There was a beautiful picture hung on one of the walls of Golden Kite Restaurant, the restaurant that my mom, sister and I often went for dinner while we were in Inle Lake, Myanmar. The picture illustrated two slender wooden canoes, one behind the other. On one boat, there was a fisherman and his large cone-shaped basket. On the other boat, there were Louis Vuitton and his boatman. The fisherman and Louis Vuitton were standing very close to each other on their respective canoes. They looked as if they were engaged in some conversation of a lifetime. My impression was that this eye-catching image was taken in the early morning when the waters of Inle Lake were very calm and provided perfect mirror reflections. To me, the picture radiated a lovely sense of beauty, tranquillity and humility.
I had one remarkable moment of Inle Lake that I would unassumingly describe as my ‘Louis Vuitton’ moment. It was a rare, up-close encounter with one of the leg-rowing fishermen as the sun was just setting. I was sitting at one end of his wooden canoe while he demonstrated his unique skill of handling the large cone-shaped basket. While it would be wonderful to be able to understand what he was saying, I was genuinely happy and grateful for the amazing opportunity to have such an extraordinary meeting with the down-to-earth, leg-rowing fishermen of Inle Lake. This, is, my beautiful, cherished, and personal ‘Louis Vuitton’ moment of the lake.
A reality check: there is much to see in Inle Lake – floating gardens, houses (and restaurants and shops created specifically for tourists) built on stilts, monasteries, markets… and the Intha fishermen. While I am not always fond of the notion and treatment of local people as tourist objects, I must admit that I wanted to see those leg-rowing fishermen for myself. As we left Nyaung Shwe jetty on a slender wooden boat passing by seemingly hectic lives on both sides of the lake, it did not take us long before we came face-to-face with the heart of Inle Lake. It was vast and serene, and the fishermen came within eyesight. Scattered across the lake, most of them were catching fish independently. It was truly a sight to behold! Tourist boats approached them as close as possible allowing tourists to surreptitiously snap photos of these fishermen, most probably without their permission. I wondered what went through the minds of the fishermen as they became the “circus performers”. Did they take offense at being viewed as the subjects of photography? Did they enjoy the undue attention that they were getting from tourists? Did they ever think tourists were foolish for finding them interesting? Did they think tourists were jeopardizing their chances of catching fish, or worse invading their personal space? Were they curious about tourists as much as the latter were about them? I had noticed that some of the fishermen had become so accustomed to the tourists-taking-photos-of-us scenes that they saw it as a money-making opportunity — posing flatteringly for tourists in return for some Kyats. It was not my place to judge if this was good or bad, but I could not help but feel saddened by the realization that the fisherman-tourist encounters might be far from being genuine.