Sri Lanka’s Hidden Tea Corridor

Paths, the world over, have an ability to set the mind alight and hint at far off lands, or in the case before me, lands just beyond the mists. Steady sheets of blue mist plunge everything into a spectral world completely obliterating the path. When the mists, which are steaming up from the south do clear, for brief seconds, the landscape on either side drops off suddenly into green tea bushes that lap up every bit of soft moisture that the fogs bring. Just as quickly, all is enveloped once again in the blankets of white. At 1,400 metres the climate here is ideal for the famed export of Sri Lanka – tea.

I stand upon a path near the dot of a town, Haputale, in south-central Sri Lanka, which itself sits astride the provinces of Western Province to the west, Uva to the east, and Sabaragamuwa to the south. All three provinces host some spectacular teas coming from both highland and lowland estates. The morning is humid and cool and the mists rearrange the landscapes every few minutes. Some of Sri Lanka’s great estates lie in easy reach of our thirst. Uva’s harvests are universally awaited by impatient drinkers of the island’s prime black teas, and our ultimate destination, near Hatton, hosts some of the island’s highest altitude tea gardens. Close friend, Miguel, assures me, with a long knowing look, that some fiercely good teas also await us. Of almost equal interest is the route itself, an all but forgotten, forlorn pathway that links two provinces, numerous vintage tea estates, and the high and lowlands. Five of us have gathered to traipse over, through and around an old tea path that has laid virtually untouched for half a century…all the way being fueled by tea. All that is required for such a venture is a will, a thirst, and a slightly neurotic interest in tea.

Mist droplets have formed on the leaves of the tea bushes that line the path, and suddenly, in a moment, the entire wall of fog breaks, giving a first unimpeded glimpse of the route which stretches westward before us.

The path, we have been told, acted as a shortcut that wandered over mountains, into valleys, and through jungles, accessing the most remote tea valleys in Sri Lanka. Additionally, no one can tell us the exact route and it is this tiny tidbit that gives the upcoming journey something magical. It will be an experiment very much in the ‘trial and error’ tradition, with tea along to inspire and fuel us.

Hours in, having shimmied through bogs and coursed through eucalyptus forests. we pass into a valley that seems carved out of green. The mists still play peek-a-boo with the geography and the altimeter reads 2,000 meters.

A small Tamil harvester village lies abandoned with a few stray goats and a lean cow foraging on tea leaves as though someone forgot to inform them of the exodus. Further on, we see why the area has been vacated.

A landslide has simply wiped clean a good portion of the valley and the access path has been cut, with one half lying intact, while its other half lies 400 yards further down a sixty-degree slope. We have arrived in the Ohiya region where minute tea valleys and estates lie tucked into sheer stone faces. Around us, ‘shelves’ of tea plantations rise in a geometric order. Ohiya is known for smooth BOP’s (Broken Orange Pekoes) with the altitudes helping to create smoother rather than stronger teas that last longer on the palate, or in the very direct words of a tea merchant I had met in Colombo, “teas that taste like teas”.

A bit of irony is that the rarest and priciest teas of Sri Lanka are inevitably the Silver Tips, the nubile, yet to unfurl buds that grace the end of a tea stem, known to many as White Tea. Snipped gently, simply withered and dried, these are generally not collected from these higher altitude estates, but rather from lower lying, easier to access tea gardens.

Sitting with Suren, a veritable tea sage, later that night, this is clarified. The more remote the tea estates, the more difficult and time consuming to access processing plants, and given that the delicate Silver Tips begin oxidizing immediately after picking, there is a need for convenience. High altitudes, the world over, do not provide conveniences. Silver Tips need specific conditions almost immediately.

Slurping down an Ohiya Broken Orange Pekoe blend, Suren also reveals a bit more about the trail upon which we are now traveling.
“It was used by tea harvesting teams years ago. These teams would often use portions of the route to access the elite estates. Tea ‘teams’, often-entire villages, would negotiate the route, accessing distant tea plantations that required immediate harvesting.

Suren also revealed one of his perceived evils of the tea world: the charlatans in the “big cities” who falsely claim to source particular teas from areas, while all the while misleading their clients. In Suren’s words “There are very few drinkers who actually know what they are or are not drinking. One must trust the tea seller”. Suren’s eyes mist over in a simmering rage when speaking of the tea ‘counterfeiters’. I have heard these words before, which I’ve condensed simply into: “know the source then trust the tea”.

Moving on next morning with bellies happily bursting with tea and a meal of dhal and ‘string hoppers’ inside of us, our group of five move out into yet more fogs that swarm into the little valley. We ascend almost straight up from Ohiya to a high crest upon a hill where one of my obsessive curiosities lies. We make our way into the exotically named “Upper Udaveria” area and onto a single tea field simply named ‘Tea Field Number 5’.

It is perhaps a hint that something is amiss, or ‘special’ when the name of a place is so understated, yet represents something divine. ‘Number 5’ rests at just over 2,000 meters and according to locals and drinkers, produces one of the best teas on the island.

Miguel has mentioned this “Number 5” in a soft tone repeatedly over the past days, and always as he does his eyes look up skyward as if in a kind of awe. Coming to “Number 5” is sudden and suitably dramatic – the mists having temporarily taken their leave. Only a few hundred yards wide and an equivalent distance deep, it lies forlorn and empty atop a rise at 2,000 meters. Nothing whatsoever to suggest that from this little plot of real estate comes a vintage tea. It isn’t impeccably groomed or guarded. It lies as though it has been simply dropped in the middle of a jungle. Almost hidden, it simply appears, and only an errant animal (or in our case tea starved junkies) would stumble upon it. All around the field itself, the forest twists and seethes, as though waiting to reclaim the land. Glumly, I wonder why there isn’t a little tea stall lying in wait for our arrival for a liquid burst. In a kind of petulance, I snip off a couple of young shoots and shove them into my mouth in some pathetic hope that I can at least derive some little Number 5 flavor.

Leaving the famed, almost somber tea garden, we are heading into leopard country. It seems that here on this island that which is sublime is inevitably next to that which warrants caution. I almost wonder if these precious tea sanctuaries weren’t deliberately positioned within the leopard’s watchful vigil. Miguel, in his role as master of ceremonies, arches his brow to let us know that we are making our way to an even more isolated tea valley, Agarapatana. In my mind, it matters not how isolated, as long as there is a pot with tea waiting there.

Just weeks ago, in the Agarapatana area, an entire harvesting village was housebound when a massive leopard prowled boldly through town, ripping the arm off of an unfortunate tea picker. Our entire group’s eyes belie watchfulness. The path before us splices into a dozen possible routes and then disappears almost completely in an assault of bamboo, palm and scrub. It is here where we must tread a little carefully and the trick  is to make as much noise as we can, crashing through the foliage, which we are happy to do.

Rains eventually ease us into the Agarapatana valley, and then promptly stop. A rainbow sky of soft peach light opens up and we are gifted a view of tight perfect valleys broken up by paths. Pickers deftly wander home in tight groups, eyes scanning the terrain. With each valley and each set of particularities (altitude, south or north facing slopes, wind, soil) the reasons for a particular tea estate’s qualities become more obvious. Altitudes mean mists and mists act as natural filters and screens to the damaging rays of direct sun and the assaults of direct rains. The dense jungles, which rear up on all sides, keep the soil optimal and provide shaded corners. Tea leaves thrive on a diet of all things ‘indirect’. Direct sun and rain act as hobgoblins to the tea plants, damaging and in many cases forcing the tea to mature too quickly.

Steep slopes add another crucial element to the list of ‘tea necessities’ – drainage. Without the required drainage, Camellia Sinensis’ roots suffer irreparable damage, leading to an unthinkable tragedy: a ruined tea bush that needs uprooting.

It is here in the Agarapatana valley that I am to sample a tea, which crushes the tastebuds and pushes every other cup of tea consumed thus far into the wings. It is a tea that for my own tastebuds represents all that is good in a black tea. Arriving at an old tea estate house, our little ‘tea-trotting group’ is immediately served a heaping pot of tea.

A vicious thirst, parched throat, and a good three hours without a single sip of the stuff, provide an ideal appetite. It is only after a cup that the mouth and throat seem to hum and constrict with flavors that go beyond a simple cup of standard black tea. Tracking down the tea maker, a lean energetic man wrapped in a sarong, I motion to see the tea stock he has used. After hand signs, a good deal of head-wagging, and the passionate intervention of the local tea manager (who calls himself Dan), I am told (and shown) that what I am drinking is a freshly produced (one month old) first flush BOPF (Broken Orange Pekoe Fannings) single estate tea.

The man’s intensity is that of the tea-impassioned and he has the welcome ability to verbalize and understand every stage of tea while not becoming autocratic or at all pretentious. Ambiguities in the tea world are rampant, but there are and always have been certain truths. For the first time on the island I am treated to a bit of tea theater while Dan explains why the valleys (and the teas they produce) “out there” beyond the walls are special. With limbs and eyes alight, he goes on to emphasize three aspects of the tea that greatly affect the outcome: freshness, first flush picking, and single estate.

His father, also a tea estate manager before him, pushed these three mini tea mantras. I’d always felt that this tradition in the world of tea – of speaking to the people who handle, harvest and create the teas and who, without a doubt ‘know’ a tea – is the only one surefire method of finding something out beyond the same rehashed information.

“Single Estate teas have character and consistency” Dan begins.
“The first flush teas have more subtle essences and a taste that remains in the mouth longer. Fresh teas will always carry a deeper ‘tea’ taste than those that have been sitting in boxes”. With this said, he sweeps his arm in the grand gesture of someone in the midst of a command performance, which in many ways it is.

“This is what you noticed in the tea earlier – it had all three of these qualities. A true single estate tea will become a favorite for drinkers because they know what they can expect in terms of strength, acidity and flavor…and because it hits more parts of the mouth. Many tea producers lie about this”.

Leaving our little heaven of leopards, single estate teas, and charismatic tea pushers the next morning, the tea manager’s words ring true. Having downed successive jolts of “that tea”, its tang rests upon the palate long after. In China’s ancient tea regions the indigenous tea growers have an entire vocabulary dedicated specifically to tea terms, qualities and character. While here they may not have the ancient legacy, they do identify exactly with the same ideas and qualities.

Shooting south, we are now descending from our temperate mist laden heights, along a pathway that links the highlands with the heat imbued lowlands. Through vacant lands of bogs and open plains, our destination is Bogawantalawa, where tea estates lie considerably lower in altitude. Lower altitudes, less mist, more intense heat and sunlight, all blend together to create stronger, more potent tasting teas with less finish, favored by the Arab world’s faithful drinkers. The sun has arrived with lethal power and we make our way into a series of descending valleys – tea valleys of such breadth that it seems that other than the harvester’s paths there is no single block of real estate that isn’t covered by tea bushes.

Along ancient estate roads we pass, as the day’s heat cripples all moving things. Nothing moves in the oppressive heat but the tea harvester’s arms relentlessly hauling in leaves like miniature windmills.

There is the dual feeling of relief, coupled with a twinge of regret, that while a cup of tea awaits in Bogawantalawa, the pathway and our sojourn along it is for now done.

Instilled though, are a few more tea ‘truths’ from up in the mountains, along with the yet to be fulfilled yearning for a cup of “Number 5”.