It’s the end of a hot day towards the end of the Myanmar summer, and I’m taking a break in the shade of Htukkam Thein in the northern area of Mrauk U. I’ve just been schooled in a game of football with children half my height, but clearly more well practiced and used to the heat of their summer. I’m worn out and filthy. Not the ideal candidate for conversation. At the nearby waterhole, an endless stream of villagers collect water in their silver buckets and tuck them onto their hips before walking gracefully off towards the setting sun. A monk I met earlier is washing his clothes, and I make a few photographs as he wraps himself in a fresh robe. Then, I hear the best English I’ve heard in Rakhine State yet, ‘Excuse me, sir. Are you enjoying Mrauk U?’