Changing business climate

Although Barkhor Street is a very sacred place for Tibetan Buddhists, it also has a worldly aspect. It has been the commercial center of Lhasa for centuries.

When the sun hits its peak at mid-day, the street is packed with traditionally-dressed shoppers from the countryside and tourists wearing fashionable coats and sunglasses.

In Drolma Lhamo's memory, horses carrying bags of black tea from neighboring Yunnan Province were a frequent sight on Barkhor Street in the 1930s and 1940s.

The horses have completely disappeared, now that Tibet is linked with the rest of China by planes, trains and automobiles.

Small stores selling daily necessities have been replaced by souvenir and antique shops, galleries, restaurants and cafes. Tourism has boomed since the 1980s; about 6.85 million people visited Tibet last year.

Ratna Kumar Tuladar's shop remains in the same place where his grandfather opened his shop in 1925. The business itself, however, has changed a lot.

His grandfather sold Nepali food, clothes and spices, whereas Tuladar sells Buddha statues and Nepali jewelry. His grandfather exported Tibetan wool to Kathmandu; Tuladar sends clothes and porcelain made in eastern Chinese provinces.

"Barkhor Street has changed a lot since I arrived here to take over the shop 26 years ago," Tuladar says.

He no longer needs to wait for a month or more to receive goods from Kathmandu by horseback. It takes just one or two days by highway.

"Decades ago, there were only Tibetans and a few Nepali running businesses on Barkhor Street. Now, we have people from everywhere. Tibetans, Muslims and Han people," he says.

The competition is also much heavier than it was during his grandfather's time. "Decades ago, profits accounted for 50 to 60 percent of total revenues, but now only account for 10 to 20 percent," Tuladar says.

However, Tuladar wants to carry on the family business and even plans to open a bigger shop to sell Nepali artwork in Beijing.

"The market potential is still big," he says.

Compared with Tuladar, Drugla is a newcomer on Barkhor Street. She left her hometown of Dege in neighboring Sichuan Province in 1987 and sold antique jewelry collected from households in the countryside.

At first, her stall was a simple blanket spread out on the ground, but now she has her own covered booth.

"My clients were mainly foreign tourists 20 years ago, but now, a majority of them come from other areas of China," she says.

She admits that antiques are very rare now, and her goods are mainly new jewelry made in Nepal or the coastal regions of China.

"Small business, thin profits," Drugla complains. "The booth rent is high."

However, she has obtained a permanent residence certificate in Lhasa and bought a small apartment there. She plans to send her son to a high school outside of Tibet, with eventual plans for college.

"I would like him to have a good education and find a stable job, since I haven't been able to," she says.

The strong afternoon sun makes her squint in her westward-facing booth. She wears a large hat and sits with her back to passersby to shield herself from the sun.

Not far away from Drugla's booth, Li Ou complains about a lack of sunshine inside her small jewelry shop, located deep in one of the street's side alleys.

On her worktable, there are boxes of gems of varying qualities and colors. She designs all the jewelry in the shop herself.

"Tibet inspires me. People here have a long tradition of making beautiful designs and are good at picking out different colors of stones and gems," she says.

In her hands, a piece of iron from an old saddle found in the home of a nomad can become a bracelet.

Li arrived in Lhasa six years ago after graduating from a fine arts college in Sichuan. After taking several jobs, including a position as an assistant in an art gallery, she opened her own shop last year.

On Barkhor Street, there are dozens of young people from outside of Tibet, just like Li. They are largely satisfied with their small businesses and simple jobs, and spend a lot of time soaking up the sun in front of the temple or chatting in teahouses.

"Running the shop is done for my own survival, rather than to make more money. I want to learn more about Buddhism and art in Tibet, create my designs and live a simple life," Li says.