South Tea Sips 5: Concluding Sips…for now

Posted on May 8, 2013 by JeffFuchs
One of the many tea hostesses that inevitably must tire of our continued sipping

One of the many tea hostesses that inevitably must tire of our continued sipping

Last days inevitably require ‘last sips’, though no sips will really be ‘last’ ones when it comes to tea. Having left Lao Banzhang, Marco and I head back to our base of food, operations, community, and what is left of our clean laundry: Menghai. Our little stockpile of tea samples grows in girth and it is one of Marco’s joys to watch as this ‘collection’ of green gifts grows.

Marco strolls through one of the countless tea hills that we variously call home

Marco strolls through one of the countless tea hills that we variously call home

Last moments in Banzhang were spent trying to figure out which transport to take back to the Menghai. We ended up taking one of the classic and true wonders of the world of rural China: the 1.1 liter vehicle I simply call ‘a surprise’. With little power, but a surprising heart these miniscule vehicles punish the buttocks and craniums of any who dare to sit within. The two different options in term of roads to take back to Menghai offer up a choice of either ‘masochistically demoralizing’ or jaw clenching – forearm cramping. It is simply part of anyone’s journey who wants to arrive (or leave) the tea sanctum.

One of our many tea-friends...in this case a man I simply call Popeye. A tea man with arms of steel.

One of our many tea-friends…in this case a man I simply call Popeye. A tea man with arms of steel.

We arrive to Menghai nicely addled. Menghai, like much of the surrounding smoky hills, continues its growth with structures and buildings that don’t seem quite to match the terrain, shooting up all over the southwest portion of town. Much of its growth is on the stimulant back of tea profits. Dusty, weather-worn tea bosses with stained fingers from the distant villages are splurging on apartments in town so that during tea’s rare ‘off-seasons’ they too can play at being city-folk.

Cleaning up tea, and the paraphernalia of the tea drying process as rain begins to fall in Lao Banzhang

Cleaning up tea, and the paraphernalia of the tea drying process as rain begins to fall in Lao Banzhang

We both have added to our stashes of tea, with the welcome addition of two cakes of Banzhang cakes from the ancient trees. We both have the slightly gaunt looks of addicts and the amounts of tea that have come, gone, and come again, have been magnificent in sheer volume and quality. Tea’s grip on us is entirely complete.

One of the dozen or so places where Marco and I sleep; in this case a tea house where blankets and mattresses have been laid down

One of the dozen or so places where Marco and I sleep; in this case a tea house where blankets and mattresses have been laid down

Time here in the south doesn’t so much bleed away, as it does get washed away in waves of tea and our three-week journey into, through, and with tea and its people. One of the great joys is that after a while this ‘city’ of Menghai inevitably seems to revert back to its village atmosphere. Friends greet with shrill screams across streets, ‘people of the tea’ – who are old friends of mine – will stop their vehicles to chat with Marco and I, while simultaneously blocking all traffic.

A view of tea frying

A view of tea frying

In some cases these friends will literally chuck a sample bag of tea to us out of a window. My hope is that this feeling and informality isn’t squandered away in the rush of development because it is exactly this slow way, this way of listening and taking time to be with others that makes my journeys here so worthwhile…that and of course the tea.

IMG_5100 - Version 2

A few last dinners – all taking place on the same evening – are had. One last meal is with a gathering of tea buyers, sellers, growers, producers and though initially there isn’t much talk of tea, the green leaf becomes the discussion. Everyone sitting at that table is linked by the leaf, and even the restaurant owner is in on the act being “a friend of a friend of a family member of a…” I’m not sure how payment for the meal is made but in China it is often this way in the rural regions: someone will pay the patron of the restaurant on a trip to the washroom, or in some cases someone is owed the meal, or sometimes a tab is simply kept, and there will be payment made at some point. In the end it inevitably works out and everyone is sastisfied.

 

My face on being told that we must leave a tea shop - summed up as 'pure pain'

My face on being told that we must leave a tea shop – summed up as ‘pure pain’

Marco and I are by extension invited to another meal that same evening and that second meal is forced upon us as though we haven’t yet eaten, that somehow we have to be compensated for all of the calories that the quantities have taken from us. Marco and I now have wordless conversations with eyes and hands and dipping of the chin, which communicate so much. Full stomachs, fear of drinking yet another shot of firewater and even pleasure…all of it is expressed with a few glances, grunts or wrinkled forehead.

 

Breathless and straining at the belt we finally bid our farewell and make for one of our many Menghai safe houses: a friend’s tea house. It has been his way since we arrived weeks ago and it has been this way for me for years in this sub-tropic city that grows: every night a few last sips before bed of any tea we fancy. Marco is now fully indoctrinated as to what teas are ‘safe’ at night and what teas will play with the nerves and wire the system for a sleepless night.

 

This last evening has us tucking into a 2007 Jingmai ‘gu shu’ (old tea tree) that has been stored in a bamboo husk, taking some of the sweetness of the husks inner skin. The caffeine levels have dropped off with the years and the colour has stained into a nice copper colour. With us in the tea house are the usual suspects. Friends, families, the odd dog, all chatting – the dogs get bored and generally go outside to sniff at the dusty evening air – and sipping, and chatting some more. This is an every night affair rather than anything exceptional; or rather it is exceptional because it does occur every night.

 

In front of the gates of Lao Banzhang, with a warning (on the right) not to buy raw tea leaves, but rather prepared teas. Laws within the tea meccas are strictly enforced.

In front of the gates of Lao Banzhang, with a warning (on the right) not to buy raw tea leaves, but rather prepared teas. Laws within the tea meccas are strictly enforced.

Our Jingmai tea hits the mouth with a nice iron-veg hit, scraping the gums with its maturing and lasting flavours. Tea’s great ability is to create impressions in the mouth as opposed to give off tastes. A single tea will hit palates entirely differently, though this present 2007 seems to be a pleaser for most. Our hostess of the moment (and the actual tea server may be the equivalent of a spinning chair as there seems to be a new server every twenty-minutes) tells us that the ‘creator’ of this particular tea is an old friend that I have met. This informal explanation of who the ‘maker’ of the tea is the equivalent in this world of providing a bio of a vintner or a chef’s resume, as it links the leaf and the taste back to a person.

 

Marco has to ensure – even with this less potent tea – that he doesn’t simply shoot down shots of the stimulant green as is his habit. Small cups of tea can quickly build up in the system until a kind of euphoria is reached; a euphoria that pushes the pulse and keeps the body fully wired well into the wee hours. This tea – whatever other qualities it has – finishes with a nice massaging of the throat as it disappears. The bamboo influence and age of the tea help to provide this feeling.

As good a place to finish up as any...a tea road

As good a place to finish up as any…a tea road

At 11 am as it seems that bodies are slowly leaving the tea shop, Marco and I prepare our bags, our teas, and our brief good-byes, when still more bodies (a second or third wave of latecomer friends) bursts into the tea shop. More teas are prepared…and Marco and I decide that we will depart the following day later than planned for Jinghong and our inevitable departure north. How can we pass up another series of rounds of spectacular teas, tea people, discussions, debate, and tea highs? “We cannot”, is our rather practical answer.  Dropping our bags and teas back down, we sit down like two little boys and hoist the latest cup of stimulant green and accept that sleep will most likely arrive as a purple dawn inks the morning sky.

 

 

Posted in Explorations, Tea | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on South Tea Sips 5: Concluding Sips…for now

South Tea Sips 4: The Extra Leaf

Posted on April 25, 2013 by JeffFuchs

Bent over, with the smell of freshly fried tea literally steaming into me I am struck that the wafts emanating upwards seem a combination of sweet corn and spinach. Not that it matters really, but I do spend an inordinate amount of time and brain space considering tea and all of its aspects. Much time has been spent trying to formulate what it is exactly that makes tea such a potent and formidable part of most of my days.

Each stage of the tea process needs the hands and head. Here I involve my hands kneading the tea leaves in 'Gao's Tea Headquarters'.

Each stage of the tea process needs the hands and head. Here I involve my hands kneading the tea leaves in ‘Gao’s Tea Headquarters’.

 

Marco sits across from me kneeling, kneading the pliant leaves in slow methodical movements. I too share in this movement – the three of us are bound by the leaves that lie beneath our hands. Gao stands above us like the colonel that he is. He (and we) have been at it for two hours. It is late afternoon and we’ve literally got our hands wrist deep in the tea preparing it for drinkers that will inevitably descend.

Inside a local kitchen with strips of pork hanging above the fire pit. Regardless of the money that flows in many areas remain simple and traditional

Inside a local kitchen with strips of pork hanging above the fire pit. Regardless of the money that flows in many areas remain simple and traditional

We are participating in tea’s great unchanged production rituals. Below Gao’s home we are in a small open room that backs onto an open valley of orange dirt. Gao sweats, I grunt, and Marco mutters as we are all in our own little worlds of tea. Once in a while Gao looks over his shoulder at us and only once does he say anything. “Don’t push too hard or else you’ll damage the leaves” he tells us. We nod, eager to please as this is no idle warning to us as beneath our fingers and palms, Marco and I have about 5 kg’s of prime spring harvest off of the old tea trees – in other words a fortune. To bruise the leaves will be catamount to committing a great sin, and neither of us have any thoughts of sin in this sanctum of all that is ‘tea-holy’. The final worth of this tea from Lao Banzhang’s primordial tea forests will be almost $5,000 USD. It is already sold. Gao’s teas are often bought a year in advance, so trusted are his abilities to not only source but also to produce teas of magnificent quality.

Gao and his competent tea-savy hands and arms immerse themselves into his leaves

Gao and his competent tea-savy hands and arms immerse themselves into his leaves

With this in mind I wonder why Marco and I are allowed to participate. He simply tells me at one stage: “You care too much not to produce a quality tea. Your technique is fine and you are both stressed, which is a good thing. Tea needs attention”. I wonder aloud if this means we will get to actually receive some of this tea as a kind of reward or payment for work done. The answer is one of Gao’s simple but very effective smiles of “NO”. There is, however, a very good chance that Gao will relent. I’ve often been the happy recipient of Gao’s teas as a kind of informal ‘thank-you’ for services rendered.

 

Gao's precious bamboo tongs which are so very necessary when he is at work frying.

Gao’s precious bamboo tongs which are so very necessary when he is at work frying.

Freshly picked leaves lie on a rattan matt just behind where I sit. This is the withering stage where the leaves oxidize ever so slightly and become limp in the careful grey tones of the shade. Gao takes these leaves, which are carried in by his daughter and wife, and dumps them into his large wok which is heated carefully by wood.

A starting point: fresh tea leaves and a scale.

A starting point: fresh tea leaves and a scale.

If too hot the leaves will burn which will ruin the entire batch, not hot enough and the leaves will need ‘too’ much time upon the steel of the wok affecting flavor, too much smoke and the leaves will absorb the wood fire’s every nuance. It is a simple procedure needing an exacting knowledge and precision.

The interior of a tea harvester's hut. Food, water, fire and a rest area provide a 'home' high upon the tea mountains for the busy villagers

The interior of a tea harvester’s hut. Food, water, fire and a rest area provide a ‘home’ high upon the tea mountains for the busy villagers

Gao then proceeds in his ‘work’. His arms and hands (and two bamboo prongs) do not stop for more than a second or two, gently churning the leaves. It is as though Gao’s powerful arms have taken the place of a tumbler dryer. The work is both physical and meticulous at the same time, but Gao is thoroughly in his element. His powerful arms have been doing this for decades. When he is done he dumps the resultant fried leaves – which have now been fried down to a quarter of the original volume – onto trays to rest for a few minutes. At this point Marco and I come happily into the process. First, we gently sort and separate the damp (and at times brutally hot) leaves so that the leaves aerate slightly. Then a kneading action (“gently”, we are reminded by the ever-vigilant Gao) rolls the leaves and makes them pliant, which is much like kneading dough. Yet another sorting and aerating activity, which separates the leaves, follow this action. This is simply lifting up handfuls of the green and shaking the hands to let the leaves fall through the fingers. Our esteemed leader and my Yunnan uncle watches and sees everything. No batch of tea is beyond his attention and sometimes he will simply nod or pick up a few strands of leaves and twitch his moustache.

The magnificent Gao in action at one of his tea frying stations

The magnificent Gao in action at one of his tea frying stations

 

Once the leaves are laid out they are then taken upstairs on the circular rattan trays that I love so much and placed under the sun. The rattan mats are stained from years of providing a resting place for tea leaves and in there rugged shapes and colours, they represent some of the beautiful tea process that is rarely seen. This entire procedure – from harvesting to drying place –  happens in two major sessions during the day: once in the late morning and once late afternoon.

A beautiful result: newly fried leaves

A beautiful result: newly fried leaves

Finishing up signifies dinner, but Gao ushers us up to the roof-top. Dinner can wait, as there is a ‘tea issue’ that needs clearing up. Something has disturbed his eminence; something he had seen earlier and made his soft eyes harden temporarily. I had asked him about it but he had simply commented, “It isn’t a problem on our end”.

Reaching the roof-top which is covered in trays of tea leaves, Gao unhesitatingly makes his way to the ‘offending’ leaves which lay innocently awaiting judgment. We move the mats onto racks to dry for the night protected from the ‘enemy’ of every tea mat: rain. Gao picks up a few leaves and gives me some and his question is clear without him actually needing to verbalize it: “What is wrong with this tea”?

IMG_5117

It only occurs to me after a minute or so that there are not the standard ‘two leaves and a bud’ present in this collection, but rather ‘three leaves and one bud’. Gao looks at the offending examples of his precious tea without expression. It is the sad and weary look of someone looking at misguided perfection. Perfect leaves, imperfectly clipped. Not a total disaster, but certainly a small one.

“We cannot sell this tea”, he says looking more closely at the tea as though there might be other unsavory elements to the tea besides the one extra leaf.

Tea stained mats are in action for much of the year and they themselves have their own tales to tell about tea

Tea stained mats are in action for much of the year and they themselves have their own tales to tell about tea

In Yunnan and indeed much of China, the standard for a tea is either the ‘two leaves, one bud’ or ‘one bud and one leaf’. In the case of white tea it is often a single bud or leaf. For Gao’s creations, it has always been the ‘two leaves, one bud’ but what we now stare at in a kind of blank daze is ‘three leaves and one bud’ configuration. Great leaves gone wrong! I would be happy accepting these four-leaf-oddities if he cannot manage to sell them or find them a home. I casually mention this to Gao, though I don’t even get the benefit of a response, though it cannot hurt trying.

Gao mentions that this year he has had to hire a couple from Burma, who have made this mistake before. He goes on to tell us that he will inform them again of his standards. I feel the dual prongs of a heavy heart for the couple, and a sense of injustice at they having messed up a batch of tea.

Where things happily and inevitably end up: around a tea table sipping back the results

Where things happily and inevitably end up: around a tea table sipping back the results

Later during a meal sitting with Gao’s family – including the husband and wife couple from Burma – Gao softly explains that the clippings need to be in the ‘two leaves, one bud’ format. The couple who are also of the Hani minority softly nod while eating the potent ‘sour-spice’ flavored plates before us. Gao smiles one of those understated smiles of his, happy to be rid of the dirty business, and decrees that a “glass” of local firewater will be consumed. This “glass” he speaks of is rarely – if ever – a single glass, and Marco glances over at me with what we now refer to as the “here it comes” look. What is magic though, is that after a few snorts of the whisky our evening (like all here) will end with a few cups of tea around the tea table and talk of tea. It is the ‘digestif’ of every night in these parts.

There is the recurring fantasy that somehow the tea with its extra leaf will somehow at some point end up in one of my bags.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Explorations, Tea, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

South Tea Sips 3: Moustaches and Matè Unleashed

Posted on April 5, 2013 by JeffFuchs

 

Those who enjoy tea’s ability to “lay the hammer down softly” have always held Jing Mai teas in regard. These words were used once by a Guangdong friend of mine whose abilities to discern teas – despite a ferocious smoking habit – were nothing short of phenomenal. This reference wanders around in my head as Marco and I get pleasantly zipped on the very tea that can “lay that hammer down softly”: Jing Mai.

Some of Jing Mai's finest leaves dry...waiting for us

Some of Jing Mai’s finest leaves dry…waiting for us

Days into our southern tea journey and the amounts of tea have only increased, though Marco has wisely understood the rule: there are times to avoid potent unfermented green Puerhs and that would include anything after 6 pm.

Jing Mai’s teas have the ability to gently but firmly grip the mouth and molars all the while sending out a pleasant and very green series of vapors. Though we’ve been deep within the green for days, on this day we sit in our third successive teahouse within the Dai village of Jing Mai itself. Marco has formulated an expression in reference to our continued and sometimes manic tea taking sessions. When he feels the first stimulant vibes hitting his bloodstream and likes the taste, he states in his deep accented English “Show me how to live”.  Not exactly certain where it originates from, but the expression is also used to describe other things that please Marco’s senses. Food, handsome women, carved wood, and the odd swish of whisky all get this similar approval rating. But, it is tea that keeps the bearded Brazilian in awe most hours of the day with the sheer quantity of it around us. We now are bound inextricably together regardless of nations, shoe size, and all else. Such is tea’s power, though it also has much to do with the fact that we both enjoy journeying and taking parts of the world in.

A pathway and signs of harvester's transport rest in Jing Mai's Mangjing tea forest

A pathway and signs of tea harvesters rest in Jing Mai’s Mangjing tea forest

Jing Mai treats us with masses of tea and a full-on mad rush as locals are completely involved in the madness of spring tea harvesting. Picked, and ready to consume in days, the spring tea harvest is the one that is most awaited – and profitable – for locals.

“This place is entirely made of tea”, Marco exhaled earlier in the day as boxes, racks, trucks and houses literally brim with the stuff. Though Jing Mai oozes tea, it is a yet another place where Marco’s matè remains still. There never seems an appropriate time for him, and I understand that for him, the present tense is about observing. He is sensitive to moments and feelings and in this way understands intuitively that there will in fact come a time…just not in Jing Mai.

Some teasing. Freshly harvested Jing Mai leaves

Some teasing. Freshly harvested Jing Mai leaves

Two days later though, matè makes its official debut in stunning fashion. Marco’s stress levels have been at times rising as he still dreams of the perfect time to serve the South American stimulant. When the time does come, it doesn’t so much come as it does simply arrive with a little nudging from myself.

We are in one of my favorite bastions of tea growth, and an old haunt of mine complete with friends and tea in huge and genuine numbers. It also a place that is iconic within the world of Puerh: Lao Banzhang. It is where some of the most coveted tea, meets with an indigenous warmth, and the subsequent feasts of food and liquid. It is, upon arriving for the first time this year, also a place of enormous change. Skyrocketing prices of Banzhang teas have quickly made families minor fortunes and even here in the deep green forests of silence, neighbors must erect significantly larger homes to stay keep up with everyone else. It seems an inevitable phase of every town’s ‘ascension’ in the world.

 

Banzhang's change: a glut of new and huge homes amidst the famed red earth

Banzhang’s change: a glut of new and huge homes amidst the famed red earth

We’ve come through the red dust in two vehicles of tea-obsessed people. Here the earth’s colour and its characteristics have much to do with the final tea’s taste. Rich red-orange clay like earth provides a kind of intravenous system for the ancient trees. Whereas small or medium sized (and aged) tea trees are like children, having not yet really developed character, the older tea trees have long fixed their essences. Root systems that plunge deep into the earth have long established who and what they are. It is up to the Hani harvesters and producers to do the rest.

 

A reassuring sign. Drying meat over the fire, hinting that all is not quite modernizing

A reassuring sign. Drying meat over the fire, hinting that all is not quite modernizing

The roads to arrive here – there are but two – are still happily able to shake the very soul loose with outrageous angles and chassis-challenging, articulated bumps seemingly designed to test the human anatomy. It was not so very long ago that this very road was only fit for walking. The rainy summer season further ‘enhances’ the route making it impassable sometimes for weeks.

 

Hopefully something eternal. A Hani woman harvesting ancient tea leaves in Banzhang's forest

Hopefully something eternal. A Hani woman harvesting ancient tea leaves in Banzhang’s forest

Banzhang itself is like some sort of eruption out of the very forests. With a long history with the tea trees, it is only in the last 10 years that money has started flowing in significantly. The Hani residents in the 7 years I’ve been making my way here have replaced their ‘huts’ with huge homes. Blue tiled monsters that sit in half-complete states interspersed with the famed red-orange soil that peaks through. To be critical of this semi-opulence would serve no purpose. This is a booming town and the locals are still the generous soft-spoken people I remember, with the one caveat being that now they have money literally being thrown at them by annual expectant buyers. The hype that has come to surround the area’s teas is like any trend but in this case, the ‘trend’ was precipitated by a genuine quality.

 

In order to pick in Banzhang's tea forests, harvesters are instructed to clip in a certain way. Many 'outsiders' are brought in to help with the biggest harvests.

In order to pick in Banzhang’s tea forests, harvesters are instructed to clip in a certain way. Many ‘outsiders’ are brought in to help with the biggest harvests.

Like our previously departed tea icon Jing Mai, the place is in full Spring Harvest mode as this is the action time of year. Banzhang teas year after year are the ones that are looked at as the teas in southern Yunnan. Their prices reflect this exclusivity and it is anywhere from $450.00 to $1000.00 US per kilo for freshly harvested ancient tea tree tea. Banzhang teas can only be called Banzhang teas if they are cultivated and harvested within a certain area and this designation yearly becomes more and more of an issue. Local government and village councils are now setting up road blocks to check and make sure that vehicles are not bringing in tea to take it back out for the appearance that it is legit and thereby sellable as a Banzhang. It seems slightly ridiculous to both try to copy, and to set up checkpoints but that is part of the business of tea culture. A little less than 60 tons of Banzhang teas will be produced in one year and there are around 150 households, which hints at the lucrative nature of the tea business.

Marco and I will stay with my mentor in the area simply known as Gao. He is something of an uncle to me and he has been the one to instruct me on why and how Banzhang teas have become what they are. He is also someone that demands that I aid in the production of his famed teas. It is an informal but expected exchange.

 

Part of the magic - and business - of tea: the frying. Crucial to the final product, one can already begin judging a final result by the technique of the fryer.

Part of the magic – and business – of tea: the frying. Crucial to the final product, one can already begin judging a final result by the technique of the fryer.

We arrive to his big home, his almost comatose dog DiDa, and his sparkling wife who cannot hide the fact that she is the powerplant in the home – and of course to the magnificent mustache that I’ve never seen him without. He is the soft, charismatic force that runs the show and of course his teas. His teas are regularly sold out before he even starts to harvest his spring masterpieces. My deal with him has always been a few days of work, meals and instruction, for a little take home gift of his best. He is best summed up as a kind of shaman, whose introspection marks him as someone who cares and feels the changes upon the town. He is also entirely aware of the aspects that ‘success’ can bring. He simply does what he does and smiles almost apologetically when describing it.

Both he and his wife have the stained hands and fingers of those who spend long hours with the ‘leaf’. Tea stains are, though a stain, somehow a clean stain and their hands also carry the inevitable waft of tea which is akin to a kind of tattoo. Meanwhile, his dog has for years seemed singularly incapable of mustering enough energy to wag its tail, though it can (I’m told) ‘do the business’ when it needs to.

The boys: myself, Gao, and Marco with the matè prepare to indulge.

The boys: myself, Gao, and Marco with the matè prepare to indulge.

Our hosts’ home has retained an old-style wooden kitchen that has over the years been entirely stained in smoke and hosted some epic meals and tales. A simple fire pit on the floor, and a massive open space remain a home as opposed to a spectacle. A meal has been prepared for us, but without warning I make the call that “NOW” is the time to serve matè and without a second of hesitation. Marco smiles and immediately pounces while I explain to the assembled group that in honour of our hosts and the moment, we will prepare a little something for our fellow tea lovers: something of another world but similar in its bitter hues.

 

Gao with his first ever sip of matè. A moment of pure beauty.

Gao with his first ever sip of matè. A moment of pure beauty.

Gao seems content to simply sit and say nothing. He has wide eyes of interest and it is rare to see this master of the leaf so entranced in anything. Marco has become the master at long last and brings out the dried gourd which will serve as our communal cup. Matè culture does not issue out individual cups for individuals. The communal aspect is the sharing of the same cup, which is a dried gourd skin in this case.  A crowd gathers. It is a crowd whose livelihood is directly linked to tea leaves and it pleases that there is another green for them to ponder.

As Marco spits out the fitter bitter slurps, there are some light nods of recognition. Just as with tea’s first bitter infusion, matè must have its first infusion (or in this case straw-fed slurps) expelled. What interests as much as the matè itself is the ornamental gourd, and silver straw which complete the matè serving ritual.

 

And another inevitable - but very welcome - meal

And another inevitable – but very welcome – meal

When it comes time to pass the first (after Marco) serving, it is placed into Gao’s hands and in that moment his handsome features expand into a smile that is stunning in its utter expectation. His almost sad eyes have transformed and I feel that he’s temporarily forgotten about prices, the 5 hours a day of tea frying and the hordes of tea merchants that have descended on his home and his teas. He takes the first sips and is urged to finish while hot. Marco has at least begun to master the requisite sign language to aid in my translation.

Gao’s slurp is almost comic in the buildup and silence during his slurps to finish the remaining liquid. He gently refuses to say much until muttering something about being “better and less bitter than he thought it might be”.

 

A result of beauty: a freshly made tea cake

A result of beauty: a freshly made tea cake

Around us are some of the planet’s most vital tea trees. Economy here is entirely driven by their leaves, the community’s skill sets entirely devoted to them…and here we sit with an invader – or as Marco once said, “ an equivalent” – slurping it. My own bias has been clear though not entirely logical at times from the beginning regarding tea’s role in the universe. Tea in my world of slight neurotic obsession has no equivalent and though I’ve tried to reign this view in, I have the clarity to know I’ve been entirely unsuccessful.  Tea and its people, its fluid fuel, its raging debates are all part of my spiritual (and physical) core.

The matè we consume is a good one, though not the best, Marco tells me. It is smooth – smoother than I thought it might be – and it is flush with green flavors. It has more of the grass in it than any tea I have consumed, barring perhaps some of Japan’s lethal and perfect green teas.

 

Gao secures a stunningly simple finale to our first real session of matè when he goes from a slight rapture of matè’s effects to a moment when he suddenly stands up and tells us that it is time to eat.

 

Eat, sleep, sip…and then happily all over again.

 

 

 

Posted in Explorations, Tea | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

South Tea Sips 2: Meals, Forearms, and an Enduring Tea Truth

Posted on March 27, 2013 by JeffFuchs

 

Meals seem to at times provide the only respite from the luscious infusions of tea which hit from everywhere at once. We sit in Dafa’s dark wooden kitchen on the second floor of his home deep into Nan Nuo’s furry green forests. Below us, barely above the level of the floor lies a luncheon feast of local veggies, mountain chicken, pork, and some local fermented sour ‘weeds’. This short powerful man of tea has laid out. We are now consuming teas that take the mouth on journeys. Teas from the ancient trees, which expand, stretch and test the mouth with their power. Marco has admitted that he has forgotten about his mate entirely, which is precisely what is necessary. He needs to be – and is – overwhelmed by the power of tea. He needs to be encased in all of its soft glory.

I enjoy a first first plunge into freshly drying leaves near Bang Ma (aka Heaven). The thinner the layer, the faster and more effectively the leaves dry.

I enjoy a first first plunge into freshly drying leaves near Bang Ma (aka Heaven). The thinner the layer, the faster and more effectively the leaves dry.

We’ve been taking back cup after cup of fresh spring tea harvested a week ago which isn’t always a great idea given new tea’s extraordinarily powerful acidity and vegetal power.  Newly harvested teas bring with them green pungency and while astringent, they are in many ways classics in themselves bearing with them tastes of the very earth which they have only recently been separated from. While “old” aged teas inevitably get plaudits, I’ve come to prefer these explosive packages of fresh green that have just been picked, the ‘new teas’. They cannot hide their character in any ageing. They are in many senses naked for the mouth to sample. One can taste their origins and the production – good or bad – techniques.

A wider view of heaven. Freshly fried tea leaves lie in a protected 'greenhouse'. One day of drying will suffice for these beauties

A wider view of heaven. Freshly fried tea leaves lie in a protected ‘greenhouse’. One day of drying will suffice for these beauties

Dafa’s storage room for the tea is immaculate with bags stacked and carefully marked. It is only in the last couple of years that he has begun to label and organize his teas. In the past there wasn’t even a market for his teas but now he has been led quickly down the “business path” as he carefully refers to it as and he must keep track of the harvesting period, the type of tree (ancient, new, young), and the region.

Marco and I in a 'pre-tea-high' state of contentment.

Marco and I in a ‘pre-tea-high’ state of contentment.

A dusty 1.5 hour drive up the red earth roads in a car, then a pick-up, then another car has taken Marco, myself, Li-shen, and Mei into the region’s stunning tea forests. I’m delirious with the fact that we’re not only in the tea mountains, but also about to eat. Dafa has forearms that look capable of being confused with trunks of some of the trees around us.  In fact, he seems to be entirely constructed of muscle. He is alone at home, with his wife gone and for the last 35 minutes has been cutting, chopping, frying, and seasoning a meal capable of sating the hunger that teas can produce. His short powerful frame has the light step that so many of the mountain people have. A wide face looks at us, and gently ushers us up to eat. For locals who consume huge amounts of tea there is actually an expression of “tea-hunger” caused by the tea’s stimulant abilities.

Some of Dafa's finest...and of course that mighty forearm of his

Some of Dafa’s finest…and of course that mighty forearm of his

Marco has his matè but in credit to him has been unable to find the right moment – or any moment – to introduce his own version of green stimulant. His stimulant will have to wait while my stimulant continues its magnum opus and its grand show.

Freshly dried Bang Ma Puerh awaits our attentions. There are three 'levels' here, the top being 'one ancient tree harvest of leaves'.

Freshly dried Bang Ma Puerh awaits our attentions. There are three ‘levels’ here, the top being ‘one ancient tree harvest of leaves’.

Marco likes the tea we’ve been drinking, while I have quietly decided it will be one of the teas that comes home for my own greedy attentions. It is a gentle freshly harvested old tree tea, that while soft, encases the backs of my molars with its sweet power. It is one of those teas that grabs the entire mouth and carefully inspects and infuses each segment of the mouth with successive amounts of force before finishing in a sweet trail.

Dafa effortlessly moves up through ancient tea trees

Dafa effortlessly moves up through ancient tea trees

Every village’s tea, every region and mountain has a tea that rings with characteristics, and given all of the tea-hype this year, it is important – as always – to sit, taste, sip, and sip some more. We’ve done that now for two hours and now it is time to briefly put tea aside in order to get some calories into the system. Marco’s eyes rage with what I’ve come to call the ‘tea-light’. A slightly mad, crystal clear look is upon him and is the result of repeated infusions of tea to the point where he tells me that his smile cannot be “shut off”.

Dafa in action in one of his ancient tea trees

Dafa in action in one of his ancient tea trees

Dafa opens his arms and begs us to sit. Two hours earlier this small bear of a man was hoisting himself effortlessly up into a tea tree to pluck tea leaves, and now his tea stained hands welcome us to another little luxury that isn’t so ‘little’. It is no less than a meal for 12 giants.

As potent as the teas are in this area, the local ‘firewater’ is at least as competent in releasing pulverizing power into the body as the tea was. Dafa’s own brew cannot be denied and a glass is poured in front of each one of us. It’s wonderfully syrupy consistency belies an ability to take the entire blood stream and accelerate the body and mind; sometimes at one’s contented peril.

Something that never fails to make the eyes and tongue glow

Something that never fails to make the eyes and tongue glow

Two glasses of the powerful firewater later and the meal is done. Early afternoon heat is broken only by small gusts of wind here at 1500 metres. Hours later, we enter back into our vehicle to take the small road back to the big road, which will in turn take us back to Menghai. The only ‘highlights’ are the memory of the tea in my mouth and the very real two large snakes taking a siesta on the dirt road ahead of little car…their languid size brings a liquid scream out of Li-shen as they casually break for the safety of the roadside.

Dafa hovers over his little tea table. A full 80% of Dafa's home is committed to the leaf that the Hani call 'la' - tea

Dafa hovers over his little tea table. A full 80% of Dafa’s home is committed to the leaf that the Hani call ‘la’ – tea

Arriving back to soft coloured night and the scents evening smells that sub-tropic areas seem to have a patent on, Marco is preparing to head back to our little hotel for the night, when he is told in no uncertain terms that this isn’t a possibility. There is more tea drinking ahead to take the edge off of the night. It is one of the region’s little list of tea’s great purposes: tea to prepare for a meal, to digest a meal, to begin a day, and end the day.

Another outing to another of the region’s tea areas is discussed over sips of a new Pulang Mountain release. In most discussions in Menghai, in my experience, there is the inevitable element of discussion followed by an unpredictable flurry of activity. The problem is that there never seems any clear indication of exactly when the action will take place, there is simply an explosion of bags being packed up, bodies standing up, and a sudden exodus. So, while we know the next day will take us into Jingmai’s fabled tea forests, there isn’t a clue as to “when” that might be. It matters not.

A stunning vestige of traditional life: a fire on the floor with kettles of water at the ready

A stunning vestige of traditional life: a fire on the floor with kettles of water at the ready

Sipping away at a 5-year-old Banzhang tea, one of Yunnan tea cultures other endearing features is impressed yet again upon us. Friends come in to chat, to sip, to discuss tea and just share time. While there are phones on the tea table, in pockets, and being used, the remarkable aspect (or maybe the beautifully real aspect) is that people and tea are bound together in a free flowing show of unity. At one point a neighbour comes in to fix an errant water pipe. Money is politely refused and he points out that he has consumed more than his fair share of teas here; teas, that he could never afford to buy in two lifetimes. The bartering system is alive and well here in the south and the maiden of this particular tea house points out that this is one of any true teahouse’s ultimate aims and directives: to provide an informal staging point for social activities, business, and sharing.

A final preparation of tea to 'put the day away'...in Marco's case it will 'keep the eyes wide open'

A final preparation of tea to ‘put the day away’…in Marco’s case it will ‘keep the eyes wide open’

Marco will spend another night sleepless (thankfully his last as he learns one of the little commandments of the area: ‘do not drink the powerful fresh teas at night under any circumstances due to the compelling stimulants that are alive and well ’). The little commandment perhaps should have a caveat attached to the end, “…unless one is a practised tea junkie”.

Marco - on several people's recommendations - finds a new use for leaves: disinfection.

Marco – on several people’s recommendations – finds a new use for leaves: disinfection.

Jingmai awaits us.

 

 

 

Posted in Explorations, Mountains, Tea | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

South Tea Sips l : Marco, Matè, and Menghai

Posted on March 24, 2013 by JeffFuchs

 

Marco Antonio Zamboni Zalamena and his matè bag have arrived but I cannot find either. Three different bus stations in southern Yunnan’s hot capital of Jinghong are empty of him. I’m ripped on far too much tea, slightly manic, but entirely sure somewhere in the heat of the city’s three main bus terminals I will find him. Finally a local calls on my phone me telling me that a “friend” of mine has arrived and I hear Marco’s warm Latin accented English telling me he is indeed “here” though he isn’t sure where that “here” might be. Someone finally tells me in Mandarin where that “here” is. Where he is, is the bus station that I’ve just left. I return via a motorized tuk-tuk driven by an old woman who has fire in her veins and I suspect a mild addiction to speed. Either that, or she has no idea how close to the ‘edge’ she really is. She drives with an aggression that is both thrilling and nerve-shredding.

Marco arrives armed with his matè bag, which was a gracious gift from his father

Marco arrives armed with his matè bag, which was a gracious gift from his father

 

Marco, his matè, and his fabulous beard have arrived from a long bus ride from Thailand. His love of opium history and slight addiction to mate, South America’s match my own addictive diversions regarding tea. Picked up by tea suppliers of mine in a black sedan, we are soon on our way to my beloved little town of Menghai that is quickly becoming a big-little city fueled entirely by tea and its profits.  Our little journey has two fuzzy goals: one, is to introduce another medicinal stimulant to locals – who already in my view have ‘the’ most powerful panacea and stimulant on the planet – and to compare, observe, listen and partake of the inevitable reactions. As always too, there is the vital element of enjoyment of each moment we are granted with the green.

My own long established green obsession

My own long established green obsession; a fresh spring tea harvest awaiting our attentions in southern Yunnan

Marco’s first night is one to remember. Upon arriving Yi Shen, an old friend has shoved two litres of newly picked seismically potent Pulang tea into Marco’s mouth, along with a meal of typcially spectacular abundance. Marco’s smiles belie the fact that he is under siege from the moment he arrives. Menghai’s generosity – and its rampant teas – are upon him and his dark eyes are blazing with hyper heat well past midnight. The heavy stimulants in all of the wondrous teas will keep him up for all but two hours of the night.

One of the inevitable meals that need our undivided attentions. Eating is one of the only interruptions to tea consumption in the Puerh regions of Xishuangbanna

One of the inevitable meals that need our undivided attentions. Eating is one of the only interruptions to tea consumption in the Puerh regions of Xishuangbanna

Marco and I have long spoken of our desire to journey into the oldest of tea lands with the intention of introducing another green stimulant in dried form to locals that know stimulants like few others. He has come armed with matè, a stunning leather matè bag from his father, along with the necessary paraphernalia: a silver ‘straw’, a gourd cup and two kinds of mate. In short, he is armed, but so too I remind him, is Menghai. Whereas matè’s documented history is relatively short, its use probably spans back deep into time.

One of our two green comparatives - tea from the Banzhang region

One of our two green comparatives – tea from the Banzhang region

My task in all of this potent green fun is to translate, explain to local tea friends what this is all about, and of course enjoy the comparisons of tea and matè. Marco’s presence will not deter in any way from my own sourcing and emphatic days spent slurping in tea in the tea mountains of southern Yunnan. This place has in time become a vast green beacon for my thirst and I and welcoming people is both daunting and exciting. It is the notion of introducing someone into a sanctum of sorts, and one of my worshiping places.

Even the gods require tea. A deity and place of worship with cash and a single cup of tea shows the priorities of worship in southern Yunnan

Even the gods require tea. A deity and place of worship with cash and a single cup of tea shows the priorities of worship in southern Yunnan

Our little hotel is a white dorm room with mosquito coils, mosquitoes, blank hard floors and two beds…along with occasional languid bursts of hot water. It is but a resting place for nights and nothing more. Our activities will centre around three tea shops in Menghai and our inevitable outings into the tea mountains.

Marco's 'baggage': a bag of matè whose origins lie far away

Marco’s ‘baggage’: a bag of matè whose origins lie far away

Menghai serves its first purpose perfectly. In a friend’s tea shop, Marco is introduced to recently harvested teas which make this region one of the world’s iconic tea hubs. The matè that he has brought along, we’ve decided, will only be introduced gradually as there is far less of it and less variations than our dear friend tea.

Food here runs the gamut that Yunnan is famous for: sour, sour-spicy, bitter-spicy, plain old spicy, and then a ‘spicy’ that annihilates any bacteria unfortunate enough to reside anywhere in the body. It is plentiful and comes three or more times a day out of small kitchens that are barely large enough for a sink to sit comfortably.

Me doing my inevitable thing serving tea in the tea mountains near Meng Song

Me doing my inevitable thing serving tea in the tea mountains near Meng Song

Our hostess, Yun, an old friend of mine is local Hani and she and her family have long cared for me in between my raging bouts of seeking teas. They ply Marco as I happily knew they would, with food, teas that take the mouth on long journeys, and enough generosity to embarrass. During one afternoon tea session as Marco and I both buzz with the heady narcotic effects of fresh spring teas that are but days old, Marco looks at me with a hopeless expression and asks: “When should I introduce the matè? Everyone is always drinking tea here.” I softly urge that we wait and bide our time, telling him that for now he should simply enjoy the teas on offer…not that he hasn’t been, mind you.

During the sessions I catch up on tea prices – which startle the mind of anyone not familiar with the obsessive neurosis of buyers and sellers and the inevitable swings in prices. Banzhang teas have continued their skyrocketing ascent, reaching the almost silly price of $700.00 US per kilo. While the quality hasn’t improved (though many would ask “how can one improve upon perfection”?) the hype surrounding this Puerh classic is almost a story in itself. I wonder though at the fate that this kiss of fortune might have ultimately upon the tea. Though it is a stunning tea that hits all of the right notes, even locals claim that they are not comfortable with the situation.

New to Marco, and worshipped by myself: the tea table

One of the precious ‘musts’ of every home and place of business in Menghai: the tea table

My interests inevitably lie in the ‘teas that are coming up’. The yet to be popular ones, and the little teas that grow unheralded or disturbed deeper in the mountains, though we will visit Banzhang and some of the other ‘big hitting’ teas of the Puerh world.

A couple of days in, with Marco still entirely sleepless we formulate our travel plan which might be more accurately described as ‘tea-fueled, tea inspired plans’. It is important to note that the notion of ‘hurry up and wait’ was perhaps perfected in this part of the world of southern Yunnan. Things simply happen when they happen and the body and mind must be conscious, ready, and uncomplaining about when suddenly and entirely without warning people simply get up and announce that “We are going NOW!” In some ways this much-aligned system seems contrary to the spirit of tea and its gentle taking, but on the other hand it is entirely in keeping with the region and its wonderful people.

Marco's wonderful 'tools': a silver rimmed gourd and straw lie in wait for a first serving in China

Marco’s wonderful ‘tools’: a silver rimmed gourd and straw lie in wait for a first serving in China

 

 

Posted in Tea | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ascent of Gold Pass

Posted on March 16, 2013 by JeffFuchs

It is said amidst the Himalayas that it takes but a whiff of mountain air to know what is coming weather-wise. Neither Fred, Fik, nor I have a nose quite capable of detecting what is to come, though there are cold blasts that barge into the sinuses that I sometimes associate with snow. But, as the winds often do at four thousand metres, there is often a bit of a game that goes on. The winds come, then disappear entirely, only to hit from a different direction moments later with a different kind of scent. Winds blow what they want and in the way they want. They are the marauders of the sky.

Where we head

Where we head

Fred’s tanned face grunts once in a while, while Fik steadily treads the shale path beneath us. This shale beneath our feet – and our feet themselves – rest in northwestern Yunnan near my ‘home’. The sky above us says nothing about its intentions and was curiously bland in colour and intensity. Fred’s explosive nature and humour is infectious, unpredictable, and at times without a point.

And how we get there

And how we get there

 

Fik trots with the odd smile emanating from beneath his huge pack. Our Tibetan friend Yangden has not continued with us, telling us that he “doesn’t like going up, if he doesn’t have to”. We accept this proclamation as he isn’t local and doesn’t know the route. Though I’ve been up in the region before, I’ve never before satisfied myself that I’d actually been far enough; high enough; deep enough. It was such notions that plagued wanderers and climbers of the mountain regions.

A flank ushers us ever higher

A flank ushers us ever higher

 

Each journey into mounains begins with a vague sense of what might be ‘up there’, and then after the inevitable bit of packing gear, racing to just get there, one has to point oneself ‘up’ and begin to climb. The climb, the breaths, and the limitations are part of the mountain’s welcoming committee.

What surrounds us

What surrounds us

 

Fred, an old mate who shared my long love of the cultures and landscapes that made up the Himalayan weave of life, was always up for anything that took him ‘away’. Fik, a good friend of Fred’s was a steady presence who complained about nothing at all while taking in everything. Silences, particularly where geography stunned with both power and subtlety, had been a major portion of our trip. We hadn’t spoken more than a few words on our journey – particularly on the ascent that rose and rose before us offering up new geographies every few metres. Lungs were far more intent on getting enough oxygen into them, than they were in expending efforts to get out words. Another mountain law: eloquence and sweet words rarely had a place in the highlands.

The lake of lakes

The lake of lakes

Our destination – in as much as one can have only one destination in the beauty around us – is a sacred lake that is surrounded by peaks. We were but a couple of hours from the flanks of stone that would introduce us to a view of the lake. The peaks that rose on all sides of us were once ushers of a trade path, a caravan route used by travelers and caravans cutting northwest towards the Yunnan border with Tibet. It wasn’t part of the Tea Horse Road, but rather – and more curious to me – one of those strands that only some knew of and used that acted as a feeder to the more major route. More than our destination, it was my idea to climb and explore this lost road as it linked into my eternal hunger for little tid-bits of anything related to the Tea Horse Road. Fred and Fik had happily volunteered to join and add some flavour to the journey up. Even though the efforts kept us silent, the company was welcome and Fred’s repeated commentary of “this better lead somewhere” provided us with some moments of welcome hysteria.

Dawa and I on our first meeting. For the ensuing years, he would speak and I would seek

Dawa and I on our first meeting. For the ensuing years, he would speak and I would seek

‘Above the lake and through the peaks’, an old trader named Dawa had once told me lay a pass known to the Naxi and Tibetans alike as ‘Gold Pass’. It was in fact this pass that had been for years burning in my head, rather than any peak-summit. Dawa had described it in festive terms, and told of how it led diagonally from the southeast to the northwest.

 

He had completed my spellbound obsession with words describing the weather within this valley and upon the ‘Gold Pass’. He had spoken of the valley having “its own weather system, which lived a separate life to that outside of its stone walls”. Dawa, sadly having passed, had spoken of many such passes and corridors, that over the years I had, one-by-one, accessed, sought, and struggled over. What made the journeys magic was how even after 50+ years, the elements, aura and feeling of the places, bore stunning resemblance to the old trader’s words. Dawa’s electric language when describing geography was one of the motivators to ‘re-discovering’ the elements of the Tea Horse Road. It was always Dawa’s lined and universal face that veered into my mind on such journeys. Had he been beside us trudging, it would have made the journey spectacularly complete in so many ways. It was up to his words in my memory now, to feed and push the body.

Ice-bound glory

Ice-bound glory

At one point, Fred asks to my back, “Is that the lake”? Turning to him and his thick finger pointing down to a thin strip of solid ice, I shake my head. It is mid-day and we have made good time, though wisps of bizarre cloud formations seem to be streaming above us coming out of the valley.

 

The ‘lake’ we speak of waits – and as it hopefully always will – rests half coated in ice with lines of striating cracks streaking across its surface. Even Fred, with his years of seeing and taking in some of the most stunning of mountain opulence nods with appreciation. To emphasize his impression he issues one of his famous grunts. Fik stares hard at the lake then smiles, while my eyes peel up and to the right, where the pass should lie. Winds have shorn the skies down into a dark bolt grey and there is a bit of bite now in the air as though we’ve somehow pierced into the sanctum where that weather system that Dawa spoke of so eloquently years ago rested. There are three passes, but one that keeps the watering my eye is a knife-shaped slit resting furthest right. It is nothing but a wedge where the blue light of the sky pokes through.

 

Our 'home'

Our ‘home’

Seeing it now, it pulls me like a hot meal towards it. “Tomorrow”, I tell it, “tomorrow, I will come to you”.

Snow Cometh

Snow Cometh

 

Snow has so many faces, but of all of its different ‘feels’ it is the driving mountain snow which delivers what it promises.

Afternoon brings a treat of white from above. Winds drive plastic pellets of snow down in horizontal lines. We have our tent up before the onslaught begins and each of us has wandered into different zones of the valley when it hits. Looking up from my perch higher up on the valley wall it feels as if this weather exists only in the valley. Patches of white have gathered in minutes and it is time to head back to the camp. Visibility has dropped and all has taken on a blizzard like grey colour. The pulse races with the suddenness of all.

Fred and his noodles

Fred and his noodles

Camp has shrunken with the white onslaught. Our tent has white guilded edges that expand in front of the eyes, the earth and lake are white, and Fred is cooking noodles within a fire shelter of slate rocks. Fik has carefully placed our packs and essentials within the tent in a world gone white.

 

Fik hides kit as things get intense

Fik hides kit as things get intense

Fred’s noodles come and somehow our spirit has lightened with all of the white. We stand around the fire taking sips of the inevitable bottle of Tibetan barley whisky I have tucked away. Temperatures plunge, snow eases and in a twenty-minute span the world around us has silenced and pin prick stars appear above.

 

Me, probably responding to one of Fred's query of "what can possibly be better than noodles for dinner".

Me responding with a “what” to Fred’s query of “what can possibly be better than noodles for dinner”?

Sleep comes for one of us quickly while two suffer the irreversible effects of deeply embedded cold toes and fingers. Once the cold has permeated the nerves, it is hard to reverse. Fred mutters the odd expletive before slumping into an uneasy sleep.

Camp and Dusk

Camp and Dusk

 

The three of us manage to stay out of eachother’s bad books even though we are jammed into our little tent practically embracing for the night. My first sense that morning has arrived is a sensation that the entire east side of our little tent is burning with light.

Bed head done right

Bed head done right

First tentative zips of the frozen zipper reveal a third different version of our valley. Bolt blue skies above, the white of snow hiding much of the landscape and the lake – just metres from our tent – covered with new ice, and the haunting calls of a crow of some kind. Our inner world of tent-life has frozen as condensation has become ice crystals. My swollen eye-lids gaze towards the inevitable pass which seems to hover.

 

Breakfast consists of stewed tea that is nicely pulverizing, boiled eggs, and a little treat of pistachios. The morning sun massages its way into the bones and before long we have stripped down into minimalist layers unwilling to leave our fire and the brief comforts of camp.

 

...and breakfast done right

…and breakfast done right

Weather holds and the day to ascend to the pass is set. I will head southwest to it from camp while Fik and Fred will explore the basin and lake area. Sun at these altitudes deceives as rays blast downward and pummel all things with impunity. It is 85 degrees Fahrenheit and only the deepest snows and most solid ice pods remain intact. Rivulets of melt water run deep under my feet, making small sounds. What stuns after an hour of slow ascent is how no life seems to stir.

 

Towards the pass, over white

Towards the pass, over white

 

No traces of life at all. No tracks, no wandering bird forms soaring upon the thermals, no yak traces….but it is perhaps my simple human brain which marvels at this lack of life. My instincts on the other hand feel that this somehow is why it is perfect.

 

Snow’s deft touches and hard edges have taken an incredible space and made it more beautiful. Winds somehow have restrained themselves and the ascent, which is simply a slog through heat and snow, seems an utterly integral experience.

 

The Pass becomes an actual pass getting closer

The Pass becomes an actual pass getting closer

As always I have this little film running in my head, with the grunts (not of Fred) of the mules and caravans making their way through these hallucinogenic spaces lugging goods wrapped in leathers and skins upon their backs. Before me lie the clean lines of blue and white, but in my head I see and hear a line of mules and men pushing onwards.

 

Reaching the pass and stamping out a little ‘rug’ of flattened snow, I sit between two informal ‘gates’ of stone sucking in air and life and wondering neurotically if there were perhaps tea-laden mules who rested here.

 

'Over there' becomes 'here' - the pass up close

‘Over there’ becomes ‘here’ – the pass up close

Later in the day, having left the isolated white of the pass, the weather transforms the world again. The sun disappears, and an ugly stain of clouds positions itself above our camp, which has been dissembled.

 

Fred is humming away and Fik’s eyes keep looking skyward. The pass gets a last good stare from me, while Dawa’s old face comes back to mind. A last sip of nuclear tea, and we’re all off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Explorations, Mountains | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Ascent of Gold Pass

Technical Glitches – Please Be Patient

Posted on February 8, 2013 by JeffFuchs

This Paiwan elder and I both apologize for the temporary state of this blog. Dealing with a dreaded – temporary – technological glitch.

Thanks

An elder of the Paiwan people of southern Taiwan

An elder of the Paiwan people of southern Taiwan

Posted in Uncategorized | Comments Off on Technical Glitches – Please Be Patient

My latest article for UNESCO on tea

Posted on January 16, 2013 by JeffFuchs

Goes without say that the article (titled “Ancient Green Wisdom“) is best read with a cup of tea and perhaps a good deal more than simply “a” cup

Tea t

Posted in Media, Tea | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on My latest article for UNESCO on tea

Jalamteas Little Success Story Continues

Posted on January 7, 2013 by JeffFuchs

With the New Year here in the present tense, we at Jalamteas wish to thank our sipping supporters who had a wonderful impact on our little venture of hand-sourcing rare Puerhs and getting them directly into your cups. We had buyers from seven countries purchase teas of our first Bada unfermented Puerh, and we’re now offering up a subscription model option here because of continued requests.

Lahu women of the Pulang Mountain area sort through dried tea leaves

Lahu women of the Pulang Mountain area sort through dried tea leaves

Each month an entirely new Puerh, with a story of the people who cultivate and harvest it, an interactive ‘adventure link’ showing you where the tea is from, and some little pieces of wisdom from the indigenous pickers on what the teas are good for what ailments.

A Pulang elder looks at a leaf on an ancient tea tree and takes in far more information than anyone can know

A Pulang elder looks at a leaf on an ancient tea tree and takes in far more information than anyone can know

We’ll continue to explore people, place, and plant, and continue to get great hard-to-find teas to you from Yunnan’s fabled southwest direct. Here’s to a tea-stained 2013.

The end result of a good session of slurping in Menghai: the leaves that gave delight, lie bare on a tea table

The end result of a good session of slurping in Menghai: the leaves that gave delight, lie bare on a tea table

Posted in Media, Tea | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Jalamteas Little Success Story Continues

Video Post Atop Sho’La Pass

Posted on December 11, 2012 by JeffFuchs

A short clip of video shot atop the blustery Sho’La Pass here: http://youtu.be/oKGR8Xt0Lgw

Yanpi, the wind, a huge sky and myself. Twenty minutes atop the pass to remember the two weeks to arrive here

Posted in Explorations, Mountains | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Video Post Atop Sho’La Pass