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son’s name, continuing for generations.) Ahtu’s village, as are all
Akha villages, is easy to find. The entrance is marked by a gate
decorated with carved wooden figures: a woman with engorged
breasts and a man with his genitalia in proud, exuberant form.
These sculptures, along with carved spirit animals across the
gate’s beam, protect the village from bad spirits.
Ahtu’s sister, Ahbu, serves as our hostess. We sit in the fam-
ily’s tea pavilion, composed of four bamboo posts with a roof
made of thatch, while she pours teas, using local spring water.
When she speaks, she tucks her legs delicately to the side with
her hands clasped in her lap. She tells us she picks between
10 and 20 kilos of tea leaves a day during harvest season. “I’m
slow and careful,” she says, “because tea is a gift from God.” As
we sip the liquid, she explains that tea from Nannuo Mountain
has unique floral notes with hints of rock sugar sweetness. She
reminds us, “You’re drinking history.” I ask about the changes
that have transpired in the tea mountains over the past decade.
“We were fameless in the past,” she answers with a smile. “We
always had to work. We walked everywhere. No one was fat. My
family started to be less poor 12 years ago. That’s when we got
electricity and bought our first television.” She used her own
money to buy the family’s first washing machine.
Ahbu and her sister-in-law teach us every step of artisanal tea
production: how to pluck tea buds between the thumbnail and
fleshy side of the forefinger, gather them in a basket, and later
lay them out for their sunbath, which allows the initial wilting to
begin. “We want the leaves to absorb the sun’s fragrance,” AhbuOn mist-shrouded Mengding Mountain, an archway (opposite) leads
to the Royal Tea Garden, with its Seven Tea Bushes said to have been
planted by Wu Lizhen, “ancestor of tea planting.” He sits at the center of a
sculpture group (above) depicting the joys of tea and nature.