We had just awakened him, unwittingly, when we tried to open the monastery’s door. Roused, he smiled gently when he saw us and then went in to grab a pot of tea, three glasses and motioned for us to sit.
He had no English and we had no Burmese. Silent for fifteen minutes or so, looking at the crumbling stupa remains that were his backyard, we shared time, tea, but not words.
