Bygone Bagan (Part II)

Submitted July 20, 2009

Upon arriving at our hotel yesterday we were surrounded by a swarm of vendors that began to follow our tour bus everywhere. Over the last two days I have longed for a sense of peace, but even as we toured the temples and pagodas of Bagan there were vendors. The passage in the gospels of Jesus overturning the tables in the temple came to mind. These are not my holy places, I thought, because I am not Buddhist. But they do belong to these people and I was slightly angry that they were being desecrated by selling goods inside the temple. Those were my honest thoughts. However, I also realized more and more that Bagan is supported by the economic activity of tourists. I decided I could not be angry at the people trying to earn a buck or two to support their livelihoods. My spending money meant their daily survival, as I placed it into to their hands.

We also visited a laquerware shop today. It is actually quite a tedious, timely, and detailed process to produce one item. What I found to be most incredible about it were the men and women I saw, sitting in typical Asian style on the floor with their legs crossed, working 8 hours per day like that. They worked in a dimly lit room that was not dark but certainly gave no extra light beyond the day light, and there were no fans for the workers.

Weaving bamboo, dying, designing, and perfecting each piece they earned around 700 to 1000 kyats, about 70 cents to 1 dollar, per day. Yes, per day. I was hesitant to ask the other workers if they also got paid the same for their work, or if something like the art design would pay more. But no matter, it doesn't seem that it would be much more.

A small bracelet, then, is sold for seven or eight dollars. I had to wonder where all the profit goes. What I desired was to put the money directly into the hands of the people who were making the product. But it was not their hands that were stretched forth. They wove tiny strips of bamboo, used their bare hands to soak the lacquered pieces in turpentine, scratched on tiny designs, and as I bought my pieces of lacquerware, their hands could not reach for mine. I felt the day slip by in Bagan.