Six Sips in Beijing

Beijing and its heaving dense world of sprawling space is losing much of what the previous generation calls the ‘culture of vital fluid’ – the culture of ‘tea’. Fewer and fewer tea shops – once abundant in the alleys and upon the great roads – are to be found which makes uncovering them something for me like discovering a gift. By a sad extension of this, the uncovering of good tea itself also becomes fleeting.

In the smallest recesses one can find the odd ‘cha dien’, tea stores that still cater to locals – less glitz but more substance, as the old saying goes. Barely lit at times, one enters an informal sanctum of tea in all of its desiccated forms. Apart from the huge tea market of Ma Lian Dao in the southwest of the city which is an entire urban landscape dedicated to selling tea, it is the small traditional tea houses that truly represent a passing moment in time.

One such shop in the massive Chaoyang district near the ever-expanding Liang Ma Qiao road in northeastern Beijing, needs luck or a friendly finger pointing the way to find it. Barely three meters wide and perhaps five deep the walls are lined with canisters, cakes, urns, bricks and errant tealeaves – a comfortable anarchy of tea resides here that warms the being with sips to come. There are no hints or aromas here – it is nothing less than being consumed with tea’s wafting fragrances. It is in these tiny temples of tea that one feels close to tea in its primal and very Asian form: it is something that occupies, fascinates and feeds. In its silence it reminds that tea is also treated as an almost honored friend. Unfortunately for most travelers in the unrelenting need for convenience, it is the tourist shops that trumpet teas that are little more than cosmetic masterpieces, with little substance that will get the attention.

The hostess and cha sifu (tea master) of this little shop has broad hands and the simple straightforward manner of someone from a modest background – Fujian province as it ends up (a tea haven and original ‘home’ of tea) – and welcomes me in with the glorious words ‘he yi bei’, “have a cup”, which in reality never stops at one cup. In fact it would be more accurate to call it ‘have an hour?’ because one rarely leaves these establishments in less time once the tea starts flowing. With the world moving with random chaos outside the door, here is a sanctuary, a place not requiring out a single dime where one can sip samples of tea at one’s own pace. It has been this way for time immemorial – a sacred kind of right to sip tea without a purchase. It would be the equivalent of turning away a friend in need. Tea in Asia crosses boundaries of culture, levels of society and even dress codes.

My hostess who introduces herself simply as Lee Fan tells me what I’ve heard so many times in Beijing, that Beijinger’s favorite tea is the provocatively named ‘Tie Guan Ying” or ‘Iron Goddess of Mercy’, from her home province of Fujian on China’s southeastern coast. It is this Tie Guan Ying that is being prepared before me.

Lee Fan, like many true tea masters feels little need for small talk as she prepares this tea which belongs to the Oolong family of semi-fermented teas – sitting nicely in between the ‘Greens’ and ‘Blacks’ on the color spectrum of teas.

Rinsing the leaves first, she dexterously pours this first “undrinkable” round into the cups to heat them. This first ‘cleaning’ serves the dual purposes of waking the leaves while also removing impurities and bitterness. She pushes the serving cup to me to look at the leaves – the first ‘must’ – to see the leaves.

Lee Fan utters an “ahhh” as she pours out the ‘cleaning round’ and pours a ten second newly infused round of the golden yellow fluid into my cup. Before I can get any sip into my waiting lips however, the lid of serving cup is pushed up under my dilated nostrils to heave in some of the sumptuous light fragrances – the second ‘must’ – to smell the tea.

At long last the tea is ready for it’s third and final ‘must’ – to be tasted, a chance to taste this Iron Goddess of Mercy. The ‘mercy’ for me is that I am finally able to sate a raging thirst at the back of my tongue. The tea, volcanically hot, hits the sides of the tongue with a kind of bitter sweet tang and finishes with what every good tea should, a smooth finish. My tea hostess’ eyes bore into mine seeking my reaction, urging in an almost gently forbidding way that I see (and taste) the quality. My nod is met with a feverish nod and her eyes lighting up as she prepares a second infusion – in a ritual that will go on for hours. Reminding me of tea’s inherent economy, “these leaves can be infused ten times – though it is good form to drink a minimum of six sips and then you can leave”, she serves notice that we shall be drinking for hours to come. And so it would be as my requisite ‘six sips’ came and went. While tea itself is perhaps losing out to other more ‘exotic’ western imports, those who share it joys still regard its abilities to bring people together as paramount to its enduring popularity.