By Petar Kujundzic

I took a trip to the port city of Tianjin after China Central Television (CCTV) reported on a sheep with an artificial heart developed at TEDA International Cardiovascular Hospital. According to CCTV, the hospital recently unveiled a new artificial heart, which was implanted in a sheep two months ago. The sheep lived healthily for more than 62 days, a new record among similar experiments in the country.

This sounded like a very good reason to leave Beijing for a day and report about such an extraordinary achievement. Upon arrival we met the hospital’s administration director who told us that this was not really an artificial heart but a ventricular assistant device (VAD), which is basically a mechanical pump that’s used to support the heart’s function and blood flow in people who have weakened hearts. He didn’t know why CCTV had reported differently.

After being disappointed for a couple of minutes we decided not to go back empty-handed, so they took us to a low-rise building next to the hospital where the star of the experiment was located, a ram nicknamed Tianjiu (Everlasting). The three-year-old ram carried a VAD, which was designed by the hospital to enhance cardiac pumping by using magnetic suspension technologies from state-of-the-art aerospace science.

It smelled like a zoo, and we had to put on scrubs (they weren’t my size but I had to follow the rules). Inside a room two rams stood in their enclosures. Tianjiu was connected to a laptop-looking gadget that monitored his heart rate. The other ram was just there to keep him company. Apparently, Tianjiu was sad about being alone so they brought him a companion.

Tianjiu was calm, reasonable and well aware of the environment, looking into the camera while his mate wanted to eat parts of my clothes and have a quick horn fight. In the meantime more journalists arrived so it became a bit overcrowded and difficult to work. Luckily, Liu Xiaocheng, the leader of the project and president of the Tianjin TEDA International Cardiovascular Hospital, decided to take Tianjiu out for a walk. In order to leave the room Tianjiu wore a multi-pocketed vest filled with cables and gadgets to help his VAD pump the blood through his body.

Outside his enclosure Tianjiu was pretty lively. Passersbys couldn’t believe their eyes: a doctor being dragged by a ram wearing a strange vest while journalists ran around trying to take pictures and video. We ended up on some grass outside the hospital where Tianjiu was left alone for a while.

He ate some grass and leaves and was posing for pictures even more – definitely enjoying the freedom. I said goodbye to Dr Liu and left the place thinking about the fact that the ram was the 18th experimental and only successful subject who has lived long enough to prove that the device that takes blood from a lower chamber of his heart and helps pump it to the body and vital organs, works just as a healthy heart would.

Good luck, Everlasting.

Is the world coming to an end on Dec. 21, 2012 as the ancient Mayans predicted more than 2,000 years ago?

After seeing a short video about a farmer in northern China who built several “pod” arks to survive the Mayan prophecy, we decided to go to his village and try to find him. Helped by local villagers it was relatively easy to find his little factory, so we ended up in front of several giant cannonball-shaped objects sitting in his courtyard.

Liu Qiyuan (45), the former owner of a furniture factory, started drawing concepts for his “doomsday” survival device following his own daughter’s fears of natural disasters in years past.

The original, named “The Enemy of Shipwreck”, is a 4-meter-tall life survival capsule weighing 4.2 tons, with a passenger capacity of up to 30 people. The pods are equipped with seat belts, oxygen tanks, power generators, batteries and food supplies, which according to the inventor are enough to sustain passengers for at least two months.

One of the pods could be seen floating in a large canal near Liu’s village following recent successful testing.

To build seven versions of the pod, which Liu hopes will one day be mass-produced, he invested around 2 million yuan (300,000 U.S. dollars); a small fortune indeed.

Liu is aware that the ’2012′ doomsday won’t necessarily happen but he strongly believes the pods can be used for tsunamis, shipwrecks on the open sea or earthquakes. “You can be sure disasters will happen around the world in the future. It is important to be ready,” Liu said. Chinese people say “It’s better to be prepared for nothing, than to be unprepared for something.”

If great floods do come on Dec. 21 followed by three days and nights of darkness, as many believe, at least one Chinese farmer and his family will be safe.

By Petar Kujundzic

Is there anyone against? – “Meiyou” (There is no one)

The last time I covered an important Communist Party congress was in my own country almost 23 years ago. I was the only photographer for Reuters there, shooting black and white and sending a few pictures to the wire using a drum analog transmitter. The last congress of the Yugoslav Communist Party, which ruled the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia from 1945 until 1991, ended with a split within the League of Communists and ushered in years of violence and civil conflict… but that is a totally different story.

Last week’s 18th Chinese Communist Party Congress, by contrast, was a highly choreographed affair — no drama. In fact, during the preparation, the question arose: How do you cover one of the world’s top stories when it’s considered visually “boring.” At the same time, how do you deal with the difficulties of restricted access, especially if you are a foreign journalist in China?

On the other hand, the congress represents a rare opportunity to cover a once-in-a-decade leadership swap in one of the world’s superpowers, just a week after the dramatic and colorful presidential election in the United States. This time, as Chief Photographer in China, it was my turn to organize the coverage.

China, a single-party socialist republic, covers an area of 9,598,094 square kilometers with a population of more than 1.3 billion people, of which only 6 percent are members of the CPC. The Communist Party of China says this is a collective leadership and in theory the congress was due to choose seven men from among equals to serve on the Standing Committee — the pinnacle of power. Even though these decisions are made behind closed doors, there was nothing secret about who would take over as party chief — Xi Jinping.

With a small but hard working and well-motivated team of photographers, we had to find ways to use the latest technology to be quick and comprehensive, while also coming up with ideas that would differentiate our coverage from our competitors. Preparation included selecting which cameras and lenses we would use, who would be inside and outside of the Great Hall of the People, and what kind of story did we want to tell.

In addition to our standard gear, we used extremely long lenses, like the 800mm, for zooming in on leaders from a far-away balcony in the cavernous main auditorium of the Great Hall. We used super wide 14mm and fisheye lenses for mingling among thousands of delegates, and panorama cameras such as the Hasselblad Xpan and the Russian-made Horizon–perfekt, as well as the GoPro Hero for video clips, like the multimedia above. Editing was done with our remote editing software from a car positioned in Tiananmen Square. Our 3G connection was occasionally jammed, but that’s nothing new in China.

Jason Lee, who was shooting from the balcony with 400mm and 800mm lenses, was helped by Beijing picture desk photo editor Barry Huang, who woke up at 3 a.m. to hold a place in line outside the Great Hall and ensure a good position. He also fed Jason’s pix into the server while Carlos Barria was shooting both panoramic and regular pictures inside and outside the Hall. David Gray was freezing in Tiananmen Square, which by the way is his favorite spot in Beijing, shooting features.

I shot some GoPro videos and some stills before running to the car to edit while Iris Zhao and Muyi Xiao processed our pictures from the office and sent them on to the desk in Singapore for a final check.

Tiananmen Square was packed with security personnel making sure everything was in order before delegates started arriving. The hunt for images started right there. Regular and paramilitary police, and special security units, offered good opportunities to capture some security illustrations. Often they are not happy about being photographed, but we did our best to get them.

We were not the only ones taking pictures. Most of the delegates used digital cameras or mobile phones to record this historic moment, posing in front of the Great Hall or on the square, and even taking pictures of the foreign journalists in their midst. The square and the Great Hall’s courtyard were full of black luxury cars — mostly the Audis favored by China’s political elite, who have also been known to show up wearing designer shoes and jewelry.

The Great Hall is massive, with 171,800 square meters (1,849,239 sq ft) of floor space, and there are security cameras covering almost every inch. Security personnel also guard entrances to the rooms where important decisions are being made and where only the “privileged” can enter. After days of bombastic speeches and displays of party unity, the congress unanimously approved a work report by raising their hands and a military band launched into The Internationale — the traditional Communist anthem.

A day later, the new party bosses were officially presented. The room was packed with journalists from all over the world, phone signals were jammed, and no one except the official Xinhua news agency and CCTV were able to report on the new Standing Committee before leaving the room. Seven men walked onto the stage, led by the new boss, Xi Jinping, and stood in a line, hands by their sides. They had all held top positions in the Communist Party for years — no surprises. Everything went smoothly, with no drama, just as expected.

Our team did very well, all angles were covered better than planned. During the week-long congress we moved hundreds of images to our global clients ensuring everybody would have what they needed. Everything worked well, no drama – better than expected.

Questions immediately filled my mind when I learned I would be part of a Reuters team heading to North Korea to cover a ceremony, where it was rumored Kim Jong-il’s son and heir apparent would make his debut.

- Would I be able to take pictures of North Korean leader Kim Jong-il? No photographer outside North Korea had taken his picture for a while.
- What access would I have to the parade? I worried they’d put us in some corner far away from the action.
- How would I transmit my pictures? Some people said we wouldn’t have Internet connections.
- Where would we sleep? I had heard there are two good hotels in Pyongyang, but one is on an island and difficult to leave without close supervision.
- Would I be able to shoot photos of ordinary street life?

Upon landing in Pyongyang with about 70 other members of the international media, we went through the passport and custom control where we handed over our mobile phones. I took a couple of pictures at the airport and no one said anything.

Soon after, we were introduced to our minders, and bundled into Chinese made cars (BYD) for the trip to the city. I had flashbacks from the 1980s when I had traveled through some eastern European countries, but my impression of Pyongyang was better than I had expected. The city and people are clean, with neat haircuts, modest clothes, and all wearing a patriotic badge on the left side of their chests.

After checking into our rooms at the Koryo Hotel, which is very close to the Kim-il Sung square (and not on the feared island), we were told to prepare to leave the hotel the next morning at 7 am. Before heading to bed, I went to the media center on the second floor and tested the Internet connection. Bingo! To my great pleasure, it was a pretty fast Internet line.

So, two of my concerns had already been put to rest.

In the morning, we were given arm bands identifying us as journalists and we received invitation tickets for an event. A convoy of cars took us to an unknown location.

The atmosphere was solemn. On the street, men wore suits and women wore the traditional Korean dress called a hanbok. While the convoy was delayed at a security checkpoint, I joined other colleagues who started taking pictures of passers-by. I couldn’t resist and snapped some shots of North Korean soldiers going in and out of a gate nearby. No one said anything.

Ten minutes later, we were ushered through the final security check where soldiers examined invitation tickets. I took some more pictures and… no one said anything.

I asked one of our minders if we had some sort of seats or assigned places, and he smiled, saying “Just wait, you will see.” I worried there would be too many people in front of me and was eager to get through quickly to establish a better position.

Finally through the security checks, I was shepherded through a crowded hallway and out toward a huge square named after DPRK founding leader Kim Il-sung. I couldn’t believe my eyes — international media was being given front line access! We were standing on the edge of the square with no ropes or security guard in front. I walked around, taking pictures of army officers and VIPs. Using an opportunity to take some shots unusual for North Korea, low angle, close ups. No drama. No one said anything.

Suddenly, to the accompaniment of loud brass music, soldiers started marching and filling the square. I took a look back at the balcony where Kim Jong-il was supposed to be seated. I spotted him and to his left was his son, Kim Jong-un. Using my long lens, I kept shooting for a while. It wasn’t a great angle, but I didn’t have time to move. At one point, Kim Jong-il took a quick, stern look towards his son. Snap! I knew this was the shot I needed.

The ceremony concluded with civilians waving flowers and chanting “manse” — wishing a long life to their leader. Some of them were even in tears. I looked back and Kim Jong-il was very close on the balcony, applauding the crowd. I kept shooting while the chants continued in the background. Manse! Manse! Manse!

The next morning, we were taken to the Party Foundation Monument, where some 200 people were sitting on the ground, listening to music while others danced. I took some quick pictures. Behind the monument, I found a park where a man was taking pictures of his family, some kids were reading books and playing around. I took some more pictures and then walked back to the street to take shots of pedestrians, a group of soldiers entering an underpass, some traffic pictures. Still, no one said anything.

In the afternoon, I had opportunities to take more photos of regular people and army officers. People were polite and honorable, I exchanged a smile with some of them whenever we made eye contact. No one said anything.

Now, back in Beijing, I keep thinking about my trip to North Korea. I feel privileged to have been able to cover such an unusual event. It was by far the best assignment in my more than 30 years as a professional photographer and an opportunity of a lifetime. In three days, I took thousands of photos and transmitted about one hundred to our global clients.

Throughout the trip, no one said anything. And I hope it remains that way.