Meditations on a Cup of Tea

As I've mentioned before,  things around here have gotten cold. In response, I've upped my tea quota during the day.

Of course you know that China grows tea. A lot of tea. You also know that everything is written in Chinese, which makes buying tea difficult for someone who loves tea but doesn't speak the language. Tea stores are intimidating, with giant jars of blackish, dried things in them. There is no telling what any of it is. Add to that the caveat that all "tea houses" and "tea ceremonies" offered to foreigners are scams at best and thinly veiled hints at prostitution (or at the soft-core version) at worst. 

Now, the school does provide tins of tea for us in the staff room and has spigots of hot water in the hallway. (The students are also addicted to tea.) I asked my Chinese principal to tell me what kind of tea I was drinking. She took a sip, came with me to the staff room, and said it was green tea. And it does look green once the leaves unroll in the mug. 

I then got her to write down the Chinese for "oolong tea" (one of my favorites) and a couple of other types of tea I might like.

Then, she gave me a sprinkling of her personal stash of tea. She said it is called "bamboo" tea, because the tea leaves look like baby bamboo leaves. And it is "special fine" tea, because of the quality and where it is grown. I can say that it has a much fuller, smokier, robust bouquet than the tea left sitting in the staff room.

After lunch I made myself a cup, and it is a delightful, vibrant cup of tea. It has far more depth and character than the stuff left for the plebs to drink. 

And as I got nearer the bottom of the mug, I noticed that the tea leaves were standing mostly upright in the bottom of the mug. As I tilted the cup to take a sip, the leaves gently swayed in the water, like a stand of bamboo swaying the breeze.