I recently returned from my first trip to a country of origin, China. This kind of travel is something every tea-person I know has done or has on their short list. And it is still difficult to put my passport away. I would be on the next flight to somewhere in Tea Land in the blink of an eye. I had imagined that there would be something almost sacred for me about walking through a tea garden. I wasn’t disappointed; walking through hillside gardens, picking tea, processing our own tea, meeting the pickers and the processors, interviewing the owners, cupping. It was all amazing.

We became known as the International Tea Delegation. What an honor. It was also a surprise. And it is the way in which we were welcomed in a great variety of situations that prompts me to include this as part of my spirit of tea commentaries. I leave details of the tea gardens and tasting rooms to others. I joined the My reasons for joining group were different; searching for what is drawing me more deeply into this lifelong study of our common leaf. I lost count of the number of tea gardens we visited and I have yet to organize the photos and collection of precious tea memories. There are so many. But I break with tradition in the telling of tales and travel talk. I will start at the end with a bit about my last cup of tea in China.

In A Small Village

After two weeks, I left the delegation to spend 5 days in a small tea village. My hosts were a family who had spent their lives surrounded by tea. Growing and processing. They made me a welcome guest. Our main activities were walking through their hillside farms; tea plants patchworked between bamboo and other vegetables. They allowed me the luxury of living the daily life surrounded by tea. How is tea different when it is your livelihood? How do you prepare tea when it grows at your doorstep? What changes when you drink the tea you spend months picking and processing? There were times when I thought I was trying too hard to find something of spirit in everyday life? And other times I stumbled into experiences that were certainly examples of tea-centered community. It wasn’t the harvest, they reminded me. Anything picked or processed now would not be good tea. But people still picked the fresh leaves and wok-dried it in their kitchens and enjoyed a fresh green tea not available to us. A day in the life in a small village. Remarkable to me.

I visited their Buddhist temple. This is an image of three cups of tea on the table in front of one of the large sculptures. I won’t attempt to explain the significance since there was no translator present. My assumptions may be misleading. But the experience took me back to Greg Mortenson’s book, “Three Cups Of Tea”. In his experience, by the third cup of tea, we are more than friends.

Tea takes us places and presents opportunities, even without words, to become something a bit more than friends.

This village is Huangting in the Fujian Province. Their tea is all organic, as is everything grown in the village. They produce a beautiful green tea with pride. I had tasted the limited export before visiting China and had tried to imagine what the soil, climate and people must be like. Now, I am able to drink the same tea and remember the mist. “Good for the tea,” people in the family said as we watched the fields disappear behind the gray.

Our tea times were usually in the late afternoons and then after dinner. Mr. Hu, my guide and a tea professional with expertise in many areas of tea and art prepared the tea with the elegance a simple gaiwan. My hosts were also his parents and most of the people in the village were relatives. Somewhere between the three cups of tea in the temple and the quiet of tea at home, I learned quite a bit more about tea. We exchanged information about how differently we prepared tea. I had samples of Chinese tea that had been flavored to US tastes. And I described some of the ways we brew and steep. Iced tea. Southern style Sweet Tea. Lemon. Sugar. Cups and saucers. Steeping for 5 minutes. Very different. But he seemed to appreciate knowing more about the changes in tea after it left China. Or, he was being kind.

My Last Cup of Tea In China

For my last night, he selected a green tea – a Qing Ming Tea. It had been picked in late March during the two weeks prior to the annual ceremony to remember and honor the ancestors. It is the first tea after the sleeping season of winter during which time it is believed the plant has the opportunity to store more nutrients and more “spirit”.

One of the Qing Ming legends I had been told was that drinking this tea can give you nightmares. My interpreter said that nightmare wasn’t quite right – more like experiences – not really dreams.

Mr. Hu prepared 7 infusions while I shared my photos of the tour through tea fields.

I had come to China to research my next book and with a quest to learn more about the spiritual nature of tea. And on this last day, my patient guide finally explained how people in China feel about tea.

“There are at least four ways of appreciating tea. Some drink it merely as a beverage to quench thirst. Some are convinced it will improve their health. Some high level businessmen use very expensive and elegant teas as part of business negotiations. Many important contracts are signed over tea ceremony. And there are also people who are deeply spiritual about the tea.”

In the country credited as the birthplace of tea, where tea gardens wrap almost every hillside and there are teashops in even the smallest village, this wasn’t what I expected to hear.

I started writing this on the flight between Bejiing and Los Angeles, still feeling sad to leave. Crossing the date line we turn the clock back and claim a part of the previous day. With my extra time, I thought about that last cup of tea. And the notes for this blog post remained unfinished. What to say?

I can still taste it. We were sitting on small stools around a wooden table; a family preparing to say goodnight and a guest preparing to leave.

I decided to say that we shared tea.

It seemed to be what was most important.

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