Chengdu, 2004

Seven in the morning, a bus station called the Tea Courtyard. We were hiding gas canisters in our clothes, because gas was not allowed through the scanner. In the waiting room sat Tibetan monks, the first people from the world we were about to enter. One of them, bald and pink-cheeked in a red robe, met my eyes and smiled. A clean smile. For a moment it felt as if we had talked about a great many things: two specks of dust from different worlds, meeting in eternity.