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Coverage of the 2009 Haj pilgrimage was an enlightening experience for me as a photographer. I have covered many religious events in Iran but never anything as enormous as the Haj - this year complete with the added threat of H1N1.

I arrived in Jeddah several days before the start of the Haj and found Saudi Arabia to have all the luxuries and organization of the United States. My picture was taken at passport control and fingerprints scanned.  I was met at the airport by our minder from the Ministry of Information with a driver and a large American SUV. We went straight to the media center to get my press credentials and on to the road leading to Mecca to take pictures of checkpoints and security. Police officers were wearing masks to protect them from flu as were many pilgrims.

The following day we left for Mecca at 3 am to be on top of Noor Mountain at sunrise. It was a long, tiring climb but well worth it as the sun started to rise and light allowed me to make images. In the afternoon we went to a military base to take pictures of security arrangements for the Haj, attended by many Saudi and foreign dignitaries including Saudi Arabian Interior Minister Prince Naef bin Abdul Aziz. It was basically a military parade showing the security hardware for police to deal with any security concerns.

The following afternoon we went back to Mecca to cover a show of medical services for pilgrims attended by Saudi Arabian Health Minister Abdullah al-Rabeeah along with the RVN team who had arrived in the morning. This was a show of new ambulances and mobile clinics to treat pilgrims with any medical problems.

The organization of the pilgrimage looked well planned and perfect. After many years experience it seemed the pilgrimage was a well-oiled machine.

On November 24th we traveled back to Mecca to get some images of the Grand Mosque in Mecca. This is where the Kaaba, the house of God, is located. This is the point where Muslims all over the world point to when they say their prayers. It is the home of Islam. We wanted to get some pictures of the Grand mosque from a point high above the mosque to get an overview. We went to a hotel to get permission to take pictures from their roof.  Inside this 5 star hotel all the guests were dressed in the customary cloth covering for people performing the Haj. During the Haj, rooms overlooking the Grand Mosque cost around $4,000 per night as part of a 2 week package. Without taking any pictures inside the hotel we were quickly herded into an elevator and taken up and up and up to the 50th floor where it was still a construction site with more floors being added to the hotel.

It was a disappointing view towards the Grand Mosque because we had to take pictures through a dirty glass barrier and the angle was wrong. I made several images but kept telling the minder and accompanying hotel security personnel that we needed a better view. After some resistance one of the security guards said we could cross over to the neighboring hotel, but must be quick because we didn’t have permission to go there. We crossed a bridge made out of scaffolding pipes and boards to cross from one hotel to the next but the new view of the Kaaba was impressive. Happy with the images made we were taken back down to ground level and headed toward the Grand Mosque, but quickly the keepers of the mosque, a special religious police, made it clear that we were not allowed to take pictures inside the grounds of the mosque so our minder moved us out of the area.

The following morning we planned to leave Jeddah early with our own car to go to the camp set up in the Arafat plains to be in place for the start of the pilgrimage, but plans started to change because our car had broken down and the rain was pouring. Three hours after our planned departure we were taken to a hotel to go with the convoy of cars and buses which would take journalists to the plains of Arafat. Sixteen hours later we were told to get into our cars and buses for departure. Since we did not have a car we were forced to hitch rides with other teams of journalists. The team and luggage were split up in various cars and off we went driving through flooded streets towards Arafat with over 2 million pilgrims also traveling in cars and buses. We had a police escort but trying to keep up with the police car was a job in itself so the drive became a race. Several times we almost hit the car in front of us and several times we were almost hit from the back and finally one time we were hit. My image of a well-oiled machine with American style organization was beginning to falter.

At 2am we finally arrived at the Ministry of Information camp in Arafat and were reunited with the rest of the team and our luggage. We were told our tent number and found that we had about 10 more tent mates from other news organizations.

At sunrise photographers got up to take advantage of the morning light to get pictures of pilgrims praying on Mount Mercy. So many pilgrims were trying to climb the mountain that the normal route could not handle the traffic and people began to take alternate routes up the mountain.

Young and old pilgrims climbed up the mountain over boulders under people’s legs all with a goal to reach the peak. As the sun moved up the sky the stream of pilgrims grew. I decided to return to the camp to file my pictures but moving back toward the camp was quite a task because I was moving against the flow of traffic which was heading towards the mountain.

Upon arrival at the Ministry of Information camp I found that a pickpocket has helped himself to money and receipts in my back pocket.

For noon prayers at the Namira Mosque there was a mass of humanity all around the mosque to the point where ambulances were standing still with sirens blaring trying to take out those in need of medical help. It seems planning had not included how to move ambulances within the crowded streets. There were jets of mist being sprayed over the crowd to keep them cool as the temperatures were around 77 degrees Fahrenheit away from the crowds.

After sunset the media packed up and off we went to Muzdalifa where pilgrims stayed the night and collected stones to throw at the devil in Mina the following day. We drove the 10 miles to Muzdalifa with the crowds who were walking. At midnight we left Muzdalifa for Mina and arrived at a container camp for guests of the Ministry of Information. The rain had leaked into the rooms so there was a wet smell to the whole building and wet fake grass covering the floors. Everybody was so tired that the dampness was forgotten for a good night of sleep.

The following morning began the three days of stoning the devil, considered the most dangerous part of the Haj because of the sheer numbers of pilgrims moving past the pillars. Some pilgrims walked past and threw their stones in a very calm manner but some attacked the pillar with anger and zeal.

I was almost knocked over by 2 old ladies with an East Asian group who had a bone to pick with the pillar. Their anger was visible and palpable, but fortunately they threw their stones after pushing me out of the way. Others threw their stones from outside the melee but with not quite enough power and aim to hit the pillar so people standing in the front rows got hit on the back of the head as they threw their stones. One woman eager to protect her husband held her scarf up behind his head but in the end she got hit upside the head with a stone. I counted 10 hits on my head.

Photographing women in Islamic countries is difficult because the men feel that a camera will delve into their private lives and therefore prohibit photographers from taking pictures of their wives and daughters. Some women look away, cover their faces or sometimes actually run away because of their mistrust of cameras.

The Haj is a good experience, but one must be patient or they will get an ulcer. This is not a well-oiled machine. Everything seems to go wrong at the wrong time from transportation to the internet, … but the pictures one can make are amazing and well worth all the hassles. After it is all over you can laugh at all the things that went wrong, but the pictures remain forever.

November 6, 2009, Tegucigalpa
Forty-odd days ago there were forty-odd days still to go, days of uncertainty…

Today we survive inside the Brazilian Embassy while the dialogue to reinstate deposed President Manuel Zelaya is dying. The afternoon ends and the footsteps of Lineu Pupo de Paula – Brazil’s representative to the Organization of American States (OAS) – jogging on the roof echo as the anxious heartbeats of Hondurans awaiting a solution.

Brazil’s representative to the Organization of American States (OAS) Lineu Pupo de Paula runs on the terrace inside Brazil’s embassy in Tegucigalpa October 11, 2009. REUTERS/Edgard Garrido

Zelaya appears outside his room and approaches us. “[De facto President] Micheletti says he will resign at 5 o’clock this afternoon if we choose a third person as president,” Zelaya tells us with a smile. ”I proposed Father Tamayo (the priest who accompanies him inside the Embassy) but Micheletti didn’t accept.” One more anecdote that I quickly write down along with so many others in my notepad.

Honduras’ ousted President Manuel Zelaya (L) attends a mass with priest Andres Tamayo inside the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa October 25, 2009. REUTERS/Edgard Garrido

TO TAKE PICTURES OR NOT TO TAKE PICTURES, begins my Ode to politicians who confuse me with their million-dollar question. “And who do you support?”

Some days ago Zelaya sent one of his guards to summon the photographers. We approach him as he is seated in front of a computer, reading a local newspaper with a photo of himself. He asks us, “Which of you took this picture?” One photographer admits, “I did.” In the picture, Zelaya is seated across from an empty chair. The feeling it gives is one of defeat. He had received calls from his supporters about it, and he urges us, “Let’s all practice solidarity with the people.” We respond, “We are neither for, nor against you. We’re here to report on what we see and provide a service to our clients.”

Honduras’ ousted President Manuel Zelaya receives his hat before a news conference inside the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa October 5, 2009. REUTERS/Edgard Garrido

“A news photo is open to any variety of interpretations as much by the author as by the viewers, just as is a movie or a book,” I tell him. None of our answers satisfies. In the coming days we receive from him a variety of arguments about how to photograph, but nevertheless today he seems to have understood, overcome his doubts, forgotten, ignored or simply decided what is best.

Honduras’ ousted President Manuel Zelaya uses a news photographer’s camera to take pictures of his family at the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa October 25, 2009. REUTERS/Edgard Garrido

In numerous past street demonstrations for Micheletti or Zelaya I’ve been asked the same questions. “Where are you from?” and ”So which side are you on?” That’s when I repeat the well-memorized phrase, “We are the world’s window for whatever you want to see or do. That’s why Micheletti has given us four or five interviews, just as have Zelaya and General Romeo Vesquez (head of the armed forces), all without protesting our reporting. We have also covered all their demonstrations in favor or against each other. We don’t do public relations…”

Honduras’ ousted President Manuel Zelaya smiles as he holds a turtle at the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa October 25, 2009. Talks between Zelaya and the country’s de facto leaders collapsed this week, throwing efforts to resolve a political crisis sparked by a June 28 coup back to square one. REUTERS/Edgard Garrido

So for my story of the Embassy, this topic goes back to a time of persecution within and alleged spies posing as journalists, tiring explanations, persistent bad jokes, reporting produced on the inside but modified on the outside, local TV programs showing us as terrorists, and photos either considered wonderful and worthwhile or distasteful and damaging.

I also noted some things to one day tell my (future) grandchildren:

Presidential candidates, priests, negotiators, politicians and advisers cross paths while visiting the Embassy. The windows of the meeting rooms are covered with newspaper, cardboard and aluminum foil that Zelayistas (Zelaya’s supporters) use to protect themselves from the high intensity light aimed at the building by soldiers and police at night, and to stop an alleged interference cell phone scrambler.

Police officers look through binoculars outside the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa where ousted President Manuel Zelaya has taken refuge with his wife and scores of followers October 9, 2009. REUTERS/Edgard Garrido

As the days go by the fear of a possible invasion of the Embassy by soldiers diminishes, but at the same time another level of paranoia grows. The faces of animals and of important figures, like Fidel Castro, appear projected on the walls, and there is more suspicion of gas attacks and high-frequency sounds and infrared rays. I must say that I have noticed nothing of those since being inside.

I have no ulterior motive for being here other than to take pictures. Apart from that I eat, sleep, check the internet and listen to the same music: Paco de Lucia, Los Jaivas, Joaquin Sabina, Los Cadillacs, Soda Stereo, U2, Ennio Morricone. They all help me fill the emptiness and forget my boredom. I look at the plastic sandals on my feet, my sleeveless shirt and my knee-length pants which I’ve been wearing since I entered here on September 21; it’s hard not to consider myself a prisoner.

Journalists that have children on the outside already left the Embassy. There are only single colleagues and me, with my baby son awaiting me at home. A Sponge Bob balloon, sent to one of my colleagues, is released into the sky above and becomes a moment of near confraternity between journalists and soldiers as we watch it together.

Mistrust and sectarianism dominate those of us who remain. There is Zelaya and his family, his security agents, close friends, followers and advisers, and us journalists. We eat different, sleep different and have different agendas. One of the Zelayistas says to me, “We’re all here. We represent all Hondurans.”

Honduras’ ousted President Manuel Zelaya plays the guitar next to his granddaughter Irene Melara during her visit inside the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa, November 1, 2009. REUTERS/Edgard Garrido

The police prohibit someone from sending in a much-anticipated soccer ball, and gloom sets in. Then the news of renewed negotiations between Micheletti, the OAS and Zelaya restores our hope. Both sides declare 99% of their demands satisfied. We all get ready for the end. I prune my beard with scissors while others pack their belongings, fix their hair and prettify themselves for the glorious day, but alas it turns into nothing…

Almost as if we had requested it, the Army celebrates its anniversary by blasting music at us all night from loudspeakers placed three meters from the outside wall. They included recorded sounds of pigs, cows and dogs, church bells and trumpets to keep us company until dawn.

During those days Honduras lost their World Cup qualifying match against the United States, leaving their last chance to qualify for the final round. National player Carlos Pavon misses a penalty shot and Zelaya comments, “Pavon is an ally of Micheletti, because they both screwed seven million Hondurans.” (A week later Honduras would qualify for the World Cup in a match too tense for cardiac patients, but which we all survived.)

Honduras’ ousted President Manuel Zelaya (C) celebrates with supporters after Honduras scored a goal in their World Cup qualifying soccer match against the United States, inside Brazil’s embassy in Tegucigalpa October 10, 2009. The United States won the match 3-2. REUTERS/Edgard Garrido

We experience practically every emotion in the book from joy to disgust, in an atmosphere that switches in an instant from peace to cataclysm. We feel at once friendship and hatred, tolerance and suspicion. The slogan these days is, “No one for all, and everyone for himself.” It’s the full experience of life in just 40-odd days. It’s all of Honduras in 30 square meters, or my own impression of life inside a prison.

THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE

My Reuters colleagues on the outside buy my supplies and bring them to the police checkpoint where human rights activists and United Nations reps receive them. Then they spend torturous hours of waiting until the police grant permission to carry them inside.

One of my first experiences in receiving vital supplies from outside ended in tragedy when Father Tamayo distributed my food amongst the Zelayistas because I wasn’t standing in the doorway when the bags arrived. Only one of many stories of things gone missing inside Honduras’ version of the Bermuda Triangle.

Within the 300 meters that separate the first checkpoint and the wall of the Brazilian Embassy everything strangely disappears - even shame. The only thing that remains intact is my dedication to clean journalism and resistance against becoming a prisoner inside an Embassy.

Bags filled with food and clothing disappeared forever, as did cell phones, modems and ipods. Fights over a can of soda, a pack of crackers, or even Zelaya’s shampoo, were a part of our daily life. Journalists donated two extra mattresses to the Zelayistas, which turned up after the first night torn and full of holes.

A soldier stands outside the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa October 23, 2009. Ousted Honduran President Manuel Zelaya pulled out of talks with the country’s post-coup de facto leaders on Friday, throwing efforts to resolve a months-long political crisis back to square one. REUTERS/Edgard Garrido

I tell my editor about all these incidents and she says, “Little house, big hell.” At that moment I remember another time that we spoke. It was September 29 and I told her, “My wife is already worried about our anniversary celebration on October 27, telling me, ‘I hope you don’t have to spend it inside.” My editor answered, “By that time there’s no way you’ll still be there.”

A police officer reads the notebook belonging to Maria Jose Diaz, a Telesur journalist, after she left the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa October 8, 2009. Diaz is one of only five journalists who have remained holed up inside the embassy with ousted President Manuel Zelaya and a group of his supporters since last September 21, and is the first to leave the compound. REUTERS/Edgard Garrido

Today is November 6, only a few days after my son learned to say “papa” over Skype. I asked a friend to send my wife flowers on October 27. And today I’m finally ready to leave the Embassy.

Throughout the day Zelaya held meetings with his supporters. After a U.S. State Department agreement failed Zelaya told them, “From here on only God knows what will happen.” Some of them propose leaving the Embassy soon. Zelaya asks them to do so in small groups. I try to take a photo of this meeting and Zelaya insults me.

I grab my belongings and leave my mattress and plastic sandals behind for one of the supporters. Outside I am processed by police, soldiers and immigration officials. Together with an attorney and a Brazilian journalist we walk away from the Embassy. My colleagues are waiting on the corner and carry out their evacuation plan, almost as if we were boy scouts, to guarantee my security and avoid the awaiting local press corps. I will never forget any of this.

The city seems strange. Maybe I was a prisoner…

Reuters photographer Edgar Garrido leaves the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa November 6, 2009. Garrido and Fabiano Maisonnave, a journalist from Folha de Sao Paulo, and 4 supporters of Zelaya, who have remained holed up inside the embassy with ousted Honduras’ President Manuel Zelaya and a group of his supporters since September 21, have left the compound. REUTERS/Henry Romero

Romanian female soldiers prepare for a military parade to celebrate Romania’s National Day in central Bucharest December 1, 2009.  REUTERS/Bogdan Cristel

A displaced Afghan child lines up to receive winter aid from the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) during a distribution for the needy in Kabul December 1, 2009. REUTERS/Omar Sobhani

European Space Agency (ESA) astronaut Frank de Winne of Belgium eats an apple in a vehicle after he returned to earth in the Russian Soyuz space capsule in the steppe near the town of Arkalyk, in northern Kazakhstan, December 1, 2009.  REUTERS/Sergey Remezov

A dog waits by a bed with a terminally ill Thai man, at a hospice for those dying of AIDS, at Wat Prabat Nampu Buddhist temple in Lopburi, on the World AIDS day December 1, 2009. Thailand has been widely praised for its work in containing the virus. The number of new infections fell from a peak of around 140,000 a year in 1991, to 18,000 in 2005, according to UNAIDS. This remarkable achievement came about mainly because men used condoms more, and also reduced their use of brothels.  REUTERS/Damir Sagolj

Click here for the full Editor’s choice slideshow and click here for further showcases of Reuters photography.