In the Land of the Black Dragon: A Voyage to Fujian [v]

A China Tea Miscellany


In this post I've collected a number of small, truly miscellaneous items, that didn't really fit anywhere else, but which I couldn't stand not sharing with you.

Did You Know ...


... that bottled tea -- green, oolong, or red -- is as popular as carbonated drinks (or more so) in China? You can buy it sweetened or unsweetened, and chilled or room-temperature, at the ubiquitous Seven-Elevens and other convenience stores.

Did You Know ...


... that powdered green tea is gaining popularity in China? (I had to take a picture of it to show you -- I feared you might not believe me otherwise ...)

Did You Know ...

... that the word pu'er (普洱) is, in origin, actually not a Han Chinese term? Rather, as I learned from Niisonge, it comes from the Hani language, in which it means 'family home' (i.e. the sort of walled complex in which an extended family might live together).

... that 'Pu'er' is, historically, where pu'er tea was sold -- not where it was grown? My learned colleague Danny Samarkand writes:

Historical records tell us that Pu'er county was an ideal location as a collection centre for the tea leaves harvested in and around the region. The leaves were processed into tea and from there sent out to other regions and countries on horsebacks. The tea was named after the region, and came to be known as Pu'er, and the place, Pu'er Xian -- Pu'er county.

Did You Know ...

... that in the Chaozhou gongfu cha tradition, the traditional fuel for the stove that heats the water kettle is (as I learned from Will Chen and Mr Tsay of Green of T) is dried olive seeds?

Did You Know ...


... that you can actually find some very nice tea-ware (as well as plenty of tea) in the airports of Asia? The photo above was taken in the airport in Fuzhou, but I was equally impressed with the shops in the airports of Taipei and Hong Kong


(where I had a layover between Taiwan and the PRC). The tea-ware prices will certainly not be the lowest; and I think I would advise against buying the tea at any price (unless you know for a certainty that it is of good quality and not overly expensive). But it will all be packaged well, for traveling; and if nothing else, you can have fun browsing.

Did You Know ...


... that bamboo is actually classified, botanically, as a grass? The largest types are of course the largest members of the grass family. Some species can grow as fast as a meter per day.


(Bamboo is of course vital to cha dao, as it is used for making a variety of tea-ware, including a popular form of the cha pan or tea tray used in gongfu cha, as well as other tea utensils.)

Did You Know ...


... that Wu Yi Shan was named a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1999?

In the Land of the Black Dragon: A Voyage to Fujian [iv]

Tea Recipes from Fujian
One reads in American-published cookbooks on Chinese cuisine that the spectrum of variety in real Asian food is overwhelming beyond our capacity even to imagine; and that the kinds of fare made available in most Chinese restaurants in North America usually bear scant resemblance to what one actually encounters in Pacific Asia. Over and over again during my travels I saw the truth of these assertions.

Readers of CHA DAO may remember that some months ago I posted a recipe for Tea-Smoked Chicken. In this post, as promised, are some Fujian-style tea-related recipes that Jing-Xia taught me on the train to Wu Yi Shan. (Two of them are suitable for vegetarians, though none for vegans.) Together, they give a sense of how pervasive a part of Chinese food culture tea has become over the centuries, and not solely as a beverage. In some cases, the amounts are my own specification, based on careful questioning and subsequent experimentation at home. Thanks Nikky!

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TEA EGGS

Ingredients
6-12 eggs
2 quarts water or chicken broth
tea leaves (a cheap oolong or green tea is fine)
2-3 dried chillis
2 cloves star anise
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt

Procedure
In a pot over medium-high heat, bring the water (or chicken broth if not cooking for vegetarians) to a simmer. Add a handful of tea-leaf -- enough to brew a fairly strong tea liquor. Stir the liquid to make sure all the tea is moistened. Add the remaining seasonings and eggs.

Simmer the eggs about 5 minutes, or until their shells turn brown from the mixture. Remove the eggs from the liquid, and tap the shells of each gently with a spoon (just enough to craze the surface, compromising the seal). Return the eggs to the simmering liquid. They can stay there as long as you like (but give them at least 5 more minutes). They are then ready to eat immediately; or you may prefer to cool and then chill them before serving.

Notes
• We saw big vats of these eggs simmering in restaurants throughout Wu Yi Shan. Nikky assured me that they can continue to remain warming in the liquid as long as you like. That said, you may want to experiment with simmering times; some people like their eggs (even hard-boiled eggs) cooked as little as possible, while others insist that an egg be boiled until the yolk has a blue/green hue to its surface.
• From the color of the cooked eggs, I surmise that most of the vats we saw in Fujian used oolong tea.
• Feel free to experiment with the amounts of tea and spices you include in the water. The tea-eggs I tasted were not hot/peppery at all, which suggests that that spice was used very sparingly. But this may have been a cost consideration as much as one of taste.

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TEA NOODLES

Ingredients
3 cups unbleached flour, plus some extra for kneading
3 eggs
3 tablespoons water (more as needed)
1 teaspoon salt
1 handful of tea (green or oolong) -- say, 0.7 ounce or 20 grammes

Procedure
Bring the eggs to room temperature. Using a mortar and pestle, grind the tea to a fine powder. [[This could also be done in an electric coffee- or spice-grinder, but particular care must be taken to ensure that there is no residue of any kind in the grinder; otherwise the tea will be flavored, possibly quite unpleasantly, by what was previously ground in the grinder.]]

Prepare a clean flat surface for working. In a large bowl, mix the tea-powder into the flour. Make a well in the center of this mixture (approximately 4" in diameter). In a small bowl, crack the eggs, and beat them together (with the salt) just enough to break the yolks. Pour this mixture into the flour well. Using your fingertips, sprinkle the flour/tea mixture, bit by bit, into the eggs in the center of the bowl. Add the water as you go along, to moisten the mixture. Keep mixing until all of the flour mixture is incorporated. The dough should be sticky, but not very wet.

Place the ball of dough on the flat surface and knead, sprinkling extra flour onto it -- as sparingly as possible -- to make a non-sticky dough. Roll into a ball, cover with plastic wrap, and let rest 20-30 minutes.

[[Easy food-processor version of the above: in a food processor, grind tea to a powder; add flour and salt to mix thoroughly; beat eggs together and pour in slowly to mix; slowly add enough water to make a stiff dough. Then remove dough ball from processor and proceed as follows.]]

Dust the flat surface with flour.
[1] Hand-rolled version: Roll the dough flat; fold it into thirds; roll again. Keep rolling, stretching the dough out until it is flat and smooth.
[2] Pasta-rolling machine version: Roll the dough flat on the floured surface; feed through the machine repeatedly until the dough has reached the desired thinness.

Let the rolled-out dough rest for 10 minutes. Then cut it into noodles of the desired width, either by hand (with a very sharp knife) or by feeding the flat dough through a pasta-cutting machine.

Notes
• Use these noodles as you would plain 面 (mian) in Chinese recipes.
• These can be cooked immediately, or dried for later use. Bear in mind that freshly-made noodles cook much faster than dried noodles (within a couple of minutes). And is it just my imagination, or do they also usually taste better?
• Chinese noodles are typically boiled longer (and are thus softer) than Italian 'al dente' pasta.
• You can experiment with the amount of tea -- adding more or less to the flour to reach the desired strength of tea flavoring.

~~~~~~~~~~ · ~~~~~~~~~~
TEA-COOKED SHRIMP

Ingredients
raw shrimp
long jing tea leaves
peanut or sesame oil
salt

Procedure
Peel and de-vein the shrimp.
Heat a teaspoon or two of oil in a wok. Toss in the tea-leaves and pan-fry for a few seconds; remove them from the wok.
Heat enough oil to sauté the shrimp. Toss in the shrimp and stir-fry; they will turn a bright red/orange color as they cook. When they are almost done, add the tea-leaves and a sparing amount of salt.

Notes
• This dish cooks very quickly. The longest part of the recipe is probably the preparation of the shrimp.
• Amounts are purposely not specified here. When Nikky was served this dish in a restaurant, it consisted of more tea-leaves than shrimp; at home, she suggests, the Chinese cook would reverse the ratio (to the extent that one's budget will allow). As the merest suggestion of a proportion, one might begin with a pound of raw shrimp, a half-cup of tea leaves, and a half-teaspoon of salt. But again, the cook should experiment to find the desired proportions.

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These recipes are copyright © 2007 by 程景霞 [Cheng Jing-Xia]. All rights reserved. They are published here for private home use, but may not be published elsewhere in any format, nor used commercially, without express prior permission.

In the Land of the Black Dragon: A Voyage to Fujian [iii]

What is so rare as a day in June? Well, for me, a day in June in Wu Yi Shan. We grouped for breakfast in the hotel (the only guests in that cavernous dining room) and then met Mr Zhou at his cab outside. Our first stop of the day was at a bookshop -- 文友書店 Wen You Shu Dian, the 'Literary Friends Book Shop' (tel 0599.525.2002) to look at books and magazines especially devoted to tea (one of my greatest temptations to buy was faced in this shop, actually). Following Steven Owyoung's prudent advice, I did purchase a nice hardbound copy of Dream of the Red Chamber (Hong Lou Meng). It was surprisingly compact in one beautiful volume, in contrast with the Penguin translation, which fills five fat paperbacks. Warren found a whole run of a for-the-trade magazine on tea, called -- believe it -- Cha Dao. (Nikky, as Head of Domestic Space Management, was vehemently opposed to his buying any of them, but as I recall, she did not entirely prevail in this instance.) The store was well-stocked with copies of different issues of Pu-erh Teapot Magazine -- the glossy Chinese-language tea magazine -- but (not surprisingly) none of The Art of Tea, its English-language counterpart. We thumbed through the various periodicals, and scanned the shelves for other treasures, but the day lay open before us, so we soon moved on.

Our next big project was to wend our way down the legendary Nine Bends River by boat (technically these craft were, I guess, rafts, made as they were from flat bundles of massive lengths of bamboo -- though curved at the prow). The jolly boatmen, duly admonished in advance by Nikky to be sure and tell us all about what we were seeing, pointed out this or that landmark (and each of the nine eponymous bends) as they punted us down the river. This is a site that has been showcased, I have no doubt, in many a feature film. Not to show it off would be a terrible waste, as there can be few spots on earth of more staggering beauty or dramatic natural effect. I could describe it all in great detail, but there would be little to tell that is directly germane to the subject of tea, apart from finding a few spots that would make spectacular locations for a gongfu session. I will however single out for mention the caves that were used (beginning in the Shang and Zhou periods -- i.e. perhaps as early as 2000 BCE) as burial spots for their dead. The method used was to place the body in these caves in hanging coffins of wood. Floating past these caves, so far below them in their absolutely vertical cliff-faces, one marvels at their apparent inaccessibility.

After our rafting expedition, we ventured into the web of parks that laces this part of Wu Yi Shan. We wanted to wander their winding paths, but above all to search for the famous 茶洞 Cha Dong (literally 'Tea Hole'), another major landmark of Wu Yi Shan. Like the spot where we saw the 'mother bushes' of Da Hong Pao, the Cha Dong is also a deep canyon where yan cha is grown. This walk was perhaps longer than the one to the Da Hong Pao 'mother bushes,' and also uphill, though (it seems to me in memory) not as steeply so. There were certainly sedan-chairs for hire here as well. What was different about this path was that so much of it wound around the very outside of the mountain, affording some truly gorgeous views, some of them to a great distance. At times we found ourselves looking down at spots along the river where we had just rafted; at others, looking inward toward the bowels of the mountain, we poked into dim caves. Some of these were huge, housing a cool mist that blessed the skin after the relentless heat of the open midday air. At one point we found ourselves below the 'Eagle's Beak,' one of many fancifully-named rock formations in Wu Yi Shan. From the raft we had already seen Three Sisters, Frog Rock, Hamburger Rock (!), Two Breasts, and others. To make the best sense of Eagle's Beak, one must turn one's back on the sheer precipice on which one stands, and bend one's head over backwards in order to look up and view the overhang. For those so afflicted by vertigo that they might never be able to experience this, I have courageously taken a photograph of same.

The stifling heat, and the seemingly endless upward trail, like the setting for an episode out of the Silmarillion, made me want several times to turn back; but I had not come halfway round the world for such faintness of heart. Bolstered by the pluck and perseverance of my fellow-hikers, I gathered the strength to keep going (and to stay ahead of a herd of raucous school-children that we could hear, like a band of tiny orcs, advancing not far behind us).

VINCIT QVI PATITVR: Who perseveres, prevails. Eventually we came to a venerable stone arch, and an engraved sign announcing that we were about to enter the Cha Dong itself. If anything, this canyon is more dramatic than the one the shelters the original Da Hong Pao bushes. It is certainly bigger, deeper, and of more complicated shape, comprised as it is of an outer and an inner portion.

The inner Cha Dong is worth viewing at all costs. Moreover, it must be seen with one's own eyes. No photography could possibly do it justice. I will say that its bowl-like shape -- like a deep crater with virtually vertical walls -- houses a field of yan cha that must be highly prized. There is a high waterfall, of the type I associate with Kauai, tumbling into a pool; the legend is that this was once the bathing-place of a goddess. And clinging to one promontory -- this is the only image of the inner Cha Dong that I can bring myself to show you -- is an old-fashioned pavilion that would be just perfect for an afternoon of gongfu cha.

If only we had had the time (and tea) to do so. Maybe someday (in March, or October, please). For now, it was time to hike back down to the river level, where Mr Zhou was waiting for us with the car.

Reunited with him, we went for a brief walk through the park museum, and then peeked briefly into the Wu Yi Palace, a site originally constructed in the Tang and Song dynasties. It was clear that one could explore this region indefinitely, without exhausting its riches; but I had a very special project at this point: to try and find a jade chop that I could use as a seal. This must perforce take us out of the parks.

The indefatigable Mr Zhou knew of a shop that specialized in such jades (tel 0599.525.2542). Moreover, its proprietor, Mr Yang Bao-Ju, is a stone-carver of such renown that clients come not only from all over China, but also from Japan, to have him engrave their chops for them. By my great good fortune, he had just returned from a journey of his own; otherwise I would have found no one in this small town to engrave a seal for me.

The first step was to select the jade chop. Mr Yang's wife gestured welcomingly to me to look over the stones. These lined the shelves by the dozen, and ranged in size and shape from tiny -- and very simple -- to large two-fisted chops of obviously ceremonial valence. I took my time as I scanned the shelves; this was not the time to rush. Eventually I chose one: substantial but not garishly large, of beautiful nephrite jade, with a square footprint, and carved at the top with a pixiu -- the slinky beast of Chinese legend that I share as a favorite with a good friend who has taught me much about Chinese culture. The stone became an object of desire for me as I looked at it; but my heart sank when I heard the cost quoted. I estimated that it was about twice as expensive as it ought to be. Just then, like a guardian angel, Nikky started asking some questions -- not in Putonghua but in one of the Min dialects which, by chance, she shares with Mr Yang and his wife. They were utterly charmed. Suddenly the price dropped -- by 50%! This would even include the engraving -- only, they emphasized to me, because Nikky was speaking Min hua with them, and was practically family.

I had already decided on the imprint that I wanted the stamp to make: four hanzi, done in a script that dates back to the Qin Dynasty. And of course they had to be carved in reverse, so that when the imprint is stamped, the characters will read properly. When I showed my request to Mr Yang, he chuckled a bit at it (it includes a translation of 'corax,' itself an ancient Greek noun), scribbled the hanzi on a sheet of paper on his desk, and got right to work.

At this point, his wife smoothly led us to a large wooden tea-table. Wouldn't we like to have some tea while we waited for him to carve the chop? Well, of course. But I could easily see where this was leading, so I commented pointedly how delicious her Da Hong Pao was, and (thus) what a shame it was that only the night before, I had bought all the Da Hong Pao one could possibly tote back to America. She graciously took the hint, and brought us upstairs to look at some of their more expensive jades -- carvings of museum quality, some of them quite enormous, and worth tens of thousands of US dollars each.

Soon Mr Yang was finished with the chop. He made an imprint of the carving, and I was quite pleased with it, so with many handshakes and nods and thanks all round, we made our way out the door. It was not quite time for dinner, so I suggested: how about some tea? I got no objections from our small band. Anywhere around here that we can get some tea, Mr Zhou? In short order, he took us to 大茶壶山庄 (Da Cha Hu Shan Zhuang, the 'Big Tea Pot Inn'), probably the best-known tea house in town. This was no accident; Mr Liu Feng, the proprietor (who was away on business when we were there) is one of the three or four most highly-respected tea producers in Wu Yi Shan -- indeed, when in 2008 those 'mother bushes' of Da Hong Pao are finally plucked again, he will be one of those who does the honors. This we learned from his proud wife, Zheng Xue-Jiao, who was presiding over the tea house that afternoon.

Once again we were installed at an elaborately-carved wooden tea table with a young woman who would do the gongfu brewing for us. The first tea brought out to us was a 2007 Da Hong Pao -- quite delicious, even to our jaded palates. Then Ms Zheng suggested that we try their seventeen-year-old Da Hong Pao. We could hardly say no to this, on principle, having just drunk some thirteen-year-old stuff the night before. This tea was venerable -- and powerful. There was a certain something that Ms Yu's tea had that this did not -- an extra nuance or layer of flavor, perhaps a spiciness -- but this 1990-harvest tea was a classic. Moreover, it performed like a champion: we were still drinking it, with pleasure, after the fortieth (40th) infusion. I do not recall ever having put any tea through such difficult paces.

By this time, Ms Zheng was sitting comfortably with us and chatting about tea. As many tea vendors do, she had an album of photographs documenting the family business; there were pictures of Mr Liu tending the original Da Hong Pao bushes, or being decorated with a medal by the Chinese government for the quality of his tea. We saw photographs of their tea bushes growing; here was a stand of Bai Ji Guan bushes -- a most rare tea, of which (we were told) there is produced a total of perhaps only 40 or 50 pounds in a year, so little that there is never any left over to age. What a pity, Ms Zheng said, that we had not come sooner; her 2007 harvest of Bai Ji Guan, which was excellent, had already completely sold out.

Once again, at the most impossible juncture, Nikky worked her magic. I am not sure at exactly which point she switched into Min hua, but it was not long before Ms Zheng -- another speaker of Nikky's particular dialect -- fell under her spell too. Well! Look at this! We just happen to have a few grams of Bai Ji Guan left, right here, isn't that amazing? And I really want you to try this tea. See the distinctive color of these leaves?

We relaxed in our chairs. The secret doors had opened for us once again, and the sipping was good. The leaves of the Bai Ji Guan indeed became yellower and yellower as they were repeatedly infused. It is a noble tea, by all accounts, and a great rarity. Our tea-sampling over the past two days was the equivalent of winning several lotteries.

By now it was getting to be time for supper, so we bade Ms Zheng farewell, and left the Da Cha Hu. We had reservations on a plane back to Fuzhou, but not till late that night, so we went foraging for food, which we found in a tiny restaurant staffed by remarkably cheerful young folk. Singing as they worked, they spread us a bounteous table, practically for free, and we took our time dining. The tea was, once again, very weak and watery, but at least this potful was recognizable as some sort of oolong. It was certainly the weakest aspect of the meal; the soup and the other dishes were quite good.

After dinner was done, we still had a good bit of time before the plane, so we poked around a bit in a shop -- I bought a pu'er knife -- and then Nikky suggested that we go for foot massages. We trooped upstairs at a parlor near the Da Cha Hu and were promptly seated in a room with three masseuses, who went to work in triplicate. The whole notion of a foot massage seems impossibly decadent to a westerner, but it is a habit that one can get used to very quickly.

While I was still in a post-massage stupor, Nikky paid the bill -- for all of us -- and then it was time to head to the airport and fly back to Fuzhou. I hardly noticed that the plane was over an hour late for take-off, so many memories from the past few days had I to juggle.

It was extremely late when we reached the Fuzhou airport; we took a quick bus to the sumptuous Apollo Hotel (address: 132 Wuyi Middle Road, Fuzhou; tel 86.591.8305.5555). This was close to the railway station, but also convenient to the airport, from which I had to depart the next day. Here we said our goodbyes, as Warren and Nikky had to catch a very early train. We had shared so much intense tea experience, in so little time, that parting was indeed sweet sorrow. To try and stave that off, we had already made plans for our next visit. I can hardly wait.

-- corax

In the Land of the Black Dragon: A Voyage to Fujian [ii]

[Once again, let me remind you that the graphic images here are essentially thumbnails: you can see a larger version of each one simply by clicking on it.]

The morning of 31 May dawned early for us in Fuzhou. We checked out of the Jinhui Hotel, scrambled across the very wide street to the railway station, and found our train. A quick adjustment of our tickets got us an upgrade to a first-class compartment together -- a much more comfortable way to spend a six-hour journey up to Wu Yi Shan, and the supplement was surprisingly inexpensive. Indeed the railway system (as we once used to know in the USA) is an excellent way to travel, and much more comfortable than by airplane; the only advantage air-travel has (and this is admittedly sometimes crucial, as it was for us two days later) is speed. On a train, it is much easier to get up and move about; if there is a dining car, one can treat oneself to a hot meal; and if one has a compartment like the one I shared with Nikky and Warren, one has relative privacy even while in a public transit system. Add to this, of course, the fact that the ground-level travel allows one to see and possibly even photograph the countryside. From our compartment window I saw a great deal of Fujian province during those six hours.

The compartment was furnished with four bunks and a table. When we wanted a nap, nap we did, and when we were awake, we sat at the table and chatted, sharing anecdotes and planning out trip. As I had skipped breakfast, I was glad for the snacks Nikky and Warren had brought us -- cold drinks, small buns filled with sweet bean paste, and nibble such as pumpkin seeds (green-tea-flavored) and strips of cured sweet potato. The latter tasted to me more like dried guava -- and looked more like Gummi worms -- than anything one would expect from a tuber.

What we did not do on the train was to brew tea. Not that this would have been difficult: the compartment came equipped with its own thermos of hot water, and a sign that read 'Boiled Water Please' -- the latter for hanging on the compartment door as needed. But Warren was leery about the quality of their water, so we forewent the in-cabin gongfu.

As the noon hour approached, we adjourned to the dining-car for some more substantial fare. For ¥82, about USD$10, the train chef prepared to our order the following luncheon:
--- Winter Melon Soup with Scallops
--- Stir-fried Cabbage
--- Iced Tea Duck
--- Sliced Beef with Oyster Sauce
All of these were excellent. The quality of the preparation was equivalent to that of an upscale Chinese restaurant in the US. The one mystery to us was the duck, which came to the table cold and in chunks, but without any noticeable tea flavoring.

Naturally enough, this all engendered some food- and cooking-conversation, during which I began to learn what a knowledgeable cook Nikky is in her own right. The quizzical 'tea' component of Iced Tea Duck prompted her to give me some traditional Fujian recipes involving tea, which I shall post separately at a later date.

I marveled aloud at the uncomplicated appearance of the soup; Warren commented that this minimalist style was typical of the soups of Fujian. (Here are a couple of his simple recipes, in case you would to try some right now:
--- Simmer in hot water: chunks of extra-firm tofu; sliced fresh ginger, minced scallions.
--- Simmer TGY leaves in beef broth.
[Told you they were simple!])

We lingered over lunch, before returning to our compartment, and soon thereafter the train arrived in Wu Yi Shan station. This is much smaller than busy Fuzhou, the provincial capital, and the air is much cleaner and fresher. The mid-afternoon sun had already warmed it thoroughly by the time we got off the train -- just how thoroughly, I would not know until we were out walking in it during the afternoon.

Right outside the railway station is a broad plaza where the taxi drivers wait for the trains to arrive. Nikky, who was born in Fuzhou, speaks a distinctive Fujian dialect as well as Putonghua (Mandarin); this fact was to have far-reaching consequences before my visit was done. It had consequences now, in that it enabled her to find us a cab driver, Mr Zhou, who agreed to be our chauffeur for the next day and a half for a fee of ¥240 (about USD$30). If he ever regretted taking this assignment, he did not say so; but we frolicked all over town (and out of it) until very late both nights. Mr Zhou also played a pivotal role in our actually finding the sights/sites we wanted to see.

Our very first stop was at a travel-agent's office, where we picked up two-day admission tickets to a variety of excursions. The fact that this was even possible had not come home to me before that point, but I now began to realize two things: first, that Wu Yi Shan is quite an important destination for Chinese tourism; and second, that almost no westerners go there. Perhaps this changes later in the summer season, but I had the strong sense that i was the first waiguoren (or laowai, as they doubtless said out of earshot) that most of these folks had seen in many a long day. (I am not counting Warren in this tally of westerners, as he is for all intents and purposes an honorary Chinese.) Certainly they stared, long and hard, as at some exotic beast. But when I smiled at the gawkers, some smiled back. Some chirped out 'Hello! hello!' -- and could not contain their astonishment when I replied with 'Ni hao!' A few actually stopped me and asked to have their pictures taken with me.

But I am getting ahead of myself here. After the travel agent's, we went to our hotel to get ourselves installed and ready for the rest of the day. This was the Wu Yi Shan Yi Li Hotel (tel 0599.525.2019), a vast complex of wandering corridors and lush gardens that seemed utterly empty except for the staff -- and us. Here I learned that one cannot expect Chinese hotels to accept foreign credit cards; the bill had to be paid fully, in advance, including a hefty deposit against potential damage to hotel property. Having already learned, to my chagrin, that not all Chinese banks will accept American ATM cards, I had Mr Zhou drive us to the nearest Bank of China branch to access some cash.

Then it was off to Wu Yi Shan proper. 'Shan' (山) here, or 'mountain,' really refers to a whole range of peaks in northern Fujian province. Among these peaks are outcroppings known as 'yan' (岩, i.e. 'cliff' or 'rock'; you can see that this character itself includes the 'shan' character, i.e. 山). These 'yan' can reach astonishing heights, the tops of which will often be shrouded in mists that refresh the greenery. The flora are as varied as they are exuberant: one doesn't have to venture very far outside the town center to find oneself in a jungle of green plants of every size and shape.

I came to Fujian to find one particular green plant, of course: Camellia sinensis sinensis. Most specifically, I came to Wu Yi Shan to see with my own eyes what are surely some of the most famous and revered plants in the wide world: the august 'mother bushes' of Da Hong Pao or 'Great Scarlet Robe.'

There are several versions of the picturesque story explaining the origin of this name, but they follow more or less similar lines: The emperor fell gravely ill, and was nigh unto death. Some Buddhist monks from a temple in Wu Yi Shan ministered to him, brewing a special tea with leaf taken from three extraordinary bushes known to them. Soon, by virtue of the healing powers of this tea, the emperor had made a complete recovery. When he despatched his officials to Wu Yi to collect the annual tribute, he sent with them the long robes of red silk (da hong pao) that were his exclusive right to wear. These were to be draped over the bushes as a sign of imperial favor (or, alternatively, to protect them from wintry weather).

From these three 'mother' bushes, we are told, came four 'son' bushes. Many, many others have since been propagated in turn, from seed or by cloning; but these seven originary bushes still flourish on the side of the yan where those gentle monks first gathered their leaves. So precious and so pampered are these plants that only a few grams of leaf are plucked from them. Indeed, to give them a rest, nary a leaf will be plucked in the year 2007. The 2008 pluck will be that much more of an event, when it occurs.

Unable to wait another moment, we asked Mr Zhou to drive us to see the fabled Da Hong Pao bushes. This was when the real meaning of 'shan' became evident: soon it was clear that the car was heading steeply uphill. The scenery became dramatic, then breathtaking. If you have any doubt that you are on holy ground, this is dispelled by the sight of an enormous Buddha of carven stone, lounging (and laughing) at a bend in the road. The Buddha is tended by a small enclave of monks off to one side. This is not the monastery in the Da Hong Pao story; that is farther up the mountain even than where the seven bushes are. But these monks' presence, and the towering bulk of the laughing Buddha, are a reminder that spiritual folk have since time immemorial retreated to high places to think and pray and meditate.

The Buddha statue itself is actually a recent addition. What is much, much older is the staggeringly huge character 佛 'Fo' -- i.e. 'Buddha' -- that has been chiselled and gilded into the sheer rock-face behind him. It looks as though the hand of some Titan had reached down from the Empyrean and inscribed the character, with a brush dipped in molten gold, onto the side of the yan.

As with all such extraordinary things, there is a story behind this. Apparently the Kangxi emperor (1654-1722 CE), a good and beloved ruler who liked to travel his realm in disguise so as to observe his people incognito, observed the shape of the outcropping of rock at this point, and discerned in it the shape of the Buddha. Accordingly, he later caused the gigantic 佛 'Fo' to be inscribed into the rock.

Maybe it is lack of spiritual insight, but -- try as I might -- I could see no resemblance between the rock and the Buddha. Unless the rock in question were actually another, pudgy outcropping, to our left as we were looking at the statue? It's difficult to say, but if you use your imagination as you look at this rock formation, you can see a big belly with a head atop it ... sort of.

In any case, from the Buddha Rock we continued our drive up to the parking area where we had to leave the car and continue on foot. This was when I really began to feel the intense humid heat of Wu Yi Shan. I cannot imagine making this hike in July or August, when so many Chinese do it. Much less could I imagine being one of the poor porters who carry sedan chairs up and down the mountain for ¥240. This may be a hefty sum to them, but such grueling work deserves much better pay. They were even more drenched in sweat than I was as they passed us carrying their haughty passengers down the path, like a scene out of The Painted Veil. But in any case, this was a trek I felt I needed to make on foot. I wanted to be able to stop at will, to breathe the air in deeply, to listen to the cicadas buzzing and the birds warbling against the peaceful sound of the mountain stream that flowed down alongside the foot-path. To experience all of this at my own pace, among the greys and blues and intense greens of the ravines. And, yes, to take pictures of it all for you, gentle reader. Though you may be reading this on the other side of the world from Wu Yi Shan, I want you to see it through my eyes. To get the fullest effect of the moment, you will need, not a cup of tea, but a cupped handful of the clearest, coolest mountain spring water. I took one such from the stream, and it was pure and sweet. Perfect, one might say, to use for brewing tea.

Here and there along the path up the mountain one can see, on the vertical rock faces, large hanzi beautifully inscribed. These are painted in, not with gold like the Buddha's 'Fo,' but in red paint which is carefully restored each year by calligraphic experts specially chosen for the task. These inscriptions relate to the very specific experience of drinking yan cha. One, for example, says 韻巖 [yan yun] -- a thoroughly untranslatable half-rhyme that itself speaks of the 'rhyme' [yun] or long, complex aftertaste of a good yan cha. Another one, equally, idiomatic, reads 晚甘侯  [wan gan hou], where wan means 'late,' gan means 'sweet[ness],' and hou, 'marquis,' stands for things fine or noble. Essentially, this phrase refers to the gradual sweetness that occurs as one brews successive infusions of a high-quality DHP. (The aptness of these inscriptions is brought home to you, as you walk up the path, by the rows of carefully-tended tea bushes -- Rou Gui, Fo Shou, Da Hong Pao, and even a few Bai Ji Guan -- planted here and there. All this outpouring of wild natural beauty is carefully nudged toward a focus on the cultivation and enjoyment of yan cha.

The path wound up the mountain in twists and curves, sometimes crossing over the stream, sometimes going up steps carved into the living rock. Eventually we came to a stone gate which led us into a small canyon planted with Da Hong Pao bushes. Here we passed a very old pavilion, built into the side of the yan and labeled 茶方 [cha fang 'tea spot'] and an old set of bee-hives in another small covered wooden structure.

And then we saw them. The bushes. They looked just as I had thought they would, from countless photographs, except that I had not realized just how inaccessible they are. One actually needs to climb a ladder in order to reach them. It is clear that they are very carefully tended, though apparently they do not need to be watered by hand, as the porous stone of the yan itself provides constant moistening (and minerals) to the soil in which they grow.

There they were, the pride of Fujian, just growing and being bushes. There was no fanfare of cymbals, no offerings of incense, certainly no silken cloaks, scarlet or otherwise. But there was no sense of anti-climax to our arrival, either: rather, a sense that these historic and irreplaceable bushes are being quietly cherished and protected in the safety of this natural cradle where they were born.

There is a platform, with stairs down and further up the mountain, from which one can view and photograph the bushes from a variety of angles. We surveyed the whole little canyon from there for a while, and then retired to a cha fang on the opposite side, facing the mother bushes (not the old one, which is on the same side as the bushes and the beehives). Here, naturally, they served Da Hong Pao and other yan cha -- and by 'served' I mean that one of their staff would brew and serve it to the customers. So we sat down on benches at a table from which we could look at the mother bushes, while we drank excellent tea and talked about the whole experience. As is common with such performances, there was a detailed commentary from the young woman serving the tea, culminating with an offer to sell us some. Sometimes these sales pitches can involve quite a bit of pressure; this one included a pledge that theirs was the very highest-quality Da Hong Pao on offer anywhere, at a 'fair price' that would prove to be lower than anywhere else for this particular tea. ('Anywhere else,' in this particular context, of course meant 'down in Wu Yi town,' i.e. 'when you've gone all the way down the mountain': in other words, Last Chance To Buy This Tea. A clever ploy.)

I have already said that the tea was quite good. But it seemed to me that Ms Cai's had been at least as good, and had cost less than this asking price. What to do? Warren warned that prices in such places are always -- always -- inflated, and that we could surely do better elsewhere. But look, pointed out the young woman, The box has the company's seal on it. And we represent that company here (first mention of that detail!), so we would not try to cheat you .... What to do, what to do? What snapped me out of my reverie was when she brought over yet another canister of tea -- this one made of silver-colored metal, heavily engraved and housed in a velvet-lined boxwood case. The cost was obscene. Two-thirds of it, as Warren correctly observed, was for the packaging. Moreover, it was all sealed up, so there was no tasting the actual tea inside it before making the purchase. I decided to wait and see what awaited us down in town.

Casting a final, farewell look at the mother bushes, we began our descent from the canyon. As we walked, a fine mist of rain fell on us briefly. One can see, in a very short period of time, why this is such a lush growing environment for green plants. The brook flowing down along the path was clear as glass, so we could see the fish swimming alongside us; again the soft sounds of birds and cicadas and burbling water combined to provide a gentle background music to our walk. The carved inscriptions and the small stands of tea-plants looked different, somehow, on this side of our experience in the high narrow canyon of the mother-bushes. It felt like an initiation.

By the time we reached the parking-area, all the sedan-chairs and their porters were gone. Evening was falling: time for supper. Could Mr Zhou help us find a restaurant that specializes in the particular delicacies of the Wu Yi region? Indeed he could. In short order he took us to the 農山莊 (Nong Shan Zhuang, 'Farmer's Villa,' TEL 0599.5234117), a huge inn that looked to have been fairly recently built. We were seated, in our own private dining-room, at a large round table that would easily have accommodated eight or ten people. The menu arrived, and the list of plates was not only long, but exotic. As we were to see in a number of other establishments, they offered bear-meat; in addition to this, there were several that raised my eyebrows still further: leopard (a euphemism for 'cat-meat'?) and jackal (dog?). Nikky teased me with the prospect of an Eight-Snake Soup, but in the event we opted for somewhat less exotic fare. Still, much of it was wild, and all of it was extremely fresh. Stir-fried Wild Boar, Steamed Wild Greens, Stir-fried Wild Mushrooms, Scallion Pancakes, and Bamboo Chicken Soup with ye hong gu Mushrooms (the 'bamboo' here referring to the chicken's having lived in a bamboo grove -- not in a bamboo cage). The stir-fried mushrooms alone would have been worth the trip, but everything was quite delicious. (The one exception, ironically, was the tea, which was so watery and non-descript that neither Warren nor I could even identify the type.) The total cost, once again, provoked Nikky's stern disapproval; it was roughly comparable to that of a Chinese restaurant in the US, and so I suffered no sticker shock, but Nikky felt the price was so exorbitant that she sat with the bill and carefully checked their arithmetic before approving it.

By now we were all more or less spherical in shape, having eaten enough for several dinners each. But the evening was far from over. Mr Zhou offered to take us to see how members of his own family produced Da Hong Pao tea. This was the first I had heard about his family's involvement in the tea business, but in a region that is so heavily invested in tea, such news should never be surprising.

We got back in the car and drove to a quiet residential part of town, where we were led through a garage-like area -- which had an open well of water in it -- to a cluster of very plain rooms, walled and floored in cement. Here we met Ms Yu Li Ping, whose card bears the logo of 天子神韵 (Tian Zi Shen Yun, 'Son of Heaven [= Emperor = Imperial] Divine Yun'), where yun looks once more to be the 'rhyming' notion of complex, lingering aftertaste associated particularly with yan cha. Ms Yu, a demure and charming young woman whose family has been making Da Hong Pao for four generations, led us through rooms where we were able to view the equipment and process they use for oxidizing, pan-frying, rolling, and baking the tea. The latter is perhaps the most delicate step in the process, and in Ms Yu's house it happens in a room all its own. In contrast to the other rooms, which have modern electrical equipment, this room had nothing in it (apart from the cement itself) that could not have come from three hundred years ago. When we walked in, the temperature was almost like that of a sauna. Along one wall were several circular pits, built of bricks and cemented directly into the floor, in each of which -- covered by a fine grey ash -- slowly burned the embers of a coal fire. Over each pit was a basket full of Da Hong Pao. The smell in this room, maybe 20 x 20 feet in size, was absolutely intoxicating: that unmistakable aroma of Da Hong Pao, but especially lively and fresh. My immediate thought was: I could sit all day just breathing this air.

This particular tea is made only once a year, explained Ms Yu, so what we were seeing was actually the re-baking of tea from previous years. She picked up a basket to show us how, in the fire-pits, the embers were kept covered with the ash, so as to prevent their burning too hot. She stirred the leaf in the basket, causing a fresh gust of tea aroma to waft into the air. Holding up a basket of some of their 2005 harvest, she asked: Would we like to taste some of this brewed? You bet we would. She scooped a couple of handsful into a metal tray and took it with her into another room, on the same level of the house, in which were several chairs and stools grouped around the type of elaborately-carved wooden tables favored by vendors in China. Here we sat down and watched her brew the tea, gongfu-style, decanting from a gaiwan into a serving pitcher. Each of us received a tiny tasting-cup of the liquid. We slurped it back, aerating it well so as to maximize the flavor. The wan gan hou began to spread across the palate and down the throat.

Almost immediately I had the thought, 'I am so glad I did not buy that tea up in the canyon earlier.' This tea was markedly superior to what we had been served that afternoon: fresher, more complex, and with a longer finish. The yan cha saying that Ms Yu had quoted to us, 頰齿留香 ('cheeks, teeth keep fragrance'), really came home as I drank cup after tiny cup of this tea. The aftertaste was tenacious, and well-being spread with every sip. As we drank, Ms Yu showed us photos of the family farm where this tea was grown: this was zheng yan cha, she emphasized -- 'real' or 'authentic' yan cha, i.e. actually grown within the central growing region of Wu Yi Shan. From the photos it was evident that the family's land holdings were not enormous.

Ms Yu's tiny daughter, perhaps three years old, ran into the room, hurled herself into her mother's arms, chattered away in Chinese, and then set about brewing an infusion of the tea herself. I marveled as she expertly manipulated the gaiwan (her mother handling the kettle of hot water), poured the tea into the sharing pitcher, and then poured out several cups of the tea, including one for herself. Ms Yu asked her if she knew what this tea was: 'Da Hong Pao!' said the little girl with emphasis, and everyone laughed. She watched me with huge dark eyes, then ran out of the room, returning with a tiny packet of fisted wu long cha. 'Tie Guan Yin,' she announced with a smile, and pressed it into my hand. Could I have been any more charmed? And: is this the fifth generation of the same family's tea work, getting an early start?

Then Ms Yu asked, 'Now, how about tasting some thirteen-year-old Da Hong Pao?' It took very little convincing to get us to assent to this. Of course we knew that what lay behind this display of tea, tea-manufacturing, and tea-brewing was the hope of an eventual sale; but I had put off some buying earlier for the hope of a better tea, so what if this turned out to be it? Bring it on.

The leaf was (if anything) blacker than the dry leaf of the 2005. Its color caused Ms Yu to comment on the name of the type of tea: wu long, 'black dragon' (she parsed the 'dragon' part as a reference to the long serpentine shape of each leaf). The average 2005 leaf was visibly longer than the average 1994 leaf; Ms Yu herself pointed this out, as a guarantor of the greater age of the latter (it is the repeated handling, she said, that tends to cause a bit of breakage at the delicate tips). I wondered silently how this might affect the flavor of the infusion. But I also knew that I was about to find out.

Ms Yu set about brewing the 1994 tea in just the same way as the 2005: gongfu style, with plenty of leaf in the gaiwan, and surprisingly short infusions. As before (and as universally done in Fujian, it seems), she wet the leaf for a brief rinse, which was instantly discarded, but then also discarded the first infusion. The second infusion was poured into a sharing pitcher and then shared round amongst the five of us (Mr Zhou, Nikky, Warren, myself, and Ms Yu).

Talk about a complex flavor experience! This tea was nothing less than extraordinary, and absolutely required the passage of time for the full unfurling of its flavor spectrum. By 'time' I mean several seconds for the first phase of tastes and aftertastes; and perhaps another half-hour for the full 'yun' or echo of the actual tasting process. A remarkable part of the first phase came at about the second or third second after ingestion -- a sensation that I can only describe as a kind of 'flush' up into my sinus cavities, and (or so it seemed) even further into my head. To the extent that I experience cha qi from powerful teas, I tend to experience them in the belly and chest: a Hindu might say, in the third and fourth chakras. But this tea went straight to the fifth, and from there to the sixth. It would be interesting to have a long gongfu session, drinking many infusions of it and concentrating silently on the experience, to see whether one could take it higher -- and what would then ensue ...)

Frankly, I had been prepared to be a bit underwhelmed by this tea, and to have to find a way to be complimentary about it without losing integrity. In the event, I had only to try and describe exactly what was actually happening to me. Ms Yu glowed with pride and appreciation. After several rounds of the tea, I did not wait any longer to ask how much it would cost for these teas. They were considerably better value than what I was offered at the cha fang up in the canyon: as I realized this, I silently thanked Warren for his prophetic warning. Not that I could afford to buy much of either one! But I did not want to leave China without at least a taste of each of these teas. And when I go back to Wu Yi Shan, I will do my level best to get some more.

Ms Yu measured out my required amounts out of the trays she had brought -- right before my eyes; no bait-and-switch shenanigans here -- and had an assistant shrink-wrap the packets immediately. She gave us her contact information (tel 0599.520.2613), then we shook hands all round, and had Mr Zhou drive us back to our hotel for some much-needed rest. One of the fuller days in recent memory.

-- corax

[to be continued]

In the Land of the Black Dragon: A Voyage to Fujian [i]

It is impossible (though this may soon change) to travel directly between Taiwan and the People's Republic of China [PRC]; currently one must use Hong Kong as a gateway. But in order to enter the PRC, Americans must arrange for a visa, regardless of whether they will be arriving directly from the USA or via another location. (This was not necessary for my short visit to Taiwan itself; nor for Hong Kong.) Moreover, the PRC visa -- which is obtained in the USA at the Chinese Consulate -- must be affixed to a passport that is not set to expire within six months of one's arrival in the PRC and 'has blank pages' [sic]. Visa arrangements take time and money. Do not assume that the Consulate will accept a credit card or personal cheque, and -- if you pay cash -- do not assume that they will mail your passport back to you when the visa has been prepared. (I had to make an extra trip to Chicago to retrieve mine.)

Happily, all my papers were in order long before my departure to Taiwan, so when it became possible to visit my tea friend Warren Peltier, who lives and works in Fujian, I jumped at the chance. (You may remember that Warren was cyber-interviewed for this blog last December.) Warren writes online as 'Niisonge', and has long been one of my 'go-to' guys for things tea. If I were assembling a Faculty of Tea, Warren would come in at the rank of tenured professor.

To travel from Taipei to Fuzhou via Hong Kong, I had to arrange a connection between Cathay Pacific and China Eastern Airlines. All of this passed smoothly, and I arrived in the evening in Fuzhou. After a lengthy bus-ride of their own, Warren and his girlfriend Jing-Xia, whose English name is Nikky, met me at the airport. I could not have asked for more solicitous or helpful traveling companions. They anticipated and provided for my every need, both small and great, showered me with tea gifts, and helped me make arrangements for travel and lodging within the PRC that would otherwise have been difficult or impossible for me to make.

We went from the airport to our hotel in the center of Fuzhou -- the Jinhui Hotel (address: 492 Hualin Road, Fuzhou, Fujian; telephone: 0591.8759.9999; email fzjh@hoteljh.com; cash or credit cards only). Stopping only to drop off our bags, we hit the ground running: we headed straight for the Fuzhou wholesale tea market. Set up in row upon row of storefronts, in the Wu Li Ting area of town, the market is open until about 9.00 pm. Each store has its own stock (and presumably each wholesaler has developed h/er own relationship with tea farmer[s] -- very possibly relatives of theirs -- who supply them with leaf to sell). Some shops (店 dian) focus principally on the sale of leaf (茶叶 cha ye), while others concentrate on tea-ware (茶具 cha ju). Many have both. Not surprisingly, the cha ye dian of Fuzhou primarily furnish the product of Fujian province -- which is to say, oolongs (south Fujian specializing in Tie Guan Yin [TGY] of various ilk, and north Fujian in 岩茶 yan cha -- 'cliff' or 'rock' tea such as Da Hong Pao [DHP] or Bai Ji Guan [BJG]. The other tea that I saw stocked in considerable quantity in these shops was pu'er. This probably ought not to be surprising, considering the current China-wide craze for this tea (see Lew Perin's recent Yunnan travelogue, which has much to say on the topic). But its essentially foreign provenance was evident when we asked one vendor about her stock. She solemnly informed us that shu pu'er was much more valuable than sheng pu'er. (Her prices were quite high as well.) One would like to chalk all of this up to very youthful inexperience.

We spent the evening poking into a number of shops; relying (as one tends to do) on a combination of sensory input and intuition, we decided to do a little buying in one particular shop: Pin Xian Tea Calling. By the time we arrived, the person minding the store, Ms Cai, was getting ready to close, but she happily stayed open and showed us her fairly extensive stock of tea-ware. Much of it was not from Jing De Zhen, which is probably the town that produces the largest volume of porcelain in the PRC, but from De Hua. Ms Cai proudly advised us that De Hua porcelain is actually better than Jing De porcelain -- 'the best in China' -- and indeed the De Hua pieces she had on offer were visibly finer than the others.

We browsed and selected a few pieces, and then came the inevitable next question: Would you like some tea? We had just sat through some unimpressive rounds at other shops, so we begged off -- or tried to do so. Ms Cai was having none of that. Nor was she proffering any of the TGY that is so common in the commercial storage-freezers of Fuzhou: no, she had some really excellent DHP, from up in Wu Yi, that we really must try.

We did not let on that we were headed precisely to Wu Yi Shan on the morrow: Ms Cai was so proud of her wares that this would have deflated her. And as even lower-grade DHP is something of a prestige tea, to be offered this in a shop is a token of some esteem. (It is also, of course, a sales-gambit -- it means that the vendor infers that you can afford to buy a prestige tea and are likely to do so.) By this point I was already a bit jaded by the constant refrain of 'try this tea!,' and as I was already buying a creamy-white De Hua sharing pitcher, I did not feel undue pressure also to buy tea.

But the tea was good. Better than anything else we had yet sampled that evening. After a bit, Ms Cai stepped aside and let Nikky take over the brewing. This came as a bit of a surprise to me, since Nikky had protested several times that she 'doesn't like tea!' (and didn't really want to spend the whole evening just tea-shopping). But Nikky, as I was to discover again and again over the course of the next couple of days, is full of surprises. She asked for fresh hot water, briskly washed the tasting cups, expertly arranged the equipage before her at the wooden serving table, and began brewing. Under Nikky's agile fingers, this Da Hong Pao began to release nuances we had not yet tasted.

Ms Cai's price was unexpectedly low for a tea of such quality. So I bought a small amount (not much, as I was heading to the very source the next day). We parted on very happy terms, and I recommend Ms Cai and her establishment to you, if you should find yourself in Fuzhou (tel 8367.6660). My sense is that Pin Xian Tea is a sizeable company, and Ms Cai's business card includes their web address (http://www.pxtea.com/), but the shop is a small and modest one, of a piece with her prices.

From the tea market we took a cab to a tea house (茶馆 cha guan) where, as is the fashion in Fujian, you can arrange for a comely young lass in a silk cheongsam to brew you some oolong(s) in a room of your choosing. The settings vary across a spectrum -- some furnished with lacquered (high) table and chairs, others lower to the ground and with a more Japanese feel. This place was fairly bustling, even though it was almost 11.00 pm by this time, so the selection was limited. Warren had brought some tea along with him, and wanted to do the brewing himself. The hostess, who was all set to assign us to one of her girls, balked at this initially, but eventually allowed it. So we settled down for a few rounds of gongfu cha.

It was not long, though, before my eyelids began drooping (never mind the caffeine), so eventually we headed back to the hotel. It would be an early morning, I knew, and a long train-ride to Wu Yi Shan; Warren and Nikky had wisely chosen us a hotel directly across the street from the railway station. After a brief chat about books, I fell (as they say) into the arms of Morpheus.

-- corax

[to be continued]

TREASURE ISLAND: A Voyage to Taiwan [v]

A Taiwan Tea Miscellany
Before we leave Taiwan, gentle reader, let me tell you about a few other things I learned about Treasure Island ... and as you read, bear in mind that (as in all CHA DAO posts) you can click on any of the graphic images and get a larger version of it.

Shann Garden

Shann Garden is a place to which I will definitely return when next I go to Taiwan. ('Shann' here is an idiosyncratic romanization for 禪, i.e. 'Chan,' the Chinese word for 'meditation' from which the Japanese term 'Zen' is taken.) Our group of academic symposiasts was taken there for dinner, after a long day of travel. The place is a small complex of buildings, nestled into the side of a hill, so one must walk down a fairly steep set of stairs to the restaurant area; one is actually looking down on the rooftops of the lower buildings as one descends.

In the restaurant, a fairly huge buffet is on offer. There is also a Mongolian Barbecue option, in which one assembles a bowlful of raw ingredients and hands them to a wokmeister, who flash-grills them at temperatures around 700°F. The food was just fine -- not world-class perhaps, but quite delicious, and the breadth of variety was really impressive. I was happy to see that in addition to some of the gaudiest platters, there were traditional Taiwan dishes on offer as well -- 魯肉飯 lu rou fan, for example, and that delicious, refreshing frozen dessert that one assembles oneself from shaved ice and fruit preserves: 欻冰 chua bing. (Again, it's a measure of the relentless heat of Taiwan that I craved this more than almost anthing else at the buffet.)

But it's actually not the restaurant at all that I most want to tell you about: it's the cha fang that one encounters as one begins to walk down the steps. It gave me a little pang to have to walk past it; there was really no proper way to excuse oneself from the dinner group, and go for tea instead! But I confess that I did sneak out briefly, somewhere between the seventh and twelfth courses, to go back up and take a few pictures of the cha fang. By this time the twilight was almost gone; this was the very moment at which I took the photograph that you will see at the head of this post. Whatever slight shimmer of beauty I managed to capture in that image is, believe me, only the dimmest reflection of the sublime reality I myself saw, as I stood there alone on the steps.

Shann Garden is a place with a remarkable and intricate history. The Japanese architectural idiom spoken by these buildings gives some indication of their construction during the period when Taiwan was occupied by the Japanese. Originally -- or as far back as I can trace its lineage -- this complex was the site of the Shin Gao Hotel; the spot was chosen because of the hot springs and fumaroles nearby. In the 1920s, it was made into a Japanese Officers' Club (evidence enough, right there, of the sumptuous beauty of the place). During World War II -- here's a detail to give one a bit of a frisson as one takes in the luxurious surroundings -- it was turned into a resort or spa for kamikaze pilots on their way to die, a pleasure garden where they could find some beauty and enjoyment on the last night of their lives.

After World War II, this was the spot where Zhang Xueliang (張學良), the 'Young Marshal' who died in 2001 at the age of 100, was held prisoner for several decades. Back in 1936, Zhang had been responsible for the notorious Xi'an Incident (西安事變) in which Chiang Kai-Shek was kidnapped and coerced into forming a 'Second United Front' with the Communist Chinese against the Japanese. After Chiang's release, Zhang was tried, convicted, and sentenced to ten years in prison; but Chiang intervened on Zhang's behalf (perhaps because of Zhang's earlier history of support for Chiang's Guo Min Dang regime during the late 1920s), and had the sentence commuted to house arrest. Zhang remained at what is now Shann Garden from 1949 until his eventual release in 1990. The complex was subsequently made into what it is today.

But one need not know any of these historical details to be struck by the beauty of the locale, or of the tea house there. When I peeked in briefly to take a few pictures, the place was almost empty; the two women overseeing it gave me a warm welcome and invited me in. The cha fang is constructed on a very open plan, though divided into several parts; there is seating in the Japanese style, of course, as befits the nature of the house, but one can also sit on chairs at higher tables. The woodwork, rich and dark in hue, is obviously both very old and very well cared-for; the patina of age one perceives here is not something that could easily be fabricated. There is a fireplace (though not, of course, in use at this time of year!), and a small room partitioned off to one side, for more secluded meetings.

I wish i could tell you something about the actual experience of drinking tea in this cha fang; but such was not to be my lot on this particular journey. Nonetheless it was a rare and precious experience to be able to spend some time wandering about this magical place. I hope to do so again sometime. If I am there during the daylight hours, I will be able to see, off in the distance, the famous ridges of Guan Yin Shan (觀音山), the jagged set of peaks that is said to look like the profile of Guan Yin, the 'Bodhisattva of Compassion' so beloved of buddhists (and known in Sanskrit as Avalokitesvara, literally the 'Lord who surveys' the suffering of the world). Guan Yin is said to have been a buddhist nun who actually attained enlightenment, but voluntarily renounced nirvana in order to remain in this world and help all suffering beings.

It is extremely common for buddhist temples to enshrine statues of Guan Yin as well as of the Buddha himself. East Asian depictions of Guan Yin typically show her with her hair coiffed high and draped with a veil. This is what one sees, in profile, in the ridges of Guan Yin Shan. Local legend in Taipei has it that if, while gazing at the mountain, one makes a wish, and sees Guan Yin smile, one's wish will come true. I can think of no better or more auspicious place to give this a try than from beautiful slopes of Shann Garden.

Taipei Story House

Not at all far from the campus of Tatung University, one can find the Taipei Story House, which I suppose could in a sense be called a 'tea house.' It is definitely part of the history of Taiwan tea. One of the placards inside the house reads as follows:

In 1914, Mr Chen Chao-chun, a tea merchant in the Tataocheng area of Taipei commissioned the building of an English Tudor style house on the bank of the Keelung River in the Yuanshan district, where he entertained members of the local gentry, political figures and tea merchants from around the world. The building has been reworked on numerous occasions and shortly after World War II was the residence of former Legislative Yuan President Huang Kuo-shu. In 1990, Taipei Fine Arts Museum used the structure as an Artists' Activity Center. In 1998, it was designated as a heritage site by the Taipei City Government.

The original architectural design was a half-wooden structure and English Tudor in style. The first floor is made of brick and serves as a load bearing wall, the second floor has a wooden framework and the outside walls are decorated in a branch pattern. The roof is covered with copper tiles, whereas the attic above the entrance is decorated with green, yellow and red glass.

Certainly the house is a picturesque Tudor-style confection, from the outside, though its interior decoration -- not surprisingly for the period in which it was built -- is part Art Nouveau, part Arts and Crafts. What is surprising is how small it feels inside. And though perfectly restored, and in superb condition, it does not feel as though it ever functioned as a home. In fact if I recall correctly, Mr Chen and his family did not actually live here; rather he used it (as cited above) for the entertainment of guests -- and of prospective clients in the tea-export industry. To the extent that these were from Great Britain, the very English flavor of the place would serve to make them feel a bit more at home, even here in the Far East. In those days, it would have been an elegant riverside retreat, not unlike the comfortable country-houses one finds in the south of England along the Thames. Today, finding it ringed about by highways, one is a bit harder-put to imagine the grace and ease of that vanished era.

As for 'tea house' in the more ordinary sense of the term, I should note as well that nowadays one can indeed enjoy a cup of Taiwan tea here -- under the red-and-white striped awning of the Taipei Story Tea House, which was recently constructed adjacent to the historic building. From the upper story (so to speak) of Mr Chen's house, one can look down at this modern building and its open-air tables.

[to be continued ... across the Taiwan Strait]

TREASURE ISLAND: A Voyage to Taiwan [iv]

As I have said, there would be no end of the telling if I attempted anything like a comprehensive travelogue for my trip to Asia. I shall spare you that, gentle reader, recounting instead in this post several individual experiences that occurred on different days.

Lu Yu Tea Culture Institute

Before heading to Taiwan, I had contacted Steven R. Jones (瓊斯史迪芬), who writes online as Sherdwen. Steven is a Tea Master at the Lu Yu Tea Culture Institute (tel 02.2331.6636, ext 9). Steven, an affable American expat, has embraced Asian tea culture with an enthusiasm that I surmise he invests in all his projects. When I let him know that I would be in Taiwan, and was interested in learning more about the work of the Institute, he issued me a very warm welcome and arranged to show me about the place. I took a taxi one afternoon, when I had a three-hour chink in my long daily schedule, to the address Steven had given me (3F, no. 64, Heng-Yang Road), and -- to my surprise -- found myself at the doors of TEN REN. Imagine a department store five stories high, all devoted to tea, tea-ware, and tea culture in general: this is the Taipei Ten Ren. The first floor is Ten Ren proper; the second floor houses 'Cha for Tea,' intended to provide a livelier, hipper 'tea bar' atmosphere (targeting a younger market?). The third floor is for the Lu Yu Institute. The fourth floor houses the Ten Ren Teaism Foundation and some offices (on which see below). On the fifth floor is a large meeting-hall for conferences, performances, and stockholder meetings.

Of course I didn't know any of that when I first arrived. The personnel on the ground floor sent me to the third floor, via elevator. Here I found the capacious quarters of the Lu Yu Tea Culture Institute (陸羽茶藝中心).

The Institute was founded in 1980 in Taipei, with an emphasis on education in various aspects of cha dao, not excluding innovation in the design and production of tea-ware. As well as in Taiwan, it has established branches on the mainland of China -- in Beijing, Shanghai, and Chengdu -- and plans are also being laid to open a branch in or near Los Angeles, California.

The day on which I arrived was a special one for the Institute, in that examinations were being administered -- the 陸羽泡茶師檢定辦法 (Lu Yu Tea Master examination). The examination is quite rigorous; it includes both a skills test and a written test. In the written portion, for which a grade of 70% or better is considered passing, one must demonstrate a comprehensive knowledge of teas, tea-ware, and tea lore. In the skills test, which has a nerve-wracking twelve parts, one must demonstrate to the examination board one's ability to brew a variety of teas, in small and large quantity; to identify 'made' teas by color, aroma, and flavor; and to use various kinds of tea-ware as supplied by the examiners. Upon successful completion of the entire examination, the candidate is certified by the Institute as a Tea Master.

As I toured the Institute, students were being put through their paces in the skills test. When I passed through the examination area, one of the candidates stopped what she was doing to exclaim, 'I saw you on television last night!' This came as something of a surprise to me, although it is not entirely impossible that our delegation had been filmed for the nightly news.

Steven is a very busy man at Lu Yu. And in addition to his work as a Tea Master, he is (among other things) Leader of the Ten Ren Teaism Foundation's Herin Tea Troupe; a Tea Instructor for the International Wu-Wo Tea Ceremony Association; and a writer/translator for the Lu Yu Institute's Tea Culture Monthly. I was grateful that he was able to carve out some time for me amid what was clearly a taxing schedule. While he was doing so, I had some time to browse the shelves of books and tea-ware that were for sale. I found some wonderful things, including a Chinese-language edition of Lu Yu's Cha Jing that was bound together with the (Qing-era) Continuation of the Cha Jing.

Eventually Steven was able to to sit down, take a deep breath, and brew some tea. We had a good long chat, covering many topics. Steven told me about his 2005 visit to Wu Yi Shan, on the mainland, and how at that time he came to devise the proverb 茶是我们的桥梁 -- 'Tea Is Our Bridge.' This is a topic that matters a great deal to me: the healing and communicative powers of sharing tea. Certainly tea and cha dao cover some of the profoundest areas of common interest between Taiwan and the mainland of China.

Steven showed me around the building, explaining a bit about the Ten Ren empire and its history. I was able to shake hands with Professor Tsai Rong-Tsang, the founder and General Manager of the Lu Yu Institute. Tsai is Professor and Chairman of the Tea Arts Department at Ten Fu Tea College, and Secretary-General of Ten Ren Teaism Foundation. A prolific publisher, Tsai has been editing Tea Culture Monthly since the 1980s, and has authored several books. When we reached the fourth floor, I saw a hive of workers, busy at the work of the company. This floor also includes the offices of Lee Rie-Ho, the man who founded the company in 1953 and has chaired it since its inception. (Lee went on to establish the Ten Fu Group in 1993, as a way of bringing Taiwanese tea expertise back to the Chinese mainland. Ten Fu now has over 650 retails stores across China.)

Steven sent me on my way with good cheer and warm wishes. Equally warmly, I commend his blog, TEA ARTS, to you, and the good educational work he is doing in the world of cha dao in Taiwan.

Sun Moon Lake

Toward the end of our stay in Taiwan, our American contingent was chaperoned across the northern half of the island to visit various scenic destinations. Most of these had nothing to do with tea, but I do want to mention our trip to Puli, in Nantou county, where we made a brief visit to Sun Moon Lake (日月潭), the largest lake in Taiwan. Here, on one of the high slopes overlooking the lake, we were able to see the tomb/shrine of Xuanzang (referred-to by some speakers of Chinese as Tang Sanzang), the man credited with bringing Buddhism from India to China. I was told -- I do not know with what accuracy -- that Xuanzang's remains were brought to Puli by Chiang Kai-Shek from the mainland of China; and that the shrine also houses a relic of the body of Gautama Buddha himself. If the latter is so, this site ought to rank as one of the most sacred spots in the buddhist world. In any case, it's probably no coincidence that the gigantic Chung Tai Chan monastery (中台禪寺), whose impossibly vast postmodern buildings were completed (at a reported cost of $110 million) in 2001, is just a short drive away. By the happiest of coincidences, I was able to visit the monastery on Buddha's birthday, so I found the denizens in an especially festive mood. There were flowers everywhere. Before the giant stone statue of the Buddha they had also set out for the occasion, in the middle of a huge basin of water, a golden statue of the baby Buddha; the faithful would approach, leave their offerings of flowers, and reverently pour water over the statue's head, using one of the huge golden ladles on the table.

The lake town of Puli is charming and tidy, clearly focused on tourism. As in Taipei, its streets were well-furnished with tea shops. Puli, being in Nantou county, is thus geographically nearer to the gao shan (high-mountain) growing areas, as well as quite close to the mid-height growing areas such as Lugu; it would be interesting to see whether the merchandise on offer reflected that. (For this to be true at the north end of the island, one would expect a heavy preponderance of Wen Shan bao zhong in the shops -- which was not in fact the case in Taipei City; every kind of Taiwan tea was sold in abundance there. But perhaps Taipei, as capital city, is off-scale.)

Down by the lake, I was interested to see a short, stocky tea bush labeled as being over 100 years old:


It is not, however, C. sinensis sinensis; its placard proclaimed, rather, that it is of the assamica cultivar. That, of course, is the cultivar one finds in Assam (India), as well as in Yunnan province of China (pu'er tea and the wonderful golden dian hong are both assamica teas). But this lone bush silently propounded a mystery to me, and I wanted to know more. Who was it that brought it to Taiwan, so long ago? and who had the idea of planting it right here by the lake? Perhaps this was once someone's back yard, rather than the commercial area it is today ....

I was also quite struck to see, housed in one and the same building, both a Ten Ren store and a Starbucks:


There can be no doubt that this is a sign of the times; but is it more than that? an omen of things to come? Nobody wants to deny folks (Asians or others) their coffee; but it's a bit hard not to wonder whether 'coffee culture' might not eventually choke out cha dao here, if only because everyone is in such a hurry nowadays. Haste is an infectious disease. Tea takes time; it's supposed to take a bit of time, of course, and it can consume a whole morning or a whole afternoon if one will let it. Its connection with the meditative arts goes back to the Tang Dynasty at least. Coffee, on the other hand, is brewed and sold (in the US and in American-style coffee shops such as Starbucks) for people on the go; I have heard more than one coffee-drinker refer to it as a 'caffeine-delivery system.' This in itself is enough to explain the ever-burgeoning popularity of Starbucks.

Of course a Starbucks aficionado would assert that every Starbucks purveys a selection of teas as well as coffee; and moreover that Starbucks strives to create a relaxed environment in their shops, where people can lounge and linger, reading the newspaper or working (wi-fi) on their laptops. All of this is true. But -- Starbucks and other purveyors aside -- I confess to some worry about the impact that coffee's growing popularity in Asia could have on the traditional primacy of tea. I actually spent some time asking younger Taiwanese what they think about tea; their answers were mixed. Some of them professed to have no interest in it at all; I got the sense that to them, cha dao was something quaint and antique and a bit mystifying. Others of that generation, meanwhile, are interested in it and still do drink it on a regular basis.

On the whole, my impression is that Taiwan's cha dao, while subject to constant challenges from modern (especially occidental) culture, is hardly moribund. Certainly Taipei is thick with cha ye dian and cha fang, so -- there at least -- people are buying and drinking plenty of tea (and it stands to reason that that is even more the case as one moves farther away from urban environments). It will be another generation or two before anything more definitive can be said about this. But the Taiwanese are themselves already sensitive to the issue: it was during the presidency of Lee Teng Hui (李登輝) that a national task force was established for the founding of a tea museum, specifically in order to help stem the tide of coffee and soft-drinks in Taiwanese culture. Sufficient funding was eventually raised to underwrite the opening of such a museum, in the small township of Pinglin. Naturally this was a site I had to visit.

Pinglin Tea Museum

On a bright May morning, my new friend Huang Chi-Fang picked me up at my hotel. Together we drove down the new highway, Route 5, from Taipei city to Pinglin. As we drove and conversed, I learned how it was that Chi-Fang has come to speak such excellent English: for many years now he has belonged to the local chapter of Toastmasters, whose members meet regularly to foster 'the arts of speaking, listening, and thinking.' Chi-Fang has certainly put this experience to the best possible use.

Along the way to Pinglin, one can see small tea-farms flourishing in the hills. This is not gao shan or 'high-mountain' tea; for that, one must go further south, toward the center of the island, to places like Li Shan or Ali Shan. Moreover, these plantations are not large; they are surely worked and tended by individual families whose lives are closely tied to the soil (about 80% of the Pinglin population of 6,000 are farmers). Most of them are descended from farmers who migrated here from Anxi, a county in Fujian province. As Fujian is the birthplace of wulong cha, that genealogy goes a long way toward explaining the dominance of oolongs in Taiwan.

Driving into town, it's hard to miss the Pinglin Tea Trade Museum (坪林茶業博物館), touted by some as 'the largest tea museum in the world.' From the ridge where it sits, at the head of its imposing stair, the front of the building looks out over the Bei Shi River, which flows through the town.

Although the museum is said to have had as many as 5,000 visitors a day, we had the place practically to ourselves on this particular morning. It was early enough that the heat was not (yet) oppressive when we arrived. From the front door one walks into a central courtyard onto which there are several openings, including the door to a cha ye dian -- a shop where one can purchase cha ye (tea leaf) to take home. This is a somewhat different concept from the cha guan -- or, as it's more commonly called in Taiwan, the cha fang -- the 'tea house' where one goes to sit and drink tea that is brewed there; nonetheless, any cha ye dian worth its tea will have some sort of table or counter where one of the personnel will brew the teas they sell so that you can taste them. This one was no exception, as we found out; but first, let me tell you about the museum exhibits themselves.

I was not quite sure what to expect in such a museum, but I was pleasantly surprised by what we found there: a thoughtfully-conceived, carefully-laid-out set of displays and dioramas that together constitute a mini-education in the cultivation, processing, history, and enjoyment of tea. Naturally enough, there is a noticeable emphasis on oolongs and their production, but one can find out here about other types of tea as well. There are enough quantitative data to satisfy the hard scientist, and enough visuals to keep the interest even of younger visitors. One of the most whimsical was an imaginative diorama depicting Lu Yu, the Tang-Dynasty 'Sage of Tea,' in the very act of composing his famous Cha Jing. Others showed modern (mechanical) as well as traditional equipment used for processing oolong teas. If anything was conspicuously absent, it was dishes full of actual tea leaves. This cannot have been accidental; perhaps they did not want to risk having tea samples get stale or dusty -- which would have been fatally anti-aesthetic and unappetizing.

We spent the better part of an hour browsing through the museum displays, and then it was time to see what the cha ye dian had to offer. As we approached, its double glass doors slid smoothly open to admit us to a deliciously cool shopping space, with its carefully-chosen wares immaculately laid out. The air of the place was redolent of freshly-baked tea; as I soon learned, this was because the manager of the shop keeps a bamboo basket of tea baking slowly over an electric grill, specifically for the aroma.

The shelves were well stocked, but featured a relatively small spectrum of teas -- all of them one or another type of oolong. The rarest and most costly were the Da Yu Ling, a very rare tea, and a competition-grade Li Shan oolong. All were presented in beautiful packages, of various sizes; and the shop also has glass cases displaying some carefully-chosen tea wares for sale.

We had not been browsing long when we were greeted by the demure young woman whose job it is to brew tea for clients of the shop. She is well set up to do so, with canisters of the various teas on offer, a hot-water kettle, and plenty of porcelain in which to brew and serve several different teas at one time. Chi-Fang and I were joined by a small group of (apparently local) folks who sat down and chatted happily with one another. We all tasted a variety of the teas sold by the shop, and I made some selections to take away. The relaxed and bright environment provided an ideal place to drink (and think about) tea. We talked some about technical terminology such as 回甘 ('hui gan,' i.e. 'recurring sweetness'), and other evaluations of quality; Chi-Fang offered his own idiomatic criterion for the basic acceptability of tea: is it 順口 ('smooth mouth,' i.e. favorable to the palate)? If one can say so, one has declared it to be a good tea.

-- corax

[to be continued]

TREASURE ISLAND: A Voyage to Taiwan [iii]

Before my departure for Taiwan, my learned colleague Steven Owyoung kindly put me in touch with a longtime friend of his, Rita Chang, Director of the Asian Cultural Council, which is based in Taipei. It would be difficult to exaggerate my debt to Rita, as she was absolutely pivotal in my discovering some of the rich tea culture of Taiwan; without her help, many doors would have remained not only closed to me, but completely unknown.

We met one afternoon after Rita had finished her day's work. A cab drove us through some narrow winding streets until we came to a walled yard that led to an apartment building. This was the temporary home of the fabled Wistaria Tea House, designated a historic landmark in Taiwan (and justly so). The Chinese name for this is 紫藤廬, 'zi teng lu,' i.e. 'wisteria cottage.' (Some of my readers may have seen the original site of Zi Teng Lu without realizing it; it is one of the locations in Ang Lee's award-winning 1994 film EAT DRINK MAN WOMAN.) The historic site (address: No 1, Lane 16, Sinsheng South Road, Section 3, Taipei; telephone: [02] 2363.7375) is currently closed for renovation/restoration, but this 'temporary' site (29, Lane 61, Lin-Yi Street, Taipei; telephone: 2321.9089 -- which may indeed become a permanent, second location) very effectively evokes the ambience and feel of the original.

The proprietor of Zi Teng Lu is as legendary as the place itself. Zhou Yu is part and parcel of the history and the energy of the place. It was my honor to be introduced to him by Rita, and moreover, to have him sit at our table and brew us tea. He chose a ming-qian long jing cha, and brewed it for us in genuine Song-Dynasty tea bowls, which were decorated in 'hare's fur' glaze. His brewing style was aggressive -- he favors a much hotter water than most people use for lu cha. But it would be difficult to argue with his results; the tea was superb.

We had a relaxed, congenial conversation over tea, during which Mr Zhou presented me with an autographed copy of a gorgeous French-language publication, La civilisation du thé, in which three of his essays have been translated from Chinese into French. Our visit was punctuated by the occasional arrival of other patrons of the tea house, in groups of three or four; each group greeted Mr Zhou like a long-lost relative. It was clear that he is deeply beloved and honored in Taiwan, and with good reason.

The next day, Rita met me again after work -- this time in the trendy neighborhood of Yong Kang Park (永康公園), one of the liveliest and most exciting parts of Taipei. This may actually be the part of Taipei in which tea-houses are to be found in the densest number. It seemed as though there was one (or more) on every block. We started at a place known as Ya Hon (No. 10, Lane 10, Yong Kang Street, Taipei; tel 02.2321.5119), one of the many places in Taipei that combines the function of cha ye dian (a shop where you go to buy tea-leaf to brew at home) and cha fang (a tea house where they brew tea and serve it to you -- or set you up to brew it at your own table). This was after 5.00 pm, so the good folk of Taipei were more likely to be thinking about going home for supper than about lounging in a tea house; Ya Hon was virtually empty. The proprietor was sitting with a couple of friends, brewing pu'er tea. When Rita and I walked in, introductions were made, and then the talk quickly turned to the tea itself. This gentleman's style of interaction with a waiguoren was typical of what one finds in Taiwan: very polite, congenial, and welcoming of foreign visitors. He did speak some English, and used it to describe his ideas about pu'er tea (with Rita chiming in occasionally, in Chinese, when clarification was needed). He assumed that I did not know anything about pu'er, and seemed genuinely taken aback to learn that in fact I did; he was truly stupefied when I pulled a brick of sheng Jingmai pu'er out of my bag to show him. He not only served us tea, but also whittled off a chunk of his tuo cha for me to take away with me (though he refused to take any of my Jingmai in return). It was a very relaxed and enjoyable (brief) visit; I felt under no pressure at all to purchase any tea, which was nice.

From Ya Hon we moved on to a place that Rita especially favors: 'Off-Chaism' (6, Lane 12. Yong Kang Street, Taipei; tel: 886.2.2341.8272; email: chaism.studies@msa.hinet.net). It is perhaps best to understand Off-Chaism in tandem with Chrysanthemum Chaism Studies (17-1, Lane 31, Yong Kang Street, Taipei), which was founded in 1996 by Li Shu-yun (李曙韻) as a way of preserving and celebrating traditional Taiwan tea culture. Because I feel very acutely the speed with which global culture is developing and shape-shifting, I am especially grateful for those who are moved to try and preserve what is best about the past, in order to cherish it in the present and to hand it over to the future. Chrysanthemum Chaism Studies is dedicated to just such an end.

The word 'Chaism' is itself worth commenting on briefly here, if only because of its likely unfamiliarity. I suggest that the notion probably comes from Kakuzo Okakura's 1906 book THE BOOK OF TEA, which propounds the doctrine of 'teaism.' (The complete text of this fascinating book can be downloaded for free at http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/769.) Okakura writes:

Tea began as a medicine and grew into a beverage. In China, in the eighth century, it entered the realm of poetry as one of the polite amusements. The fifteenth century saw Japan ennoble it into a religion of aestheticism -- Teaism. Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence. It inculcates purity and harmony, the mystery of mutual charity, the romanticism of the social order. It is essentially a worship of the Imperfect, as it is a tender attempt to accomplish something possible in this impossible thing we know as life.

If I am right about this, then 'Cha-ism' would be a sinification of Okakura's term 'Teaism' (one must remember that THE BOOK OF TEA was composed -- for reading aloud at Isabella Stewart Gardner's salon -- not in Japanese but in English). Given the East/West dialogue that so thoroughly imbues Okakura's work, there is something deeply fitting about an Asian institution's now reclaiming an Asian concept of ancient lineage that gained its first modern articulation in the West.

The Okakura connection might also partly explain why the decor here is in part Japanese-flavored; to pass to the rear of the shop, where the tea-table is situated with its low benches, one must doff one's shoes. The atmosphere at Off-Chaism is serene, peaceful, as carefully nurtured as a beloved bonsai. Every implement, every drinking vessel is a delicate treasure. No less jewel-like was Jia Min (佳敏), whose English nickname is Salvinia. Jia Min greeted us with a warm smile and a gentle voice; she led us back to the table and benches, where we were able to sit and take in our beautiful surroundings while she prepared to serve us some tea.

It was not long before Jia Min joined us at the table. As we sat and sipped, she explained to us something of the history and mission of Chrysanthemum Chaism Studies and its retail offshoot, Off-Chaism (which opened in 2005). It was clear that this small establishment becomes an oasis of calm amid the bustle of the city, for those who need to seek a moment of quietude and tranquility.

Jia Min furnished me with some printed materials about Off-Chaism and the work and mission of Chrysanthemum. These were produced and packaged with the kind of sumptuousness one associated -- in days of yore -- with the most elegant engraved wedding invitations. One of the brochures proclaims: 'Along with Chrysanthemum Chaism Studies, Off Chaism will dedicate to achieving a fusion among Tea, Aesthetic and Art. And bringing the visual, acoustic and gustatory beauty of Tea to everyone.' Again, the visual aesthetic of these brochures is palpably Japanese; again, I could not help but think of the connection that Okakura explicitly draws, in THE BOOK OF TEA, between Teaism and Zen. Is that what (however subtly) inspires the calm stillness that prevails over the atmosphere of Off-Chaism?

Night was falling in earnest now. It was time for Rita to say goodbye, but I was not left alone at Off-Chaism: besides Jia Min, there was Mr Huang, an affable young man who goes by the nickname of Nill. Nill volunteered to show me round the Yong Kang area a bit more. Saying goodbye to Jia Min, we stopped first at Hui Liu (No. 9, Lane 31, Yong Kang St., Taipei, TEL: 886.2.2861.9840 or 2392.6707), a tea-house/restaurant that specializes in wild foods, including wild teas. Their business card specifies 'Wild Tea/Vegetarian Food/Ceramics,' which struck me as an accurate précis of what I was observing around me there. When I visited them, their website was not yet completed, but they did give me the URL (http://www.huiliu.info/), of which at least the portal page is now active. The dining and retail space were airy and comfortably informal, and there was some attractive tea-ware for sale. Given time, this is a place I would return to.

Continuing our walk, Nill and I proceeded to another Taipei tea landmark: Yeh Tang (冶堂), situated at No. 20-2, Lane 31, Yong Kang Street, Taipei (tel 886.2.3393.8988). It was quite dark outside, and the tea house was aglow with warm lighting that reflected off the surfaces of the porcelains here and there on its shelves. Its walls are attractively hung with calligraphic scrolls and paintings. We were greeted by Mr Ho Chien, the proprietor, a dignified iron-haired gentleman who carried a fan for relief from the humid heat of Taipei, still intense at that late hour. Mr Ho seated us at a comfortably-worn wooden table with some long jing tea.

Writing in the Taipei Times (31 May 2007), Ho Yi says,

The history of tea can easily be picked up from Ho Chien (何健), founder of Yeh Tang (冶堂), a tea space situated on a quiet alley off Yungkang Street (永康街). Having studied Taiwan's tea culture and history for the past 20 years, Ho has made his establishment into a Taiwan tea gallery showcasing a collection of folk antiques. While perhaps not museum-grade, they nevertheless preserve the collective memory and experience of tea drinking in Taiwan. It is a homey setting where visitors can calm the mind, have time with themselves and sip various local teas. "To me, drinking tea is a way of life, an attitude toward life. It helps you to gain an insight into your relations with people, things and nature ... . There is no superior or inferior way with tea. If you are willing to explore its world, you can learn a lot. But if you are not, it's simply a good way to quench the thirst," said the tea connoisseur and historian.

Mr Ho's business card lists the full name as 'Yeh Tang Tea Culture Research Institute.' I got the feeling that there was much more to Yeh Tang than met the eye; I would have liked to converse more with Mr Ho than I was able to do, given that his regular clientele was beginning to show up for their evening tea. I browsed about a bit among the beautiful tea-ware for sale; the prices ranged from moderate to quite steep, but the quality was uniformly high. Yeh Tang is a small cluster of rooms, one leading to another, each of them comfortably appointed, and as well-stocked with merchandise as they could be without clutter; it was clear that this was an establishment that cares about the material goods that fill its physical space, and the total effect that its component parts achieve.

Poor Nill's cell-phone importuned him without ceasing, so I eventually bade him adieu. On my way back to the hotel I stopped off at a small take-away frozen yogurt counter called YOGURT ME (tel 02.2396.0237), which faces directly onto Yong Kang Park itself. Seeing their sign made me think about how desperately hot I was, even at that time of night, but -- also -- what a negligible place dairy products occupy in the Asian diet. This was probably the only dairy substance I had eaten in over a week.

All of the personnel at YOGURT ME were Taiwanese, but I saw no other clients while I purchased a cup of their frozen yogurt. Eschewing all the various toppings they offered to decorate it with, I took it plain, and its fresh tang reminded me of nothing so much as the yogurt-flavored gelato that one can find in the best gelaterie in Florence or Rome. (Of American purveyors, the one that best approximates this is Pink Berry in Los Angeles.)

Another day rich in tea culture -- culminating, ironically, in the sense that I had only scratched the surface of what is to be found in Taipei.

-- corax

[to be continued]

TREASURE ISLAND: A Voyage to Taiwan [ii]

The next day, Will met me right after breakfast to take me to the Green of T, a tea-house and restaurant that is up a flight of stairs from its quiet street. The unprepossessing wooden door has a color photograph that announces precisely what awaits upstairs. Here Mr Tsay, the young manager, let us in and guided us upstairs, in preparation for the arrival of Will's childhood friend, the well-known artist and tea-master Alex Bai. Soft, calming music began, and we were seated on low benches at a long table of thick planks of old wood. Clustered everywhere, though without oppressive clutter, were ceramic pots and storage vessels of all shapes and sizes, some of them manifestly very old.

The mid-morning sun sifted softly through the slats of the venetian blinds at the windows. The air was already hot and humid, so while we were waiting for Alex, Mr Tsay poured us each a cup of very cold pale tea with a bit of ice in it. A single sip revealed a most refined, refreshing flavor. What was this tea, Will asked? A 50-year-old pu'er, replied Mr Tsay: because of the hot climate of Taiwan, he has developed the custom of taking the used leaves of aged pu'ers, and simmering them slowly, so as to extract their remaining essence. This simmered liquid was then iced for our pleasure. (Mr Tsay's simmering pot is a 砂銚 sha diao, a replica of the Qing-dynasty vessel used for boiling herbs for TCM.) The tea was more subtle than any pu'er I have tasted: presumably both its age and its previous infusions had divested it of any assertiveness. What remained was a brew of indescribable delicacy, as refreshing as any iced tea I have ever had. And of course hearing the purported age of this tea made for an arresting first event of the morning's session.

In preparation for the imminent arrival of Alex Bai, who indeed was Mr Tsay's teacher, the latter set up a small stove (with spirit lamp) and a kettle to heat the water. This kettle, of solid silver, was heating constantly during our session, and replenished with water repeatedly (and infinitely discreetly) by Mr Tsay. So smooth was the collaboration that only later did one reflect on how it contributed to the elegance of the rhythm of the session.

Mr Tsay also brought out a gaiwan, sharing pitcher, and tasting cups. Always interested in nomenclature, I asked what he called the sharing pitcher in Chinese: rather than gong dao bei, he preferred the term cha hai, 'tea sea,' which can also be used to describe other vessels. In addition to all this, he set out a cha dao set (i.e. the brewing implements -- tongs, scoop, etc) -- and a cha he or 'tea lotus,' that inimitable and useful dish that the one preparing the tea uses to display the dry leaf to the other drinkers. The cha he also has an opening at one end, through which one can use a 茶匙 cha chi ('tea scraper') to gently coax the leaf into the brewing vessel.

Soon Alex appeared and greeted us. Will had described him in admiring terms; they have known each other for many years, and he wanted to give me, in advance, some sense of the formidable personality that is Alex. He is a skilled painter and calligrapher, and these arts are in some sense an extension of his more specific skill in tea. He had brought me the gift of a booklet that documents a series of his paintings of tea regions, capturing in vivid color the lively beauty of these locations. His prowess in cha dao (in the largest sense) was acquired over a course of years, in which he came to know not only the tea farmers in Taiwan, but also the teas growing in the wild. Alex is of the strong opinion that wild tea is the best and most delicious, and that tea-makers can learn a great deal from the way that wild teas grow and taste.

After our brief introductions, we settled down -- over the next couple of hours -- to brewing a number of teas (five, in fact). The first was, strategically, the most delicate: a Long Jing (龍井) or Dragon Well tea, classed as ming qian (i.e. harvested before the qing ming festival). If this was not literally so, it was in any case a very early-spring tea. This was about as good as a long jing could be, which is to say, very good indeed: delicate and nutty and infinitely fresh.

Alex brewed deftly and smoothly, with an elegant minimum of hand movements, speaking briefly about each tea as he brought it out. Mr Tsay silently removed used tasting cups, and replenished the hot water as needed. From the Long Jing we moved to some Taiwan teas. This second tea was a Da Yu Ling (大禹嶺), which comes from the area close to Li Shan -- which is to say, Li Shan and Da Yu Ling teas are both grown in some of the highest-altitude growing areas in Taiwan. This earned them the label of gao shan or 'high-mounain' oolongs, thus to be distinguished from those teas grown at lower altitudes. It is not only their provenance but also (and especially) their complex flavor that sets gao shan teas apart. The great heights (1000 meters and higher) afford a particular climate that is particularly favorable for such teas: early morning mists, which provide moist air; sunny days punctuated by nourishing rainfalls; and cool evenings. This is not to say that one cannot grow very good tea at lower altitudes -- say, the hilly areas at the northern end of the island. But the truly extraordinary teas always turn out to be the gao shan teas. Among these, Da Yu Ling is surely one of the most prized (and thus, inevitably, one of the most costly).

After the Da Yu Ling, we sampled a Hong Xiang Wen Quan (紅香溫泉), grown in the area around Puli. At an altitude of about 1700 meters, this region is not as high as the highest Li Shan or Ali Shan growing areas; but the tea from this region is nonetheless highly sought-after because of the unique taste that comes from particular trace minerals found in the soil there. It is a new tea, having been developed only about 15 years ago.

From Taiwan teas, we moved to oolongs produced in mainland China: a Tie Guan Yin (鐵觀音, Iron Bodhisattva of Compassion) from Anxi, and a Da Hong Pao (大紅袍, Big Red Robe) from the Wu Yi Shan region of Fujian. It was so interesting to compare the flavor profiles of these teas to the distinctive teas of Taiwan. The so-called 'oolong process,' previously elucidated for readers of CHA DAO by Sanwar Changoiwala, can produce a whole spectrum of teas, based on the amount of (partial) oxidation; obviously the percentage of oxidation (or 'fermenting,' as they frequently call it in Taiwan) that the leaves undergo will directly affect the taste of the brew. The Tie Guan Yin Alex brewed for us (a 2004 harvest) was what he referred to as qing xiang, 'clear fragrance,' a term used in contradistinction to nong xiang or 'dense fragrance,' a set of visual metaphors used to describe the relative darkness or lightness of the flavor. The Da Hong Pao was especially fascinating to me, in that it was brewed from leaf that Alex had wildcrafted himself in China. As we sipped this tea, with its unmistakable flavor and yun or 'aftertaste,' Alex showed us photographs of his last visit to the Wu Yi region of China, and told us about how he met with some of the Da Hong Pao farmers there, actually helping to educate them about the nature of tea and its growing processes.

By the time we had progressed through these five teas, almost three hours had passed, and it was time for lunch; taking our leave of Mr Tsay, we found a nearby restaurant that specialized in local dishes, and ate to our hearts' content. Then we took a cab to 唐人 (Tang Ren, i.e. 'people of the Tang Dynasty'; the English sign hanging outside the store reads simply 'tea pot'). Tang Ren describes itself as a 茶藝會館 (cha yi hui guan) or 'tea-art club house' -- an interesting and somewhat hybrid concept, which shows how cha dao is itself continually evolving, in Asia as elsewhere. I had voiced to Will my desire to have a look at the sorts of tea books that are published in Taiwan. While Tang Ren is a place that sells tea and teaware, it is a place to go principally for books on such topics (see http://www.e-teapot.com/). I spent a long time here, poring over the various books on offer, but we did also sit and drink tea -- an eighteen-year-old pu'er, in fact -- with the proprietor, whose husband is studying for an advanced degree. Together they set up this shop in celebration of cha dao. It took us a long time to tear ourselves away from the tea, the conversation, and the shelves and shelves of books.

-- corax

[to be continued]

TREASURE ISLAND: A Voyage to Taiwan [i]

Who knows how Taiwan first got the nickname of 寶島 (bao dao, 'Treasure Island')? The point is that the name fits, at least as well as the Latin moniker that Portuguese explorers gave it in the sixteenth century: Ilha Formosa, 'the beautiful island.' The visitor to Taiwan quickly comes to see what a treasure it is, and how beautiful. I had heard of its scenic coasts and mountains, and drunk many a cup of its famous teas, long before my university put out a call-for-papers for an international symposium to be held in Taiwan.

With nothing to lose, I made a somewhat audacious proposal -- or at least one radically unlike the others that eventually made it onto the program. My proposal was this: Why not look at tea as an emblem (or synecdoche) of Asian life and culture? ('Synecdoche' is an ancient Greek term meaning 'the part for the whole,' as when you way 'I've got wheels' to mean that you have access to a car. An example of a synecdoche in Chinese is the traditional phrase -- now obsolescent, and almost quaint to young Taiwanese -- 吃過飯了嗎 chi guo fan le ma?, i.e. 'Have you eaten rice?' -- meaning, of course, not rice only, but a meal. Or, again, 飲茶 yin cha 'drink tea,' where this really means 'have tea and a light meal,' i.e. 'eat dim sum' -- in Cantonese it would be pronounced yam cha.) Against all odds -- or so it seemed to me -- my proposal was accepted, and I was sent (as part of the American delegation to the symposium) to deliver not one but two papers, before mixed audiences of Asians and westerners.

The thesis I propounded in the first of these presentations was that tea is such an important part of Asian culture (Korean and Japanese as well as Taiwanese and Chinese) that it may be considered from a whole variety of angles, each illuminating a different aspect of life. Taken together, these glimpses begin to offer us a nuanced and rounded impression of the overall culture. The part standing for the whole. Some of the aspects I mentioned were:

1. the anthropology of food and drink
2. societal and socializing institutions, public and private (in the home, in the teahouse)
3. botany and agronomy: new methods of soil and crop science for an ancient agriculture
4. finance and commerce [i]: marketing matters, from the skyrocketing prices of rare oolong and pu'er teas to the question of marketing tea to non-Asians (a 'Starbucks of Tea'?)
5. finance and commerce [ii]: business ethics; matters of Fair Trade practices and work conditions on tea farms
6. finance and commerce [iii]: tea processing factories and warehouses in Asia
7. health applications (tea as a vital component of Traditional Chinese Medicine [TCM])
8. religious applications (tea as an aspect of Zen meditation and Daoist thought since the Middle Ages at least)
9. aesthetic applications [i]: the actual preparation and taste of tea
10. aesthetic applications [ii]: teaware, from Tang Dynasty to the 21st century (including the importance of the porcelain trade in 17th-century Europe, and its impact on the tea trade)
11. aesthetic applications [iii]: tea and the other arts, including myth and folklore, writing (fiction and non-fiction), and music

As I have said, each of these 'parts' of cha dao offers an angle on the whole. I feel strongly that if westerners had a better grasp on the richness of tea culture in Asia -- how profoundly connected to aspects (logical and even pre-logical) of Asian life -- we would better understand Asian life as a whole. The rest of this first presentation outlined a plan, in several phases, for making such a study.

My second presentation was what is known as a 'literature review' -- an overview of the bibliographic resources available for undertaking whatever study one wants to make. In my own academic field, which is Classical Philology, a literature review is not typically the central topic of an entire presentation; but its purpose at this symposium was presumably to provide a demonstration that each of the participants had indeed 'done h/er homework' in the course of preparing h/er project. I broke mine down into categories of specialist and non-specialist material, and also into print and non-print resources.

It was fascinating to watch the response of my audiences at these two presentations. The Taiwanese conferees mostly nodded and smiled at my assertions: for the most part, I was just 'preaching to the choir' in their case. The American participants, on the other hand, were in equal parts intrigued and surprised. Most of them were of course coffee-drinkers, so 'tea' was a foreign language to them. But over the several days we spent together, they began asking questions about my ideas and actually started looking around them. In Taipei, there is (it seems) a tea shop every half-block or so. Some of my colleagues began stopping in and looking around in these shops. Eventually, I noted, tea and gongfu sets were purchased to take home. One colleague said, not entirely joking, 'You changed my life.'

None of this tea material, of course, had any relevance to my own scholarly discipline. Or did it? Isn't the study of Homer or Plato or Vergil really an attempt to distil what is best and most beautiful about the Western heritage? And don't we today find the ancient Greeks and Romans foreign, 'other,' even exotic in some fundamental ways? The pursuit of such study is, at a very basic level, a way of thinking about globalization: about how we differ from and are like other cultures, which also have important lessons to teach us about ourselves too, if we will but listen.

It were endless tedium for you, gentle reader, to slog through a complete narrative of my experiences in Asia; each day there seemed to compress a year's worth of living. So I will leave out most of the details, focusing here on a few of the most closely tea-related experiences. Even so, it will take me several instalments to do so.

In this symposium, scholars from the two American universities involved were partnered, whenever possible, with scholars from the Taiwanese universities. I had the great good fortune to be paired with Will, a man of Taiwanese birth who has a background in the sciences and a long personal history of drinking teas. On our first day, Will took me to lunch at Shin Yeh, an excellent restaurant around the corner from my hotel. The average American would walk right past the entrances to such restaurants, which look like commercial lobbies of some sort (they give no clear indication that the dining area is actually upstairs). At Shin Yeh, we chose morsels from a small, elegant buffet that included 魯肉飯 lu rou fan, a traditional Taiwanese stew eaten over rice; a Hakka soup (which Will himself had never encountered before this), flavored with goose and pork; fresh fruits and vegetables; and dumplings of various kinds. (The other traditional Taiwanese dish I very much wanted to taste, 擔仔麵 dan zai mian ['do-your-duty noodles'], was not being served there that day, though I did later have a bowl of it, and it is delicious. Highly recommended. When, on another day, we did finally succeed in finding a bowl of dan zai mian, I did my best to extrapolate a recipe of it as I ate; Will even made a quick phone call to his wife to consult about likely seasonings.) But on this day, the restaurant was packed, which did not surprise me, given the quality of the food on offer.

As Will and I lunched, we began our conversation about tea, ranging from generalizations to very specific topics. After the meal, we went back to his laboratory at the university -- a small hive of graduate students, all hard at work. We took refuge in his private office, where he opened his cabinets and brought out a gongfu tea set, with a bamboo cha pan and three different zisha teapots. There we proceeded to drink tea for the next two hours. Eventually, Will actually canceled a meeting in order to stay on and brew tea. Through his office windows we could see the magnificent mountains of Taiwan spread out in the distance. From his cabinet emerged tea after tea, each more rare than the one before it.

Will has connections that enable him to obtain the private-stock teas that the Taiwanese farmers grow and process primarily for themselves and their families. He stressed the importance of organic farming and the avoidance of agro-chemicals in the soil used to support the tea plants. I asked whether the tea farmers (and other farmers, for that matter) of Taiwan were convinced of this importance, and after some thought, he said he thought some were -- but that others were just more interested in volume and speed of production than in maintaining high quality in health and nutrition. 


We took a break and went upstairs to meet Huang Chi-Fang, a professor in another department. Chi-Fang is a warm and jovial sort, and is rumored to drink coffee occasionally, but when we met he presented me with a canister of tea -- this one a hong cha made from bushes grown near Sun Moon Lake. (Little did I realize, at the time, the magnitude of this gift. Since 1969, the Field of Tea Improvement and Research Institute has been listing its new unique cultivars numerically; this one was #18 of 18 -- so new, in fact, that most tea-heads in Taiwan don't even know yet of its existence.) Chi-Fang volunteered to drive me to the Pinglin Tea Museum the following week.

At the end of our session that afternoon, Will also presented me with a canister of oolong from He Huan Shan (a mountain near Li Shan; the 'Taiwan Fog Forest Cold Mountain Tea-Growing Region,' as the canister says).
He specifically pointed out the label announcing that the tea farmer certified and took responsibility for the quality of the tea -- one of the highest guarantors, for Will, of quality in a Taiwan tea. This was the last canister he had of that particular tea, so it was a momentous gift -- and a tea of extraordinarily high quality.

After this long tea session I went to the elaborately decorated Daoist temple nearby, paid my respects, and took some pictures; then went back to the hotel where I could think and read quietly before an early bedtime.

-- corax

[to be continued]

Shopping for Tea in Chinese: Basics of a Working Vocabulary

by CORAX
[this version revised 070706]

More and more, I am hearing about tea enthusiasts who find they cannot resist making the pilgrimage to where it all began. There can be few experiences more exciting in a devoted tea-drinker's life than such a journey, and the opportunities you will find there for sampling and buying tea will be unmatched and often unrepeatable outside of Asia.

But the project is more of a challenge than you might initially think. Reports from those who have already made such a journey indicate that one often finds oneself dealing with a tea merchant who speaks only Chinese -- whether Mandarin, Cantonese, or some other dialect. (Which seems natural enough, when you consider how many Americans speak nothing but English.) If you have no fluency in Chinese, you may find yourself frustrated in the attempt to source the particular tea or tea-ware you had so hoped to find. In view of that, it might be worth your while to put together a 'tea lexicon' (or perhaps a set of flash cards) to take along with you to China and Taiwan, in order to facilitate your shopping.

Such a basic list of tea-related terms probably ought to include at least some of the following words and phrases. Please note that I regard this collection as only the beginning; with luck I will garner more items with which to augment the list, so check back periodically for updates. (I will change the revision date at the top of the post, for your convenience, whenever alterations are made.)

You are invited to copy and paste these terms into your own list or set of cards; the Chinese characters here are in a scalable font, so in a good word-processing program you should be able to enlarge or shrink them, as you please, for printing out. If your shopping plans are less ambitious, you can simply choose the words you're fairly sure you will need.

Some more notes to help you use this list:
• Sections will be alphabetized by Chinese term [in hanyu pinyin], except for §7, 'Purchasing Phrases,' since in that case speakers of English will naturally want to look up a Chinese phrase by its English equivalent.
• If you want to speak some Chinese, and not just show the written words to a vendor, you should try and gain at least some rudimentary sense of pronunciation. The pinyin system is not entirely intuitive (to say the least). You will find plenty of information (maybe too much) at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pinyin; for a quick start, scroll down to 'Rules given in terms of English pronunciation.' You may just prefer the simpler treatment at http://hua.umf.maine.edu/Chinese/topics/pinyin/pinyin.html.
• Bear in mind that pronouncing Chinese also means getting the tones right. Mandarin Chinese, for example, has five basic tones. The same syllable, pronounced with a different tone, may have a completely different meaning. See e.g. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Putonghua sub uoc. 'Tones' for more on this.
• Teas listed in §2 under 'Taiwan' or 'Formosa' oolongs are given in traditional hanzi (characters), since if you travel to Taiwan, those are what you are most likely to encounter.
• The list of 'destinations' in §6 is still quite rudimentary at this point. This is a section I especially hope to augment over time.
• All suggestions for additions or corrections are most welcome; please send these to me [off-blog] at emailcorax {at} gmail {dot} com, rather than posting them in the comments section here. Thanks.

1. Tea Types ['cha' = 'tea' 茶]

bai cha [white tea] 白茶
hei cha [true black tea such as liu an or liu bao; see also §3 below] 黑茶
hong cha [red tea, i.e. what the English call 'black' tea] 紅茶
huang cha [yellow tea] 黄茶
lu cha [green tea] 绿茶
pu'er cha [pu'er tea; see also §3 below] 普耳茶
wulong cha [oolong tea] 烏龍茶 or 乌龙茶 -- some wulongs are referred to as 'qing1 cha' [blue-green tea] 青茶, but these are not identical categories

2. Some Famous China & Taiwan Teas [grouped by type]

Green, Yellow, & White Teas

bai hao yin zhen cha ['white hair silver needles,' a bai cha, huang cha, or lu cha] 白毫银针茶
bai mu dan cha ['white peony' tea] 白牡丹茶
bi luo chun cha ['green snail spring' lu cha from Dong Ting Shan in Jiangsu province] 碧螺春茶
gu lao cha ['old work tea,' lu cha from Guangdong province] 古劳茶
hua cha [(flower-)scented tea: may be green, red, or oolong] 花茶
huang shan mao feng ['yellow mountain downy tip,' lu cha from Anhui province] 黄山毛峰
jun shan yin zhen cha ['sovereign mountain silver needle,' a huang cha from Jun Shan Island in Hunan province] 君山银针茶
liu an gua pian ['Liu An melon slice,' lu cha from Liu An county in Anhui province] 六安瓜片
long jing cha ['dragon well' lu cha] 龙井茶
--- ming qian ['pre-qingming,' i.e. first plucking] 明前
--- yu qian ['pre-rain,' i.e. second plucking] 雨前
lu shan yun wu cha ['hut mountain clouds-and-mist,' a pure-bud lu cha from Jiu Jiang in Jiangxi province] 庐山云雾茶
mei jia wu long jing cha ['dragon well' lu cha made from the mei jia wu cultivar] 梅家乌龙井茶
meng ding huang ya cha ['misty peak yellow sprout' tea, a pure-bud huang cha usually from Meng Ding Shan in Sichuan province] 蒙顶 黄芽茶
mo li hua cha [jasmine-scented tea; cf. hua cha] 茉莉花茶
qi jing bian zhen cha ['Seven-Views (Mountain) flat needle' lu cha] 七境扁针茶
shi feng long jing cha ['Lion Peak (Mountain)' long jing cha, i.e. lu cha made from tea grown on Shi Feng Shan] 狮峰龙井茶
shou mei cha ['longevity eyebrow,' a bai cha] 寿眉茶
tai ping hou kui cha ['monkey king' lu cha from Tai Ping in Anhui province] 太平猴魁茶
xin yang mao jian cha ['downy tip' lu cha from Xin Yang in Henan province] 信阳毛尖茶
xi hu long jing cha ['dragon well' lu cha from Xi Hu or 'West Lake,' reputedly the best source for long jing cha] 西湖龙井茶
zhen mei cha ['precious eyebrow,' a lu cha produced in Jiangxi province] 珍眉茶
zheng he yin zhen cha ['Zheng He silver needles,' a bai cha] 政和银针茶

Wu Long/Oolong Teas

Mainland Oolongs:
bai ji guan yan cha ['white cockscomb' oolong, a Wu Yi yan cha from Fujian province] 白鸡冠岩茶
bai ye dan cong cha ['white leaf' single bush] 白叶單樅茶 = ling tou dan cong cha
bei dou yi hao wu long cha ['big dipper first-of-the-month' oolong, from Fujian province] 北斗一号乌龙茶
da hong pao yan cha ['big red robe' oolong, a Wu Yi yan cha from Fujian province] 大红袍岩茶
dong fang mei ren wu long cha ['beautiful eastern woman' oolong, grown in Fujian province] 東方美人乌龙茶
feng huang dan cong cha ['single bush' oolong from Feng Huang Shan, i.e. 'Phoenix Mountain,' in Chaozhou, Guangdong province] 凤凰單樅茶
fo shou wu long cha ['Buddha hand' oolong] 佛手烏龙茶 [made from xiang yuan (香橼), a large-leaf cultivar]
huang jin gui wu long cha ['golden cinnamon' oolong, from Fujian province] 黄金桂乌龙茶
huang zhi xiang dan cong cha ['yellow twig fragrance' single bush] 黄枝香單樅茶
ling tou dan cong cha ['Ridge Top' single bush] 岭头單樅茶 = bai ye dan cong cha
mao xie wu long cha ['hairy crab' oolong, from Anxi county in Fujian province] 毛蟹乌龙茶
rou gui yan cha ['cinnamon' oolong, a Wu Yi yancha from Fujian province] 肉桂岩茶
shui xian wu long cha ['water spirit' oolong, grown esp. in Fujian province] 水仙乌龙茶
tie guan yin cha ['iron goddess of mercy' oolong, originally from Anxi county in Fujian province, now produced in numerous regions] 鐵觀音茶
shui jin gui yan cha ['golden turtle' oolong, a Wu Yi yan cha from Fujian province] 水金亀岩茶
tie luo han yan cha ['iron warrior monk' oolong, a Wu Yi yan cha from Fujian province] 铁罗漢岩茶
wu yi yan cha ['rock' or 'cliff' oolong from Wu Yi Shan in Fujian province] 武夷岩茶
xing ren xiang dan cong cha ['almond fragrance' single bush] 杏仁香單樅茶

Taiwan Oolongs:
a li shan wu long cha ['Ali Mountain oolong tea,' grown in Chiayi (Jiayi) county] 阿里山烏龍茶
bai hao wu long cha [lit. 'white down,' also known as 'oriental beauty' oolong, grown esp. in Hsinchu (Xinzhu) county; cf. 'dong fang mei ren'] 白毫烏龍茶
bao zhong cha [Wade-Giles 'pouchong' = pinyin 'baozhong,' lit. '(paper-)wrapped type' oolong, grown esp. on Wen Shan in Taipei (Taibei) county] 包種茶
cui yu wu long cha ['emerald jade oolong tea'] 翠玉烏龍茶
da yu ling wu long cha ['Great Yu Mountain' oolong] 大禹嶺烏龍茶
dong fang mei ren wu long cha ['beautiful eastern woman' oolong, from Hsinchu (Xinzhu) county; cf. 'bai hao'] 東方美人烏龍茶
dong ding wu long cha ['Frozen Summit Mountain oolong tea,' grown on Dong Ding Shan in Nantou county] 凍頂烏龍茶
fo shou wu long cha ['Buddha hand' oolong, made from xiang yuan (香橼), a long-leaf cultivar] 佛手烏龍茶
gao shan wu long cha ['high mountain' oolong] 高山烏龍茶
jin xuan wu long cha ['golden day lily' oolong] 金萱烏龍茶
li shan wu long cha ['Pear Mountain oolong tea,' grown on Li Shan in Taichung (Taizhong) county] 梨山烏龍茶
shan lin xi wu long cha ['Pine Forest Creek oolong tea,' grown in Nantou county] 杉林溪烏龍茶
si ji chun wu long cha ['four seasons springtime oolong tea'] 四季春烏龍茶
tie guan yin wu long cha ['iron goddess of mercy' oolong tea, grown in Nantou county] 鐵觀音烏龍茶
wen shan bao zhong cha [Wade-Giles 'pouchong' = pinyin 'baozhong,' lit. '(paper-)wrapped type' oolong, grown on Wen Shan in Taipei (Taibei) county] 文山包種茶

Red Teas

bi luo chun hong cha [a Yunnan hong cha made tightly rolled, like bi luo chun green tea] 碧螺春红茶
dian hong cha ['Yunnan hong cha'; 'dian1' is an old name for part of Yunnan province] 滇红茶
--- jin si ['golden thread,' the highest grade of dian hong: pure golden tips] 金丝‬
--- jin zhen ['golden needle,' a variant of 'jin si'] 金针‬
huang zhen cha ['golden needle' hong cha from Fujian province] 黄针茶
jin hou hong cha ['golden monkey red tea,' high-grade hong cha from Fujian province] 金猴‬红茶
[lapsang souchong: see 'zheng shan xiao zhong']
long jing huang pao hong cha ['dragon well yellow robe (i.e. imperial)' hong cha -- long jing cha processed as hong cha; said to have been favored by the emperor Qianlong] 龙井黄袍 红茶
qi men hong cha [Keemun hong cha] 祁门‭ ‬红茶
--- hao ya [lit. 'fine/small sprout,' the highest quality of Keemun -- hao ya 'A' (甲) being even better than hao ya 'B' (乙)] 毫芽
--- hao ya 'A' [top-grade Keemun] 毫芽甲
--- hao ya 'B' [next-to-top-grade Keemun] 毫芽乙
--- mao feng [lit 'downy tip,' a grade of Keemun hong cha composed of small buds] 毛峰
yang xian hong cha [a hong cha produced in Jiangsu province; the favorite tea of the potters of Yixing, for which 'Yang Xian' is an old name] 阳羨‭红茶
ying de hong cha [a hong cha produced in Yingde county, Guangdong province] 英德‭ ‬红茶
zheng he hong cha [a hong cha made from a cultivar usually used for bai cha, 'white' tea] 政和红茶
zheng shan xiao zhong cha [= Lapsang Souchong, a heavily-flavored smoky red tea from Wu Yi Shan in Fujian province] 正山小种茶

3. Basic Pu'er and Heicha Shopping Vocabulary

Pu'er Genres:
pu'er cha [the generic term] 普耳茶
sheng pu'er cha [raw/green pu'er tea] 生普耳茶
shu pu'er cha [ripe/cooked/black pu'er tea] 熟普耳茶
jin ya cha [compressed tea] 紧压茶
san cha ['loose tea,' i.e. uncompressed pu'er or hei cha] 散茶
tai di cha ['table land tea,' i.e. flat-land or plantation tea as opposed to mountain-grown or tall-tree tea] 台地茶

Various Pu'er Shapes:
bing cha [flat cake-shaped compressed pu'er] 饼茶
fang cha [square brick-shaped compressed pu'er] 方茶
gu cha ['old tea,' as e.g. of aged pu'er, or tea from an ancient tree] 古茶
jin cha ['tight tea,' mushroom-shaped compressed pu'er (or lu cha)] 紧茶
jin gua cha ['golden melon' pu'er] 金瓜茶
lao cha tou ['old tea head(s),' i.e. the nuggets left over at the bottom of a wo dui pile of pu'er] 老茶头
tuan cha ['round tea,' i.e. ball-shaped compressed pu'er] 团茶
tuo cha [bowl-shaped compressed pu'er; note: there are several characters pronounced 'tuo2'; the original meaning of 'tuo cha' is disputed] 沱茶
xiao tuo cha [mini tuo cha] 小沱茶
zhuan cha [oblong brick-shaped compressed pu'er] 砖茶

Some Hei Cha Types:
guang xi liu bao cha [basket-compressed hei cha produced in Liu Bao, Guangxi province] 廣西六堡茶
liu an cha [hei cha produced in Liu An county, Anhui province] 六安茶
qian lang cha ['thousand tael tea,' a hei cha produced in Hunan province, compressed into a 40-kg cylindrical shape] 千两茶
xiang liu an cha ['fragrant Liu An' tea] 香六安茶
zhu qiao cha [= zhu ke cha, 'bamboo shell/crust tea,' a hei cha produced in Guangdong province] 竹壳茶

Other Useful Terms:
chen nian pu'er cha [lit. 'old year pu'er tea,' i.e. aged pu'er tea] 陈年普耳茶
da ye ['big leaf,' a type of pu'er processed from large-leaf tea plants] 大叶 or 大葉
gan cang ['dry storage'] 干倉
ji zhi qing ['machine dried,' lit. 'machine-made blue/green,' said of mao cha that is mechanically dried rather than sun-dried] 机制青
mao cha ['rough/unprocessed tea,' the loose dried leaf ready to be compressed into pu'er] 毛茶
mian zhi ['cotton paper,' the paper wrapper for pu'er cakes] 棉纸
nei fei [lit 'inside quick,' the identifying label embedded in a pu'er cake] 内飞
nei piao [an 'inner ticket,' wrapped with but not embedded in the cake] 内票
qi zi ['seven sons,' i.e. a stack of seven bing cha] 七子
sha qing ['kill green,' the heating process whereby oxidation is halted] 杀青
shai qing ['sun dried,' lit. 'sun blue/green,' said e.g. of mao cha that has first undergone sha qing, and is then spread out to dry in the sun] 晒青
shi cang ['wet storage'] 濕倉
tong ['tube,' a qi zi stack of seven bing cha] 筒
wo dui ['wet pile,' a storage process for making shu pu'er] 渥堆

4. Tea-Ware [cha ju, 茶具]

Teapot Terminology:
ce bei ['side cup' or 'auxiliary cup'; essentially a gai wan with handle and spout] 側杯
cha cheng [teapot platform, e.g. of clay, for gongfu cha] 茶承
cha chuan [lit 'tea boat' -- hot-water dish for keeping teapot warm] 茶船
cha hai [lit 'tea sea' -- either the pitcher (cf gong dao bei) or a tray (cf cha pan and cha chen)] 茶海
cha hu [teapot, although this can cover a number of different shapes of vessels, like the ce bei or gong dao bei] 茶壺
duan ni2 [lit 'layered clay'; a pale clay that can be colored; used for some Yixing teaware] 段泥
gong dao bei [lit 'justice vessel,' i.e. sharing pitcher for gong fu cha] 公道杯
hei ni ['black clay' used for some Yixing teaware] 黑泥
hong ni [ordinary 'red clay' sometimes passed off as true zhu ni, which is now extinct] 紅 泥
huang ni ['yellow clay' used for some Yixing teaware] 黄泥
lu ni ['green clay' used for some Yixing teaware] 绿泥
tiao sha ['mixed/blended sand,' the composite of clay and sand that gives some Yixing pots their grainy 'pearskin' texture] 调 砂
yang hu ['pet pot' -- a favorite or cherished teapot that is carefully collected, tended, and 'raised' for its appearance] 養壺
Yi Xing [county-level city in Jiangsu province where real 'Yixing' clay is dug] 宜兴
zhu ni [the 'vermilion clay' so prized for Yixing pots -- genuine zhu ni pots being rare and costly nowadays] 朱泥
zi ni ['purple clay' used for some Yixing teaware] 紫泥
zi sha ['purple sand,' the dark substance commonly used for Yixing teaware] 紫砂

Bowls and Cups:
cha bei [lit 'tea cup,' which can also include modern mugs] 茶 杯
cha wan [tea bowl, esp. the larger size used in the Tang, Song, and Yuan dynasties] 茶碗
cha zhong [cf 'zhong'] 茶盅
cha zi [tea mug, typically with lid; probably shorthand for cha(bei)zi; note: this is cha2 zi5, not cha1 zi5 叉子, which is 'fork'] 茶(杯)子
gai bei [ ~ gai wan or zhong] 盖杯
gai wan [lit 'covered bowl,' i.e. the lidded cup used for brewing tea: see also 'gai bei' and esp. 'zhong'] 盖碗
pin3 ming2 bei [tasting cup, lit 'produced/made tea cup'] 品茗杯
tuo pan [lit 'support/hold tray,' i.e. individual tray for the pin ming bei and wen xiang bei in gongfu cha] 托盘
wen2 xiang1 bei [aroma cup, lit 'sniff fragrance cup'] 闻香杯
zhong1 [Cantonese for gai wan] 盅

Tea Implements: [cha dao, 茶道]
cha chi [tea scraper, lit 'tea spoon,' for nudging tea into the teapot] 茶匙
cha jia [tea tongs] 茶夾
cha diao [tea pick] 茶雕 [also cha tong 'tea open(er)' 茶通]
cha lou4 [tea funnel] 茶漏 [note that this is different from cha lou2, 'tea house']
cha shao [tea scoop] 茶勺 [also cha ze 'tea chooser' 茶則]
cha zha chi [tea dregs scraper, for cleaning out a teapot] 茶渣匙

Other Tea-Ware Vocabulary:
cha gang [tea-leaf jar] 茶缸
cha he [lit 'tea lotus,' a small dish for measuring and displaying dry tea leaf before brewing] 茶荷
cha ji [small tea-table] 茶几
cha jin [tea cloth, for spills] 茶巾
cha pan [tea tray, e.g. of bamboo, for gongfu cha] 茶 盤
cha qi [tea set] 茶器 [note that this is different from 茶气 , also cha qi4, 'vital energy of tea,' and from 茶沏, cha qi1, 'brew tea']
cha yu ['tea basin,' i.e. a waste-water bowl for gongfu cha; cf 'shui fang'] 茶盂
Jing De Zhen [city in Jiangxi province, famous for its porcelain kilns] 景德镇 or, now, 景德镇市 ['Jing De town city,' marking its prefecture-level size]
shui fang1 ['water vessel,' typically a pot for storing fresh water for brewing tea; cf 'cha yu'] 水方

5. Locales

cha chang [tea factory] 茶厂
cha cun [tea farm, lit 'tea village'] 茶村
cha dian4 [tea shop -- a place to buy tea leaves for brewing at home] 茶店
cha fang [tea house] 茶坊
cha guan [tea house] 茶馆
cha ju dian [tea-ware shop] 茶具店
cha lou2 [tea house] 茶楼 [note that this is different from cha lou4, 'tea funnel']
cha ye dian [tea leaf shop = cha dian] 茶叶店
cha yi guan [tea arts house, i.e. a cha guan where the elaborate preparation and serving of tea is a form of entertainment] 茶艺馆
cha yuan [tea-garden, -plantation, -estate; note: yuan2] 茶园
cha yuan [tea-garden, -park, -house; note: typically yuan4] 茶苑
cha yuan [tea-academy, -institute; note: yuan4] 茶院

6. Destinations for the Tea Traveller

Hong Kong:
cha ju wen wu guan [Flagstaff House Museum of Tea Ware, lit 'tea ware culture museum'; 10 Cotton Tree Drive, Hong Kong Park] 茶具文物馆
cha yi le yuan [Best Tea House, lit 'tea art happy garden'; Flat B, 8/F, Ka To Ind Building, 2 Cheung Yue Street, Lai Chi Kok, Hong Kong -- one of the best places in HK to buy tea to brew at home] 茶藝樂園
lian xiang lou ['Lin Heung Tea House,' Cantonese cuisine and dim sum; 160-164 Wellington St, central Hong Kong] 蓮香樓
luk yu cha shi ['Luk Yu Tea Room,' famous old-style Hong Kong dim sum house; 26 Stanley Street, central Hong Kong] 陸羽茶室

Mainland China:
hu pao3 (meng) quan ['Tiger Run (dream) Spring,' the famous spring in Zhejiang province near where long jing cha is grown, and from which it is said the best water for long jing cha is drawn] 虎 跑 (梦) 泉
lu4 tai2 cha guan [the 'Terrace Tea House,' traditional tea house in Beijing, just east of the Forbidden City; address: 东华门大街 69号] 露台茶馆
Ma Lian Dao [Xuanwu district, Beijing] -- a street over 1.5 km long with over 600 shops selling tea and tea wares! Be sure to check out the 4-storey Maliandao Tea City, which houses about 200 famous tea companies from all over China. 马连道
wan ling cha wan3 ['Wan Ling Tea House'; shop A22 at 1829 Beijing West Road, Shanghai] 婉玲茶宛
zhong guo cha du ['China Tea Capital,' a large center in Anxi, Fujian province, showcasing wu long teas] 中国茶都
zhong guo cha ye bo wu guan ['China National Tea Museum,' Longjing Road, Shuangfeng Village, Hangzhou, Zhejiang province -- Tel 86-571-7964112] 中国茶叶博物馆

Taiwan:
bie cha yuan ['Tea Academy Annex,' known in English as 'Off-Chaism'; No. 6, Lane 12, Yong Kang Street, Taipei; tel: 886.2.2341.8272] 別茶院
chan yuan ['Zen Garden,' known in English as 'Shann Garden'; No. 34 Youya Road, Bei-Tou District, Taipei 112; tel: 02.2896.5700 or 2896.5709] 禅園
hui liu ['Return & Remain' -- No. 9, Lane 31, Yong Kang St., Taipei; tel: 886.2.2861.9840 or 2392.6707 -- vegetarian food, wild tea, ceramics] 回留
ping lin cha ye bo wu guan [Pinglin Tea Trade Museum, No. 19-1, Sung Chi Keng, Shui Te Tsun, Pinglin; tel: 02.2665.6035] 坪林茶業博物館
yeh tang [No. 20-2, Lane 31, Yong Kang Street, Taipei; tel: 886.2.3393.8988] 冶堂
zi teng lu [Wistaria Tea House, lit 'Purple Cane Hut,' 1 Xin Sheng South Road, Section 3, Alley 16, Taipei] -- a historic landmark, meeting-place for political activists, literati, and artists; part of the movie 'Eat Drink Man Woman' was filmed here] 紫藤廬

7. Purchasing Phrases

Delicious! [lit 'good eat'] 好 吃 hao chi!
Do you accept credit cards? 信用卡可以吗 ？xin yong ka ke yi ma?
Do you speak English? 会说英语吗 ？hui shuo ying yu ma?
Do you understand? 懂吗 ？dong ma?
Excuse me ... [a polite way to get attention] 劳驾 lao jia ...
Good afternoon! 下午好 xia wu hao!
Good evening! 晚上好 wan shang hao!
Good morning! 早上好 zao shang hao!
Good night! [lit 'evening peaceful'] 晚 安 wan an!
Goodbye! [lit 'again meet'] 再见 zai jian!
Hello! [lit. 'Are you doing well?'] 你好吗 ni hao ma? [answered with 'I (am) very well,' 我很好 wo hen hao]
How much does it cost? [lit 'How much money?'] 多少钱 ? duo shao qian?
How old is it? 有多少年份？you duo shao nian fen?
I don't understand Chinese. 我不懂中文 wo bu dong zhong wen.
I need an interpreter. 我需要翻译 wo xu yao fan yi.
I want to buy ... 想买。。。xiang mai ...
I'll take both of them. [lit 'both item both request'] 两个都要 liang ge dou yao.
I'll take this one. [lit 'please, allow me this item'] 请给我这个 qing gei wo zhe ge.
I'm just looking. 随便看看 sui bian kan kan.
Is that so? ['Indeed?'] 是吗？shi ma?
It goes down smoothly. [lit 'smooth/favorable mouth'; said of delicious tea] 順口
May I ask you ...? [lit 'please inquire'; a polite way of getting conversational attention] 请‭ ‬问 。。。 qing wen ...
May I have your (sur)name? [lit 'you valuable (sur)name?'] 您贵姓？nin gui xing? -- answered with 'my (sur)name (is) ...'] 我姓 。。。 wo xing ...
May I taste this tea? 我可不可以品试这个茶 ？wo ke bu ke yi pin shi zhe ge cha?
May I use a credit card? 信用卡，可以吗？ xin yong ka, ke yi ma?
No. 沒有 mei2 you3
No problem! [i.e. 'Not to worry!' or 'Never mind!'] 没关系 mei guan xi!
No problem! [i.e. 'Sure!' lit 'not inquire thing'] 没问题 mei wen ti!
Okay, I'll buy it. 好，我买了 hao, wo mai le.
Please show it to me [lit 'allow me look at it'] 给我看一下 gei wo kan yi xia.
Please show me ... [lit 'please allow me take a look at ...] 请让我看看 。。。 qing rang wo kan kan ...
Please write it in hanzi [Chinese characters]. 请用汉字写。qing yong han zi xie.
Please write it in pinyin [roman letters]. 请用拼音写。qing yong pin yin xie.
Pleased to meet you! [lit 'meet you, I very high interest'] 见到你，我很高兴 jian dao ni, wo hen gao xing!
Thank you! 谢 谢 xie xie! [answered with 'you're welcome!' 不客气 bu ke qi! (lit 'not guest energy'), or 不用 谢 bu yong xie! (lit 'not use thanks')]
Thank you very much! [lit 'not ordinary feel thanks'] 非常感谢 fei chang gan xie!
This is my e-mail (address). 这是我 的 e-mail。zhe shi wo de e-mail.
This is the best (one). 这最好。zhe zui hao.
Very good! 很好 ! hen hao!
What is the price? 是 什么价格？ shi shen me jia ge?
Where can I find ...? 我 能在哪里找到 。。。？ wo neng zai na li zhao dao ...?
Yes. 对的 dui4 de5.
Yes. 是的 shi4 de5.

8. Miscellanea

bei di xiang ['cup bottom fragrance,' the aroma left in the cup after the tea has been drunk] 杯底香
cha qi [to brew/infuse (tea); cf. pao4] 茶沏 ; note that this word is qi1. cha qi4 茶气 [traditional form 氣], a different term, would signify the vital energy (qi or ch'i) in tea.
gong fu cha [skilled preparation and serving of tea, esp. oolongs] 工夫茶 or 功夫茶
hou zi cai ['monkey-picked,' said of rare or difficult-to-harvest teas] 猴子采
hui gan ['recurring sweetness,' the sweet aftertaste experienced by breathing in after swallowing certain teas, esp. oolongs] 回甘
jia ji ['Grade A'] 甲级
ji pin ['top grade,' best quality] 级品
ke4 [gramme of weight] 剋 [克]
kou gan ['mouth feel,' the perceived texture and density of the tea liquor in the mouth] 口感
ming qian ['pre-qing-ming'] harvested before the qing ming festival 明前
nai xiang ['milk fragrance,' a characteristic taste/aftertaste of prized Taiwan oolongs typically produced from the jin xuan cultivar] 乃香
nong xiang [lit 'dense fragrance,' due to heavier oxidation; cf. qing xiang] 浓香
pao4 [infuse, steep] 泡
qing1 ming [the 'clear-bright' festival in April; for the most part, ming qian tea, i.e. the tea harvested pre-qing-ming, is reputedly the best] 清明
qing xiang [lit 'clear fragrance,' a result of little or no oxidation; cf. nong xiang] 清香
shan ['mountain,' whether a single peak or an entire range] 山
you ji ['organic'] 有机
yun4 ['aftertaste,' lit 'rhyme'] 韵

~~~~~~~~~~ · ~~~~~~~~~~
Many more friends and colleagues have inspired and helped me than I can easily acknowledge here. But to mention a minimal few: thanks to Geraldo, who unwittingly provided one of the original impetus for the compilation of this list. Thanks too, as always, to Danny Samarkand, inexhaustible fund of knowledge in matters of Chinese culture in general (and tea lore in particular). Steven Owyoung is a Living National Treasure, and beyond praise. Warren Peltier, friend and tea brother, is endlessly generous with his vast expertise in things Chinese. Will Chen's zest for cha dao, in its various manifestations, is inspiring and nourishing. Josh of Cha Xiu Bao, Hugh Crymble, Keith Dickson, Hong Wei, Huang Chi-Fang, MarshalN, and Wu Shaojing were all helpful and encouraging with various kinds of information. (None of these people, it goes without saying, is responsible for any of my errors here.)

A special tip of the hat is due to my learned friends and colleagues Lew Perin and Mike Petro. Mike's pu-erh.net site has become the 'Rosetta Stone' for all things pu'er, including such terminology as one finds here. Lew's ingenious, indispensible, and ever-burgeoning Babelcarp site should be the first recourse for anyone looking for tea terms in Chinese. It is meticulously researched, extraordinarily user-friendly, and far more comprehensive than this brief handlist.

Finally, the online Xuezhongwen dictionary is an inexhaustible and convenient scholarly resource, and can be heartily recommended.

-- corax

Hong Kong! Hong Kong! Hong Kong!

by DANNY SAMARKAND

Hong Kong is a real haven for tea lovers! While the tea shops in Taiwan have a larger variety of predominently Formosan oolongs and teas -- at least from the last impression I had in 2003, the tea varieties in Hong Kong are wider, ranging from black teas to green, compressed to loose, aged to freshly plucked brews.

There's another good reason why I think Hong Kong is a tea lovers' haven -- most of the the shopkeepers there speak ENGLISH (not that it matters to me!) ... One of the frustrating thing for a western tealover is the inability to communicate with the tea shop salespersons -- Taiwan and China seem to have this lingo barrier, but Hong Kong, being till 10 years ago a British colony, has done well.


My trip to Hong Kong was a fruitful and lovely one; I had 3 agendas: to celebrate my best friend's birthday, to find out more about the tea trade and its development in Hong Kong (a question posed by a British tea friend), and to hunt the alleys for tea.


Besides looking up the tea trade development, I have accomplished the other two. Arrive home with more teas than I can drink, an empty pocket, and an idiot's orgasmic smile -- whatever that means...


...the interior of this wholesaler is not for a Pu'er newbie!

Anodyne: A Tale of Two Bi Luo Chun Teas

The Early Spring Bi Luo Chun from Jing Tea Shop comes from the East Dong Ting Mountain, Jiang Su Province. The website refers to it as a "first pick" from early spring 2007. It is always a pleasure to see and experience the soft little downy white curls of leaf. In this Bi Luo Chun I do catch the more ethereal floral note that wafts in and out of the deeper nutty character. I think of this as catching the sight of butterfly wings from one's peripheral vision. There and gone...there and back again. A light citrus twist at the end goes up really well against the sweetness. The layers of flavor unfold even more for me in the second infusion.

Comparatively, as I posted on May 31, 2007 in Anodyne on TeaSpring’s Dong Ting Bi Luo Chun, I certainly don't dislike the TeaSpring 2007 Dong Ting Bi Luo Chun. I just haven't found this as enchanting as ones I've had in years past. Perhaps I've just not unlocked the magical brewing parameters as this can be a tricky green to get right. It's certainly a pleasant enough tea--nutty and vegetal and quite a solid and substantial tea experience. It falls into that category I think of as "nourishing." Not as ethereal an experience for me as in year's past.

Of these two, and not having gone cup-to-cup for specifics, I do have a preference for the Jing Tea Shop Bi Luo Chun even while I've been able to enjoy them both. I'm not certain I've totally unlocked the mystery of the Bi Luo Chun from TeaSpring. Though I note that the layers of flavor came through easily enough in the one from Jing Tea Shop without undue fussing on my part.

The TeaSpring Bi Luo Chun is a green tea that strikes me as having that "nourishing" character; the one from Jing Tea Shop speaks more clearly to me of fresh and emergent spring green.

The taste of certain teas such as this particular Bi Luo Chun is like being dropped into the middle of Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine when...

"...it all began on a morning such as this...Clover blossoms, the few unharvested dandelion fires, ants, sticks, pebbles, remnants of last year's July Fourth squibs and punks, but predominantly clear green, a fount leaped up from the chattering mower. A cool soft fount: Grandfather imagined it tickling his legs, spraying his warm face, filling his nostrils with the timeless scent of a new season begun, with the promise that, yes, we'll all live another twelve months." (Dandelion Wine)

On our walk today, that familiar nose-tickling pungent scent permeated the air as green argyle-patterns and faery circles emerged in the lawns. The grass blown up on the pavement looked like piles of Ko-kei cha ready for brewing, and the scent in the air reminded me of some Sencha and certain Chinese greens. Certainly the shades of green grass could be found in both Japanese and China green teas.

"Yes, summer was rituals, each with its natural time and place. The ritual of lemonade or ice-tea making, the ritual of wine, shoes, or no shoes, and at last, swiftly following the others, with quiet dignity, the ritual of the front-porch swing." (Dandelion Wine)

For some of us, one of the spring-into-summer rituals is that exploration of the new crop of Chinese green teas. Sources for the teas:

http://www.jingteashop.com/
http://www.teaspring.com/

-Holly L. Hatfield-Busk

Anodyne on Ying De Gold and Ying De Red

I first tasted Jing Tea Shop’s Ying De Gold and posted comments July 07, 2006 in Anodyne on Pre Ming Ying De Gold and Special Grade Dian Hong Gold. I’ve just had a chance to taste the Ying De Gold and Ying De Red again this season.

The Ying De Red is from Guangdong Province and is listed on the website as “2007, Pre Qing-Ming (Ming Qian Cha).” It has a wonderful aroma with touches of floral, cocoa, and toasty grains. The cup itself is quite mellow with the toasty grain and hint of floral lingering into the finish. As the tea cools slightly, the floral note pulls forward more distinctly with a hint of dark honey.

The Ying De Gold, from Ying De, Guangdong Province, is listed as the “first pick” from early spring 2007. It has distinctly more of a high-register floral note to the dry leaf compared to Ying De Red, which makes me think that the tea will reflect this floral note more dominantly in the cup. There is something in the dry leaf’s floral note that reminds me of certain First Flush Darjeeling teas. That is not something I experience with the Ying De Red. There is still a deeper bass scent to this tea, but the floral note is more permeating and forward than in the Ying De Red. The cup itself has a slightly brighter character and a clarity that is connected to the floral, yet it still remains quite mellow. The floral notes meander more distinctly into the finish in the Ying De Gold making it a more ethereal experience. As the tea cools slightly, a sweet nectar-like note settles in against the floral.

In 2006 I had a very similar impression of this tea, though I wrote of “malt” in lieu of “toasty grains.” I don’t think this reflects a change in the tea’s profile. It’s merely my own discrepancy in finding and describing taste. I had not read my 2006 notes prior to tasting the tea this year, and I see that the word “clarity” came to mind both years. That clarity of the cup is a pleasing aspect to this tea as is the juxtaposition of the smoothness and depth of flavor against the very fresh spring-like floral notes. In tasting this tea in 2006, I expressed a similar pleasure: ”The aroma deepens and sweetens as it cools slightly. I like the way everything balances out in this cup. It drinks smooth and with a nice clarity, just the right pungent edge that doesn't cross over into anything harsh or muddy or metallic or green or overly earthy."

The empty cups of both teas are exuding a fresh floral sweet note. The Ying De Red has the most pronounced lingering scent—a darker honey than the Ying De Gold’s more ethereal floral-nectar. Source: http://www.jingteashop.com/

--Holly L. Hatfield-Busk

The Emperor, The Tea, & The Myth: A Deconstructionist Tale

The Phoenix Chronicles, Part 1
by DANNY SAMARKAND
They say.

That a fish crawled out from the lake for me because I was hungry; that three mountain gods turned themselves into furious brave soldiers to fight off my enemies; that a phoenix dropped a sprig of tea leaves into my lap to quench my thirst.

My name is linked to such fantastical legends, one wonders if there could be any truth in these tales –- I mean, how do you expect me to quench thirst with a sprig of leaves? Masticate them like a mountain goat?

My name is Zhao Bing 赵昺, the last emperor of the Southern Song 南宋 dynasty.

If the mountain gods had fought by my side, my empire would not have passed into the hands of Kubilai Khan. My men caught those fish for me; and as for the tea –- remember, in Song dynasty we were still drinking green powdered tea: a sprig of tea leaves would not have meant anything to me. Besides, there was no phoenix; it was actually a crow with droppings for my head.

The year was 1278: the endless fleeing from the enemy, the sleepless nights, and the near drowning at high seas took the emperor’s -- my brother's -– life after a fit of illness. The little band of loyalists was disheartened, but Lu Xiufu 陆秀夫, the prime minister, reminded them that there was still me -- the Song bloodline was not going to end.

Trust me, I never wanted to be an emperor, never wanted a life as a fugitive on the run from the Mongolian barbarians. I wanted only to play with crickets.

I was fleeing from the barbarians the day I was crowned emperor, and we fled from Fuzhou to Guangzhou.

That is where I came to drink this tea that the locals plucked off tea trees and boiled as a beverage. Hong Yin 红茵 was what the farmers called it. It was a common beverage, but it tasted so good, so sweet. I was probably very thirsty then, and angry that a crow soiled my clothes, but the tea was nothing like the green muck I used to drink back in the palace -- when I still lived in a palace, playing with my crickets.

My kingdom, my sad small Southern Song state, didn’t last long. We fought the barbarians hard and furious, but they just came on stronger, wave after wave of fearsome barbarians, tall and thick as a wall. We retreated to the seas. We fought on the seas. We lost.

It was a cold dawn that day when Lu woke me up to tell me the news. The dynasty that my ancestors ruled for 152 years was no longer. Lu was weeping when he broke the news. I had never seen a grown man weep.

“Please come with me, your highness,” he said.

“Where to, Lu? Are we on the run again?” I was not yet fully awake.

“No, your highness, but it is time for us to go.”

I followed Lu to the deck; his wife was there waiting for us with their young son fast asleep in her arms. Lu walked to his wife, and began to tie her up with a rope, looping his wife and son together.

“I don’t want our son to suffer the pain,” she begged. Lu looked at his wife for a long time, and then at his son. He nodded. “I can’t bear having him suffer too,” he said gently.

Lu looped one end of the rope over his son’s neck, and suddenly, with one quick force, tightened the rope. The boy woke and began to struggle for air, but his mother buried his face into her bosom while his father tightened the rope further. I watched in stunned horror as the boy’s body stiffened before going limp forever.

The mother’s howl that came as the father relaxed the rope froze the morning breeze to icy knives that stabbed our souls.

Lu walked over to me, and began tying us together. “What are you doing, Lu?” I demanded.

“Your highness, it is time for us to go. This is no longer our country; our ancestors do not recognize us anymore.” I am tied securely to Lu, I am too stunned, too frightened by what I have just witness, to struggle.

Your highness, it is time for us to go.

The chilly water brought me to my senses. I struggled, but Lu held me tightly to him. I fought, I screamed, but every scream was drowned in mouthfuls of sea water. I punched him, I kicked. I clawed at Lu, but he only hugged me tighter and tighter. Over his shoulders I could see Lu’s wife sinking into the dark blue, she was struggling too, tied to her dead son. I thought I heard her scream…

My chest was going to burst. I needed air, but water filled my lungs. I thought I would be a fish, and breathe water.

I could feel Lu’s hug relaxing. I could untie myself now, but I was tired.

I never wanted to be emperor. I just want to play with my crickets; I just want to play with the fish in the pond.

The year was 1279. My name is Zhao Bing, the last emperor of Southern Song.

And I was eight.