Dimiter Kenarov

Gogol’s play sounds strangely familiar, as if art and life were indistinguishable from each other. Two performances seem to be taking place in parallel: one inside the theater and another one in the streets outside, where soldiers in green balaclavas and no recognizable insignia—incognito, so to speak—have just arrived.

Shale gas has unlocked what may be the biggest fossil-fuel rush of the early twenty-first century. It has been called a path to energy independence and industrial revival, less polluting than coal. No other energy topic has garnered so much media attention in the last few years.

The Rosia Montana mine is one of the oldest mines in the world, but now it threatens to destroy the ancient village it long ago built.

How an '80s-era quack, who claimed he could cure illness through hypnosis, helps explain the Russian psyche.

Our Russian writer and the photographer Maisie Crow rejoin the crowd of more than one hundred thousand in Moscow.

Notes from the author's imprisonment in Belarus.

How My Love of Belarusian Tractors Got Me Arrested by the KGB

Twenty years ago, the most grandiose political and social experiment of the twentieth century, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, came to an end. It was a slow and painful death; there was no Soviet 9/11, no sudden implosion of illusions amid smoke and rubble.

As recently as 2005, Camp Bondsteel was purported to be a secret interrogation site for the American military. So why does predominantly Muslim Kosovo love it so much?

“Think like the dead” should be the unofficial motto of the Iraq War. To blend in, American soldiers are feigning death.

A Vietnamese American Army Captain's view of the war in Iraq.

After the elections, Baghdad is awash in political posters.

Kenarov visits the school for training Iraq’s own Explosive Ordnance Disposal teams.

Dimiter Kenarov reports on the violent and historic day of parliamentary elections in Iraq.

Dimiter Kenarov sweet-talks his way into the most heavily-guarded building in Iraq.

American troops struggle to maintain order while remaining in the background.

Dimiter Kenarov's reporting from Baghdad continues.

Dimiter Kenarov begins his reports from Baghdad, during the run-up to the elections.

He makes a left turn, then a right one. Then left, then right again. Left, right—his car marches through the streets of Kičevo, zigzags, as if descending an endless stairway.

Radovan Karadžić must have enjoyed being nobody. After so many years under the limelight of NATO, UN, EU, CIA, and ICTY, he was probably getting a bit sweaty and fame-weary, eager to step down from the stage and hide among the dark mass of anonymous spectators. To play “the Osama bin Laden of Europe” is not an easy role, especially when those who know you best would tear you to pieces if they chanced to meet you in the street.

Stoyan is the mayor of Hope. He is also its doctor, social worker, psychologist, marriage counselor, teacher, judge.

At the Bulgaria-Serbia border, when the train sighed to a halt between high prisonlike fences with crooked chicken wire running on top, our compartment received two official visits—first from Bulgarian customs officers and later on, a few hundred meters down the railroad, from their Serbian counterparts. Luggage was carefully probed, including the bags of the two women, but no one bothered to check mine. “What’s inside the suitcase?” a corpulent guy with beads of sweat on his upper lip demanded to know. “Personal items,” I answered, and that was that. In the ensuing silence the thump of the entry stamp fell on my passport, shattering the tension in the car. The sliding door slammed shut, and in a few more minutes the train jerked forward bearing me westward, deep into Serbian territory.