Cold water along the bench at Wat Damnak

My phone was dead and my neck was sunburnt when I sat down at Wat Damnak at noon in April, at thirty nine degrees. A monk on the bench under the big tree moved over without a word and slid a bottle of cold water along the wood toward me. We sat for twenty minutes and said maybe six words each. Mine were thank you. His were welcome, hot, and yes. I left a few riel on the bench and he did not look at them. It was the best water I have had in this country. I do not know why I was so sure it would be.