Days go by at Sagaing hills. With the view of Mandalay on a distance, the mighty Irrawaddy river and golden stupas everywhere you look, the stillness of the place wraps your soul without you even noticing.
Simple life sleeping on the bamboo floor of the monastery, eating rice and vegetables, tea leaves and small fish. Waking up at 5 with the sound of chanting, talking with my hosts, grandfather and grandson, trying English and Burmese, but only coming to an agreement through sign language.
Meditating, scrolling up and down the hills, taking a close look at monastic life.
Taking pictures, watching tv in Burmese with the whole family, helping them for hours to clean the rice. Reading about buddism on the shade of one of the high stupas with a brise of fresh air, smiling at monks and nuns, who looked perplexed to see the same foreigner again wandering around Sagaing hills.
From the thinking, doing and judging world back to a calmer, somehow slower world where reflection is part of the trip.