Besides a clear, cool stream, a solitary shelter stood. Blackened by weather and time, the structure was piled high on all sides with rubbish. If not for a window the size of a shoe box, it would have been impossible to imagine that people lived inside. But they did. And the arrival of outsiders had been noticed. The year was 1978. The low-hanging door creaked slowly open, and an aged man emerged into the sharp light. To the visitors, he appeared as a character of a Brothers Grimm fairy tale. Barefoot, he wore a patchwork shirt made of sacking with...