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One loses all bearings faced with the shroud of white that obscures all things mid January in the Siberian city of Yakustk: it is -48 C (-54 degrees Fahrenheit) outside.

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Mayra’s transformation from housewife to witch is dramatic. Others had spoken to me about her but I didn’t believe them, so I had to see for myself.

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"Why would they want to pull down these walls?” asks William Boyd mildly as he offers me a cup of tea in his home at Cluan Place, a predominantly Loyalist area of east Belfast.

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On a cold autumn morning Abdul Rashid Mir and his 7-year-old daughter Ishrat arrive in a field in the Konibal area of Pampore to collect saffron flowers.

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The hummingbirds were so small that any one of them could easily fit into the palm of my hand. Their wings produced a unique sound, especially when they dipped downward and changed speed.

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The soldiers do their best to either ignore these multitudes of staring eyes or to interact with them but most often the children react shyly when confronted or when someone tries to talk to them.

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