Asian Geographic - April 2018

Loud clanging sometimes sounds out amid

the twisting alleyways near Bangkok’s Golden

Mountain temple. Here, hidden in a side

street, lies the famous Ban Baat, the last

community of craftsmen making but one

thing from morning to night: bowls.

These aren’t just any bowls. They’re

baat, alms bowls which local monks use to

collect food offerings every morning, and

they’re carefully created by families up to six

generations into the trade with practically the

same method and tools: metal, a hammer,

and some good old elbow grease.

Yet these craftsmen – often Thai Chinese –

are slowly being swallowed up by Bangkok’s

rapidly expanding metropolis. After centuries

in the area, the small community, once

created by King Rama I to preserve the

baat tradition, is being threated by cheaper

versions churned out from factories. Today,

only a few families whose careers revolve

around the dying craft are left.

Thanks to centuries of successful integration,

Bangkok is home to a large proportion of Sino-

Thai. Yet the bearers of this unique mixed heritage

may soon find the Chinese half of their identities

left behind, as the city’s urban development

overwhelms key cultural communities

Vanishing Act

HERITAGE LOST

above Nuan, 71, has

been making baat

since she was eight

top right Baat for

sale on display at the

entrance of Ban Baat

right Sheet metal is

welded to make the

sides of a baat

DATA SOURCES: SUPOT WANCHAROEN, BANGKOK POST,
FRANK-JÜRGEN RICHTER, WORLD POPULATION REVIEW

These communities and

their uniquely Thai-Chinese

practices have already

begun to disappear from

the places they’ve resided

in for centuries

Text and Photos Pongkiat Rungrojkarnka

culture

Baat crafting isn’t a complicated process,

but it is tedious and requires a fair amount of

endurance, says Prachum Ekamol, a 70-year-

old craftsman who has been making the bowl

for over 50 years. He patiently points out

the benefits of a handmade product: Well-

rounded edges protect the monks, who have

to carry the bowl for long hours; this cannot

be achieved by machines. When the bowl is

tapped, it produces a pleasant ringing sound,

clear like a bell, unlike the dull chimes from

those off a production line. And it has a

shinier finish.

To keep the shrinking practice alive, the

community is taking desperate measures.

One of the oldest artisans, Nuan, 71, has begun

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