was how the mosques survived when everything around them was destroyed.

Religion had always been important to devoutly Muslim Acehnese, but the tsunami highlighted Aceh's Islamic character even more.

Aid groups from all religions were offering help, including several fringe, radical Muslim groups, but also evangelical Christians and even Scientologists equipped with massage tables and "anti-stress therapies."

For the most part, Acehnese gladly accepted their help.

The mosque has now been restored to its former glory.

But after the tsunami, the imposition of Islamic shariah law gathered momentum, to the surprise of many Acehnese.

Today, in certain districts of Aceh, women follow a strict dress code. The tight jeans and t-shirts once fashionably worn with a brightly-colored headscarf are now illegal. Offenders are publicly lashed as punishment. Those found guilty of adultery can be stoned to death.

Not all Acehnese agree with this and one of the legacies of the tsunami is the tussling for political power among those who survived.

Most Acehnese are very friendly to foreigners and graciously received many aid workers without imposing Muslim dress on them.

But one man today, firmly insisted that I wear a Muslim headscarf, even though I was not in a religious area. In fact, the monument by one of the mass graves, was intended to cater to all religions. So, it surprised me.

But as he reminded me: "Aceh is different now"

Banda Aceh, Indonesia - I am sitting at one of Aceh's mass graves.  It lies on the road from the airport.  The day after the tsunami hit, this was one of the first things that CNN encountered.

Women attend a mass prayer for victims of the 2004 tsunami on Friday in Banda Aceh, Indonesia.

Our cameraman, Neil Bennett filmed a bulldozer piling bodies atop each other into one giant pit. That night, as we sat together comparing notes on the destruction we saw, I remember former CNN Correspondent Mike Chinoy was visibly disturbed by what he had seen here.  "Like something out of the Holocaust", I remember him saying.

And it's true.  There were too many bodies. The mass graves buried those that could be collected. But so many more were still lying in the streets, sometimes wedged into the buildings that survived. Bodies broken and bloated.  And no matter where you went it reeked of death.

Today, the grass has grown over the gravesite.  There is a small monument with a plaque. A stylized wall in the shape of a giant wave looms over the site.

People trickle in to say prayers.  It is a simple thing. There don't bring flowers or wreaths or anything at all.  They just walk up to the site, bow their heads and turn their palms up to the sky in Muslim prayer.

There is no crying. It has been five years past, after all.  When they finish praying, they turn around and ride away on their motorcycles to continue their day.

On the day the tsunami struck, we rushed to the airport and boarded a flight for Aceh. 

Two young boys look at parts of the city previously devastated by the Asian 2004 tsunami.

The death toll at first was ridiculously small: 60 people, I remember the radio saying. But it climbed quickly. 60 became 600 became 6000 in the space of a few hours as news filtered in. 

We did not know then that it would climb past 200,000.

As we flew over North Sumatra, all the passengers craned their necks to look out the plane windows. I remember seeing coconut trees flattened like scattered toothpicks on the coast.  There were also patchworks of squares in pink, white and blue.  It took me a while to realize that used to be homes.  The walls and roof all swept out to sea.  All that was left was the tiled floor.

Today, there are rows and rows of newly built houses. Their bright red and blue roofs shine in the sun. From the plane, you can see they are positioned a fair distance from the beach, on the slopes of the nearby hills. 

When we arrived, the airport was in chaos. We were the first flight to land after the tsunami. People were trying desperately to leave Aceh.  The only people coming in were journalists and aid workers.

The airport's control tower had been damaged in the earthquake. So, a makeshift tower had been erected.

Today, the Banda Aceh International Airport is a bright, spic and span operation with a stand advertising Aceh's "first boutique hotel", The Pade. The brochure shows a picture of white hotel with graceful arches and an inviting pool that overlooks Aceh's lush hills.

They advertise "happy hour" and a tour agency that offers "tsunami tours"

Boutique hotel, indeed.

By complete coincidence, one of the first people we meet coming out of the airport is Faisal, one of the drivers we had flagged down when we first arrived after the tsunami.

We were so desperate to get into town, we just grabbed the first cars we could find, a sputtering space van and a battered flat-bed truck owned by Faisal and his brother.  Faisal became our driver for the rest of our coverage.

He still looks the same. Grinning from ear to ear and a fast-talking motormouth, still negotiating the price of his car.  He's moved house closer to the airport but says work as a driver is drying up now that aid workers are leaving.

About 15 minutes into our drive, Faisal's car starts filling up with smoke and we have to pull over.  Nothing some pliers can't fix, he says grinning.

Some things don't change.

I'm on my way to Aceh. The first time I've been back since 2005 in the immediate aftermath of the tsunami.

Two women stand alone on a beach in a region of Banda Aceh devastated by the tsunami.

I'm actually really looking forward to going back and seeing how much has changed. Has Aceh realized its dream of "building back better"? Did those devastated villages, swept out to sea, ever rebuild? What happened to the orphaned children and fractured families? Will they ever be able to recover from that emotional loss?

The world responded to Aceh's plight with an outpouring of generosity. Money and aid - some $7 billion - was rushed to Aceh. How effectively was it managed? And what have we learned in the process?

But this is also a very personal visit for me. The devastation of the tsunami was so complete, so horrific, I have never seen anything like it and I hope the world never sees anything like it again.

And yet, I remeber also being inexplicably hopeful, as we clambered over the wreckage of destroyed homes. We cried often. Every person we spoke to had lost family. It was not uncommon to speak to a child who was the sole survivor in his or her family.

But there was also a gritty determination underneath the grief. It was not enough to survive. People in Aceh seemed determined to show that they would not just recover, but manage to thrive in the aftermath.

I remember a music school teacher who was determined to get a piano for the few students that survived. And a village chief that had drawn up plans to rebuild his village days before aid workers had reached him.

But it was always the children that seemed the most resilient. At one camp, I remember kids drawing pictures of the wall of water that took so many of their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. But then they would turn and smile and tell you how they planned to become teachers and doctors as if nothing could really stop them.

I'm looking forward to seeing if those dreams have been realized.

(CNN) – Santa Marta, like so many shanty towns in Rio de Janeiro, seems to defy gravity.

A view of the recently pacified Santa Marta.

To get to our destination, London cameraman Todd Baxter and I rode a one-car funicular past naked cement and brick homes clinging to the hillside.

Then we cut across the slum, a maze of cramped doorways and micro-entrepreneurs offering everything from haircuts to sacks of cement.

With a lot of breaks to catch our breath ...

Finally we found it: a huge cinder-block wall going up around the entire shanty town.

The wall was the subject of our story. According to officials it’s an “ecobarrier” built to protect the surrounding rainforest, but a lot of people we talked to were offended.

They felt they were being caged in and saw it as an attempt to further separate the crime-ridden slums from the affluent condos on the beaches below.

But what struck me was just how safe Santa Marta was.

When I lived in Rio eight years earlier it was unthinkable to enter any favela without a police escort.

At night you could hear shoot-outs between rival drug gangs and nearby neighborhoods complained of “lost bullets” that tore through their homes while they slept.

That’s changed with Rio’s “pacification” plan. Santa Marta is one of the favelas that’s been occupied by police. They built a permanent headquarters in the community and have set up checkpoints where gangs used to sell drugs.

We actually saw very few police when we hiked along the winding paths, but the sense of security was palpable.

We were invited into a number of homes.

An elderly man called Jiuzel showed us his toy car collection before we huffed and puffed our way up his near-horizontal staircase to the roof for one of the most amazing views of the city.

A woman, Elian Lopez, offered us coffee while she pulled out her daughter’s laptop and showed us her recently acquired credit card.

We even met a well-dressed tour guide on the funicular who was headed up to Santa Marta in search of a house to buy.

Not everything has changed though. Raw sewage still runs through many of the alleys and residents still complain they're marginalized by the rest of the “Marvelous City,” and pointed to the wall as proof.

But it was uplifting to see how some areas of Rio have come in the last eight years.

Beijing, China - It's just a T-shirt. Or so we thought.

The shirts were 'banned' by the Chinese government. (AFP/Getty images)

Our search for the so-called "communist Obama" T-shirt began with a capable intern scouring markets in Beijing. It depicts U.S. President Barack Obama wearing a Red Army uniform, the "Chinese communist-style" outfit made famous by Chairman Mao. On the front it says, "Serve the People" in Chinese. On the back, "Oba-Mao" in English.

Our first scan of Beijing turned up nothing. But a tip led us to the basement of Shin Kong Place. In an unassuming souvenir shop, we found a T-shirt in extra-large. During our flight from Beijing to Shanghai to cover the president's arrival, a news blitz indicated the shirts had been "banned" by the Chinese government amid worries that they may offend the American president.

Thank goodness we'd gotten ours in time!

But there was no way to confirm the government had indeed taken the shirts off the shelves, so we decided to check for ourselves. We headed to Yatai Xinyang market at a Shanghai metro stop in search of Obama-branded merchandise.

The Chinese also make wallets and trading cards featuring the "Communist Obama" image.

We found nothing but could not be sure they hadn't sold them there before. So, I chose that opportune moment to do a piece to camera with the shirt in hand. Bad move? Maybe. But it ended up being great television.

Two security guards happened to pass by at the moment I announced to the camera: "This is the T-shirt everybody is talking about." And that was it. They scrambled toward us and tried to pry the shirt out of my hands. I didn't give in.

Technically, we did not have permission to film in the market. And the security guards scolded us for not getting permission ahead of time.

There was a bit of yelling and quite a scuffle. My producer Jo Kent emphatically stated our case. Photographer Miguel Castro kept his cool. By this point, we had everything on tape.

We ended up being detained for two hours in the cold maze of a market. A crowd gathered round. More security and then police showed up. They wanted our press cards, our passports, but most of all, they wanted the shirt.

Ultimately, they confirmed that we were indeed "real" journalists (that is legally reporting in China.) But that didn't stop them from scolding us and making it very difficult to leave. After asking repeatedly and then one last time for the shirt, I refused.

Finally, they let us go. Phew!

It was worth it. The shirt got attention on the air and sparked buzz online. In fact, some members of the White House pool and a few colleagues in Atlanta actually tried to bribe me for it.

Nothing like juxtaposing communism and democracy in more ways than one. Just another day on the job.

TOKYO, Japan - U.S. President Barack Obama landed in Tokyo, Japan, on Friday in his first stop of his Asian tour. The White House press corps jumped into action, watching the president’s every move. Not in person, mind you, but on TV monitors.

CNN’s Ed Henry and Dan Lothian report on U.S. President Barack Obama’s arrival in Japan.

Due to security and agreed-upon pool arrangements, one camera shoots the landing and a pool reporter informs the rest of the White House reporters. It’s an unusual sensation sitting next to fellow correspondents watching pool TV and then reporting what they’ve seen on their TV channels.

I’m sitting next to CNN White House correspondents Ed Henry and Dan Lothian. They do this every day, following the president’s every move, his every word. How they report the news has the potential to affect governments around the world and the citizens of those governments. 

The White House pool is a smooth system - there’s barely been a hiccup today. There won’t be very much face-to-face time with either President Obama or Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama, but there will be electronic eyes tracking every move.

TOKYO, Japan – When Hideki Matsui lifted up the trophy for the World Series Most Valuable Player (MVP) award, it was a moment felt deeply by Masanori Murakami. Murakami was the first Japanese player brought in to play for the San Francisco Giants in 1964.

Hideki Matsui celebrates with the World Series MVP trophy at Yankee Stadium on November 4, 2009.

He wasn't just the first Japanese, he was also the first Asian to enter the American sport. This was before Japan's emergence on the global stage and less than 20 years after World War II.

Murakami didn't have the million dollar contracts, the interpreters or the kind crowds. "I envy those young players," Murakami said. "It was much tougher for me. I faced a lot of discrimination."

That is an understatement. Murakami, ever polite and humble as an elder Japanese gentleman, doesn't like to talk about those fearful times, when he was badgered on the San Francisco Giants bus by his own teammates.

The public was even worse - the FBI was alerted due to death threats against Murakami and his manager.

Forty-five years later, Matsui is a national hero, both in Japan and in the U.S. He's joined by Major League Baseball giants Daisuke Matsuzaka and Ichiro Suzuki.

"Japan and the U.S. are like brothers now," Murakami said. These brothers now toast their new hero and celebrate his accomplishment in the World Series. But for Murakami, it's beyond celebration. It is a triumph.

TOKYO, Japan - There’s nothing like buzz to get your product selling, especially in Tokyo.

The Japanese love what’s hot, hip and new. Microsoft, launching Windows 7 after a troubled reception here for Vista, decided to pair up with Burger King for some cross promotion.

Burger King, for its part, could use some buzz itself. The king of whoppers has a fraction of the market share and revenue that McDonald’s boasts. McDonald’s, in the recession and slow recovery in Japan, has seen record profit levels as frugal diners lean to the US$1 menu.

Hence, the Windows 7 Whopper was born. It’s really just a whopper with seven patties. Yes, 7.

For one week, the Windows 7 Whopper is available at all of Japan’s Burger Kings for the low price of 777 yen, equivalent to about US$9.

That’s a heck of a deal for beef in Japan, which is usually much more expensive. But like any good promotion, only a limited few get to partake of the gut bomb.

Every day this week, the first 30 diners at every Burger King gets the deal. After that, you have to pay double for the Windows 7 Whopper.

In the Kanda neighborhood in Tokyo, the manager tells me the first 30 burgers sold out in two hours. But I still managed to meet two guys who decided to pay double just to partake of the promotional event. They ate, and ate, and ate. One man finished - the other cried uncle.

I couldn’t resist: I had to try it. I ate, and ate, and ate. I found out mid-monster-burger that I’d be eating approximately 2100 calories, more than I usually eat in one full day. I’ve won hot dog and ice cream eating contests, but this looked like a task too tough to finish. But as my cameraman disparaged my eating abilities, I trudged on and polished it off.

Will the publicity stunt work? Hard to say. The buzz got our cameras there and my guard down long enough to eat one monster burger. But as Microsoft’s much hyped Vista proved, there has to be follow through for buzz to translate into customer satisfaction.