The lions drool as they greedily lick the dead horse, savoring the fresh meat like a special treat. Then they gnaw at the horse's side until the belly rips open and the entrails spill out into the enclosure. I can’t take my eyes off the lions feeding as Joe my cameraman zooms in for a bloody close-up.

I’m on location in Vryburg, South Africa, in game hunting country. Our seven-hour, bum-numbing drive from Johannesburg has been rewarded with stunning video of one of South Africa’s oldest canned hunting operations.

This form of hunting is so controversial in South Africa it's difficult finding hunters who'll talk about it, let alone allow a CNN film crew to come along on a hunt.

On a canned hunt, animals you’d normally expect to find in the wild like, lions, leopards and rhinos are either placed in an enclosed space or bred specially to be hunted as trophies.

Animal rights groups say it's unethical and immoral and are campaigning for an outright ban of all trophy hunting in South Africa. The government hasn't gone quite that far, but they have given hunting industry a deadline of February 2008 for ending canned hunting as we know it today.

But the hunting industry is furious at the threatened loss of millions of dollars in foreign revenue.

Lion breeders make around $25,000 and sometimes more for each lion a hunter shoots. The hunter goes home happy, the breeders make money and the local villages are sustained by selling fresh horses and livestock as lion feed.

The lions at Sandhurst Safaris were beautiful -- all 250 of them. Sleek and golden they lived so close to the lodge that in the evening you could hear them roaring into the night.

Each pride has its own enclosure and lives as a family unit. Separated by wire fencing the pens stretch across a huge area. If the wind blows the wrong way you get a unique waft of raw meat and pungent lion coming straight at you.

When a client books in for a hunt, a lion will be released into the grounds a few days in advance. Then it's up to the hunter with the help of his trackers to find and shoot his trophy.

John Foster, a hunter from Boise, Idaho, said I could join him on his hunt and include him in my story.

Ten minutes after jumping on a truck our tracker found lion prints. It was a small lion the tracker said but John passed on it, he was after a big trophy. Joe the cameraman looked relieved, he’s scared of dogs so I’m glad that we didn’t have to go crawling through the long grass hunting a big cat.

After two days on safari we packed up and drove back to Johannesburg. Sandhurst Safaris sent me a text the next day, John had bagged two lions.

Of course I’m kicking myself for not staying that extra day and getting that footage on tape, but Joe was happy. Filming lions feasting on a dead horse was enough for him.

Watch my report

-- From Femi Oke, CNN International Correspondent

It is easy to feel safe and secure when you are sitting inside the perimeter of the G8 summit. Germany is mounting the largest police operation since World War II to keep the protestors out and the G8 leaders secure. We also are surrounded by large metal barriers that cost almost $15 million to put up.

Yes sir, My colleagues, European Political Editor Robin Oakley, Cameraman Rodney Herbert and I consider ourselves very secure in the White House Pool filing location. We are NOT out there in the middle of the frontlines between demonstrators and policemen like our Berlin correspondent Frederik Pleitgen and his team.

Yup, we are totally safe and sound in here, or so we thought. But last night all three of us almost got taken out in one fell swoop.

As we were leaving our workspace, Robin and Rodney were walking ahead of me,
when all of a sudden a deer bolted out of the trees and tried to run around them, but slipping on the footpath ended up just barely missing them and running into the fence beside them. It stopped near me, looking scared, and tried to figure out where it could safely go.

It was young and beautiful, but big. Not quite fully grown it was probably five feet tall, but it weighed a lot more than me. The deer and I were not quite sure what we should do so we stared at each other for a bit until I said "Hello Bambi." At which point it turned around and fled.

It turns out that in trying to secure the G8 leaders and the media by surrounding them in tall metal fencing, they had enclosed a deer into the space and it is scared.

We are going to keep an eye out for him. And we are going to look for a bucket to put some water out for it to drink. When we first saw the deer we were concerned about our security, but now we are only concerned about the deer's safety. Hopefully the barriers put up to keep the leaders secure, don't further injure this deer.

-- From Todd Baxter, Chief Cameraman/Video Producer

About 3,000 protesters dressed in funny clothes, listening to Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix and Punk Bands I have never heard of take on 16 police officers in riot gear, using helicopters and water canons. Who do you think would prevail?

The protesters were out to march on the G8 Summit venue and to try and block all roads leading up to that venue, and we were assigned to march with them. We figured it wouldn¹t be a long walk, with police everywhere, and the protesters not looking like a very well organized bunch.

But then, all of a sudden, they all charged the police lines line at once, and it broke, they were through. Plowing through wheat and barley field, even water canons and special police forces choppered in couldn't hold them up. They marched in, slowly, steadily, unstoppable. It was like the police was an elephant trying to stop swarm of gnats. They had the power, but they just couldn't a hold of them.

We ended up walking about seven miles through waist-high barley crops, the soggy earth making every step difficult. So much for our easy and relaxed work day.

At some points the protesters managed to block every road leading up to the G8 venue. Delegations and the international press had to be taken to meetings by boat, because of the lockdown. Some protesters even managed to reach the eight-mile long security fence.

How could such a disorganized, colorful bunch create such chaos just by walking? Not even us who were with them can really explain that.

-- From Frederik Pleitgen, CNN Berlin Correspondent

What was he thinking? I mean the Wednesday general audience is a weekly opportunity for pilgrims to come up close and…. personal with the pope. But this was clearly too much for Vatican security officials.

The 27-year-old German turned out to be a mentally ill person who wanted to attract attention to himself… He certainly did that – the world’s media jumped on the story just about as fast as the assailant jumped at the pope’s car.

The pontiff’s security detail consists of a number of Swiss guards, dressed in black suits for the occasion, rather than in their historic colourful uniforms, running next to his popemobile pretty much the same way the secret service runs besides the Cadillac of the US president. A wider perimeter, known as “cordone” or cordon, is set by other security officials who are the ones in charge of actually preventing anyone from coming too close to the pope.

They run next to the ‘popemobile’ pretty much the same way the Secret Service runs beside the US President’s Cadillac. A wider security perimeter, known as ‘cordone’ is set by other Vatican security officials who are in charge of preventing people from getting too close to the pope.

Judging from the video the young German man managed to pass through this first outer cordon before being wrestled to the ground by the Swiss Guards.

Nothing really serious happened because the man was unarmed and his intention, according to Vatican officials, was not to harm the pope. Indeed ever since the late John Paul II was shot in that very same square in May 1981, security measures are by far tougher now, and anyone entering St.Peter’s square on the day the pope shows up goes through a strict search, including a metal detector. But there are thousands, if not tens of thousands of pilgrims each week, and there is always a chance someone with ill intentions could slip through security.

This was not the case this time, but I’m quite sure Vatican security officials tonight are asking themselves a simple question: HOW could someone get so close to the man they are assigned to protect?

-- From CNN Rome Bureau Chief Alessio Vinci.

Every Saturday evening at around 5 p.m., Israeli soldiers lead the way in an unusual tour of Hebron’s Old City.

Just before the sun sets, Jewish settlers walk the winding alleyways, visiting sites in the Old City of Hebron -- areas that are normally the preserve of the city’s Palestinian residents.

The streets are largely empty. Most of the shops have closed for the day. But from behind barred windows and cracked open doorways, Palestinian neighbors watch with hostile stares.

Hebron has become a flashpoint in the controversial movement by Jewish settlers to inhabit the territory occupied by Israel in the 1967 war.

Hebron's first settlers attempted just months after the war's end. Under the leadership of Rabbi Moshe Levinger, a small group of families arranged to spend the Passover holiday at the Park Hotel in Hebron owned by Palestinian Yusra al-Qawasmi.

At first they were happy to have paying guests, recalls the Yusra, now a 70-year old grandmother.

"After a week, they brought in some desks. They said they wanted to have a school here." She says gesturing to the empty rooms of the now shuttered Park Hotel. "We told them: We accept you here as visitors. This is not your house. There will be no school. We didn’t understand what a settlement was. We didn’t understand that they were coming to occupy the place."

The settlers were forced to leave and transferred to a nearby military compound that eventually became the settlement of Kiryat Arba, next to Hebron. But the door had been opened.

A few days after the Park Hotel incident, a group of settlers under cover of night slipped into Beit Hadassah - an abandoned hospital in heart of Hebron’s Old City. Despite protests from the Israeli government and military, the settlers were not removed. They have lived there ever since.

For those who settled in Hebron, like Noam Arnon, the 1967 war was more than a military victory: It was a divine act.

"This is the minute when the people of Israel, the residents of the state of Israel first really met with their history, really met the homeland and met the opportunity to reunite with their history and faith."

Muslims and Jews have lived together in Hebron for centuries. The claim to Hebron for both communities is the Tomb of Abraham -- patriarch of both Judaism and Islam. It is now divided for both faiths into a mosque and synagogue. But neither community is happy.

"What the Arabs say is the Jews penetrated to this country and this is a colonialist settlement," says Noam Arnon. "What the Jewish people say is: No, sir! We have the right for this country because our fore fathers were here thousands of years ago and this is our land this is our country this is our city this is the place of our history."

Today, hundreds of Israeli soldiers are here to safeguard the settlers, effectively separating them from the Palestinians. Hebron’s Old City has paid a high price.

Under Israeli control, according to human rights group B'Tselem, 42 percent of the houses have been emptied out. Seventy seven percent of the business shut down. Twenty seven percent of those closed under military orders.

Khaled al-Qawasmi, Yusra’s son, heads the Palestinian council to restore Hebron's old city. He says Israel's policy of separation is forcing Palestinians out in favor of the settlers' claims.

"They have to be checked when they go to their homes, when the come back, when they go to school," He says as residents behind him wait at a military checkpoint. "They are not pushing them out. They are making it harder for them to live in the area."

Streets leading to settler neighborhoods are barred to Palestinian traffic. Only residents with special permits are allowed through. Palestinian homes adjoining settler areas have been taken over by the military. The result: A tense and eerie calm. Settlers say it is the only way to guarantee security.

"The army decided to protect this small Jewish community," explains Noam Arnon. "So that the stores in the street would not bring thousands of people and among them some terrorists can hide."

Harrassment on both sides is routine. Qawasmi shows us where Jewish settlers live above as Palestinians shop below. A metal netting has been stretched across the marketplace but it sags in places, weighed down by garbage and rotting food.

"We put metal nets to protect the Palestinians on the street from the thing the settlers are throwing on them." Khaled gestures down the street: "Trash, sometimes stones, sometimes dirty water, juice and eggs."

Ironically, the Hebrew name for the city "Hebron" and the Arabic name for the town "Al-Khalil" share the same linguistic root: The word for friend.

But Hebron’s streets are anything but friendly. As we followed the Jewish tour group through the empty alleyways, a small rock came whizzing down from above.

It made a terrific smacking noise as it hit the cheek of Ramzi, a young Palestinian boy who had eagerly offered to carry our camera gear. He looked up surprised holding his jaw where a large red welt was beginning to bloom.

The soldiers bristled and pointed to a young Palestinian family peering out from the bars of their home. But nobody claimed responsibility.

"This is my house!" the father shouted down to the soldiers, holding his son in his arms. "You can’t come in here."

The soldiers looked at each other and decided to ignore the incident, ushering the tour group forward. A few girls in the crowd with American accents giggled as they watched Ramzi stare up at his Palestinian neighbors, perplexed.

-- From Atika Shubert, CNN International Correspondent

Forty years is a long time in a lot of places, but not in Jerusalem, where history--recent and from the distant past--stare you in the face everywhere you go

It was forty years ago this week that the Six Day war broke out. Within those six days, Israeli forces seized East Jerusalem and the West Bank (then under Jordanian rule), the Syrian Golan Heights, the Gaza Strip (then under Egyptian control), and Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula.

This week Jerusalem marks 40 years since the city was made whole, and we are focussing on that, and those who were witnesses to those dramatic days.

I met Abraham Rabinovich, an American journalist who covered the war, on a hot afternoon on the Mount of Olives, overlooking Jerusalem’s Old City.

Rabinovich arrived in Jerusalem in the days before the war, and recalls an eerie atmosphere of fear and anticipation. And while he was busy covering the lead up to the war, the morning it broke out he was occupied with far more mundane matters.

“I was at the dentist in downtown Jerusalem getting a tooth pulled,” he recalls. “As I was leaving, sirens sounded. It wasn’t clear what that meant. There was no sound of artillery. About 20 minutes later on the radio, someone said the Egyptian army is moving toward the border, there are serious battles raging.”

Shimshon Cahaner was a major in the Israeli paratroopers, and was down near the border with Israeli preparing to be dropped in the Sinai. But plans changed. The Israeli armoured columns cut through the Sinai like a hot knife through butter, so in the middle of the night they were flown to Jerusalem, where artillery exchanges between the Jordanian and Israeli armies presaged the opening of a new front.

He was among the troops that stormed through Lions Gate, at the eastern edge of the Old City. In preparing this story my producer, Mike Schwartz, and I found old footage of Cahaner at the scene. His beard is now grey, and he still walks with a slight limp from an old war wound, but he recalls that day like it was yesterday.

“The high point was when I crossed through the Lions Gate to the Old City. I ran inside with my gun and I touched the wall, the stones of the wall of Jerusalem, and I felt something I can’t believe,” he recalls.

Abdallah Budairi, now 85 years old, was nearby, serving with the Jordanian Army. I spoke with him in his ancient house, built into the walls of the Temple Mount, known to Muslims as Al-Haram Al-Sharif, the Holy Sanctuary.

He recalls an army that was completely unprepared for war. “Why did we get into a war?” he asked me. “If that’s what you want to do, you need a plan. There was no plan. They had nothing. It was a one-sided war, in which Israel did as it pleased.” There were individual acts of bravery by lone soldiers, but a complete breakdown among the officers.

He was captured by Israeli troops, and taken to the Temple Mount, where he waited his turn to be interrogated.

“An Israeli officer came up and told us, Jericho has fallen,” he told me.

The whole experience was devastating, and he’s never really recovered from it. “If I told you I cried, yes, I cried,” he said, shaking his head in disgust, as if it had happened yesterday, not forty years ago.

Abraham Rabinovich was also on the Temple Mount, and saw the prisoners sitting on the ground. When he spoke to some of the soldiers there, relaxing after the battle, he heard the same debates that would reverberate through Israeli society over the occupied lands for decades to come.

“Some said…we should give everything back except for our holy city, some said we should give nothing back. There was a great difference of opinion.”

Sari Nusseibi runs Jerusalem’s Al-Quds University, the premiere Palestinian educational institute in the city. He was sixteen years old when the war broke out, and takes the long view of the war.

While Abdallah Budairi described the day Jerusalem fell as “the blackest day of my life,” Nusseibi sees within Israel’s stunning victory the seeds an Israeli defeat.

Under the trees on the university’s campus in the northern Jerusalem suburb of Beit Hanina, Nusseibi, told me in June 1967 Israel “found itself actually bringing together the bits and pieces of the Palestinian people that had been divided for the previous 20 years: the Palestinians from Israel, the Palestinians from Gaza, the Palestinians from Jordan.” Suddenly, “it was possible for the Gazan Palestinians, for instance, to come and pray at the Holy Mosque. Now this was a strange twist to Israel’s victory in 1967.”

From his perspective, in June 1967, Israel won a battle, but the war—not the six-day war but rather the decades-old war between Israelis and Palestinians in this small sliver of land, is by no means over. “It must be depressing for [Israel] that it can’t really do what it wants with a people like us, untrained, uneducated, without anything, with no equipment, with no background, nothing.”

Shaking his head with a bemused smile, he adds, “I actually feel a little bit of sympathy for my oppressor.”

That the conflict isn’t really over is clear. Israel calls Jerusalem its eternal and undivided capital. Although the barbed wire and mine fields that divided the city from 1948 until June 1967 are gone, invisible barriers still exist. If you want to take a taxi from Israeli west Jerusalem to a Palestinian neighbourhood in the east, ask the driver first. More often than not, Israeli taxi drivers will refuse to take you. You are unlikely to find an Israeli strolling down the main Palestinian shopping district on Salah Al-Din Street.

Likewise, there is nothing “eternal” about Israel’s control over Jerusalem. While they might not agree on a lot of things, no Palestinian faction would ever advocate relinquishing the Palestinian claims to east Jerusalem. All the while, the growth of the Palestinian population of Jerusalem far outstrips that of the Israelis.

And even Israel’s claim that Jerusalem is its capital is one most countries on earth have problems with. Almost all embassies—including that of the United States—are in Tel Aviv, not Jerusalem, and recently there was an uproar when the American ambassador (along with most others) declined to attend ceremonies here to mark the city’s reunification in 1967.

The battle for Jerusalem, and the Six Day War, were a decisive defeat for Egypt, Syria and Jordan, but there was nothing decisive about the aftermath. The West Bank and the Golan are still under Israeli occupation. Palestinians still reject Israeli control of east Jerusalem. Israel controls all access to the Gaza Strip. And violence is still a daily fact of life.

Israel and the Palestinians are still at war, 40 years after the Six Day War.

-- From Ben Wedeman, CNN Jerusalem Correspondent

I knew it was a bad idea to get close to the rioters at the anti-G8 protests in Rostock, but I went anyway. And there they were, throwing rocks and bottles at the police, some of them chipping away at the pavement to form more projectiles.

All of a sudden a masked individual drops a huge piece of pavement right in front of my feet. "Don't just stand there ... we need more amunition," he tells me in a bossy voice.

So I decide to just go back to our satellite live vehicle, when I hear from behind:
"He's a cop, a rat," and sure enough, there's three masked guys pointing at me.
"I'm not a cop," I tell them.

"Get outta here, or you'll be next!"

At that moment ... a loud boom ... smoke fills the air. The police have shot tear gas at the protesters and now everybody is running away.

I can't really see, my eyes are tearing, and my nostrils and mouth feel like they're on fire, but I run away as well.

After about five minutes I make it back to our live truck only to find a large police watercanon vehicle approaching fast.

The truck unloads on our camerawoman Claudia and me as we try to find shelter in a telephone booth with protesters throwing rocks over our heads and the watercanon truck inundating us from the other direction.

Oh, and the truck's water is also filled with tear gas.

After about another minute of mayhem, the truck turns in the other direction, the rocks stop flying, but the protests kept going on for hours.

A pretty exciting day, and the G8 Summit hasn't even started yet.

From Frederik Pleitgen, CNN Berlin Correspondent