Here in a monastery in Danuphyu, an obscure river town on the Irrawaddy, the subsidence into gentle decay largely goes unremarked, the local villagers come to pay their respects to the senior monk, elbow, toe, little finger, knee and forehead touching the polished teak floor of the reception room, a gloriously proportioned room bare of most things except the elegant spiral of a mahogany staircase, the teak floor smooth under bare feet, and on the shelf, someone, in an act of causal intimacy, has left their blue toothbrush.