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pole, I ride on the bump in the middle of the back seat for most
of the trip. Parts of our journey have been carefully planned,
with appointments along the way, but a surprising number
of our encounters are the result of serendipity: pulling up to
a house at the forest’s edge to talk to a tea farmer who urges us
to sample his tea; walking through a town, peeking into a tea
factory’s courtyard, and being invited in; or wandering along
a side street, seeing what looks like a tea shop, and starting to
chat with the owner, who soon kills a chicken for our lunch.
Linda, Jeni, Buddha, and I first meet up in Guangzhou, where
we visit the Fangcun tea market, the largest in the world, covering
several square blocks. Then we fly through Kunming to Jinghong,
where we’re greeted by Li Lin, a retired schoolteacher, who now
works as a driver during tea-picking season. He’s exceedingly
careful behind the wheel, telling us, “If I get in an accident
with foreigners, it would be very complicated.” Soon we reach
Menghai, a small town that serves as the launching point for
visitors to the tea mountains. Although it’s late, our hotel and
the one across the street are aglow with lights and noisy with
revelers. It’s tea-picking season, and these are tea lovers, collec-
tors, and dealers, who’ve come to do business and, apparently,
party into the wee hours.
The next morning, after a traditional breakfast of congee
and a bowl of warm, fresh soy milk, we go to the lobby to await
the arrival of Tea Master Chen Guo Yi. He sweeps in with all the
charisma of a movie star. He wears loose pants that billow about
his legs and an untucked denim shirt. He travels lightly across
the floor in kung fu slippers. All eyes are immediately drawn to
him and his entourage. People ask if they can take photographs.
Tea Master Chen is that famous. Later, I’ll see billboards with
his likeness drawn 10 feet wide.
He first takes us to his Guangzhou 88 Qing Dry Store Tea