JP/15/VOLKER

Chinese tea for two

Blissful journey to ol' tea museum in Taiwan

Jason Volker Contributor Taiwan

'If a man has no tea in him, he is incapable of understanding truth and beauty' -- Chinese proverb.

Here are a few facts to brew on: Half the world's population drinks tea, making it second only to water as our most popular beverage; the tea plant, Camellia sinensis, is native to southern China where it was discovered by Emperor Shen Nung some 5,000 years ago; Harvard researchers recently found that a cup of black tea a day reduces the risk of heart attack by nearly 50 percent.

These tidbits of tea intelligence were gleaned on a recent visit to the world's largest tea museum. Located just south of Taipei, The Pinglin Tea Industry Museum took eight years to construct and cost a whopping US$10 million, but frankly I am delighted they made the effort. I had never realized the common cuppa was such a truly remarkable concoction.

I knew this day-trip was going to be special when my guide for the day and pilot of our transportation, Lulu Lin, asked me if Western drivers "horn each other as much as Asian drivers do?" I thought it polite to reply that yes, indeed, Western drivers tend to be very horny also.

Then an hour from the capital we entered the picturesque rural village of Pinglin, and I could not have been more enchanted. Resembling an exquisite Chinese landscape painting, the township of Pinglin is nestled on the banks of a pristine stream at the foot of lushly forested peaks rolling grandly into the distance.

Pinglin is a tea town. Its main thoroughfare is lined with family-run teahouses and tea processing workshops. Tea plantations can be seen sprinkled on the surrounding slopes. Picture a strikingly pretty hamlet populated by 6,000 tea connoisseurs and you have Pinglin.

Buoyed by the natural beauty we followed the steaming teapot signs, parked outside the museum, parted with 100 Taiwanese dollars (Rp 25,450) and entered the world of Chinese tea. Almost three hectares of exhibits awaited our perusal. Though the museum is only five years old, its many pavilions, landscaped gardens and twin teahouses are of traditional design, giving the complex a pleasant old-world ambience.

We were in need of refreshment after our drive from the city, so we first headed for the Purple Bamboo Teahouse and some light victuals. Over a pot of the region's finest Wenshan Paochung tea and a sampling of roasted watermelon seeds, I glanced through the museum's English-language brochure to discover, and I quote: "Tea is both a beverage and a lubricant for social activities." It was a happy morning.

Nourished and eager to explore, we located the museum's main pavilion, the Exhibition Hall, to begin steeping ourselves in nearly five millennia worth of tea drinking lore. And it soon became apparent that this ancient pick-me-up has played a major role in Chinese culture for many a dynasty.

The story of the world's first tea break goes something like this: In 2737 B.C. the second emperor of China, Shen Nung, (whose quirky habit of tasting any plant life that crossed his path resulted in the first pharmacopoeia of Chinese medicine) was boiling water in the wilds of southern China when some leaves from a nearby tea bush floated into the pot.

True to character, he inquiringly drank the brew and declared it gave "vigor of body, contentment of mind and determination of purpose".

Since that fateful event this humble infusion has inspired artists to sing its praises, moved monks to inscribe sacred manuals on how best to enjoy its subtleties, brought kingdoms to arms to secure a steady supply and caused one tragically inept emperor obsessed with the trappings of tea to barely notice tens of thousands of Mongol warriors swarming into his empire and seizing control.

There is even a god of tea. And I met him in the Multimedia Room. In 780 A.D. the poet Lu Yu composed the Tea Classic -- the earliest treatise describing tea cultivation -- thus earning himself royal patronage and a place in the celestial hierarchy for his efforts. In the 21st century he appears to tea devotees in the form of a chatty hologram espousing the Way of the Tea Leaf to his spellbound audience.

Tea has also caused quite a stir outside China. Dutch merchants introduced the beverage to Europe in 1610 after exchanging dried sage with Chinese tea traders. Londoners first tasted this novel potion from the Far East in 1657 when Garway's Coffee House imported a small supply.

A decade later 150 pounds of tea were shipped to England; within five decades that figure had ballooned to 800,000 pounds per year.

The West had developed a passion for tea. In 1773 the infamous Boston Tea Party -- essentially a protest against high taxes on tea levied by the English -- sparked the American colonies' fight for independence. British demand for tea fueled the Opium Wars with China in the 1800s. Of course it may have been the caffeine talking, but this was clearly a drink capable of stimulating strong emotions.

With my tea education complete, we headed back to Pinglin village for lunch in a cozy establishment. On seeing I was reading the menu upside down, Lulu kindly ordered a few local specialties she thought might appeal. Here is her selection: Fragrant goose marinated in tea, stir-fried prawns with tea essence, chicken and tea soup, tea-flavored noodles with mixed vegetables and, of course, tea jelly for dessert. When you have tea in Pinglin, you really have tea.

Following a surprisingly tasty meal, we strolled through a nearby gift shop proffering the arty paraphernalia that accompanies Taiwan's national beverage. While I marveled over miniature tea sets and original works of calligraphy extolling the virtues of supping tea, Lulu dutifully filled orders placed by friends back in Taipei for Pinglin tea candy and a chewy tea-flavored confectionery called moji.

While many Westerners enjoy visiting wineries to celebrate their favorite drop, Taipei residents tour the tea plantations of Pinglin to pay homage to their beloved Paochung tea (a teetotaler's version of vineyard tourism, if you will). Hence lured by tradition, we aimed our car in the direction of Pinglin's surrounding mountains and headed for the nearest tea farm.

These peaks were first planted in 1851, when a Mr. Chen Ho- hsin rented land from the local aboriginal people to sow the seeds of the Pinglin tea industry. Thanks to fertile soil and ideal weather, Chen's endeavors were a roaring success and numerous tea plantations soon sprouted in the district.

Like the one we turned into 20 minutes later.

Tiers of luxuriant tea bushes cascaded down the slope. Neatly kept rows of Camellia sinensis destined to fill the pots of tea lovers around the globe filled my vision. An ancient Taoist temple on the horizon added man-made hues to the rich green earth and brilliant blue sky.

Inside the plantation's processing factory the owner's infectiously chirpy daughter, Grace Wu, poured us a cuppa made from freshly cured leaves and enthusiastically spoke of the premium "cha" her family produces.

"Our plantation specializes in Wenshan Paochung, a lightly fermented tea known for its refreshing taste and numerous health benefits. Other farms around Pinglin produce Iron Goddess and Flower teas, which are also very popular in Taiwan."

My morning at the museum revealed the generic term "Chinese tea" actually covers a number of distinct brews. Classified according to the degree of processing, there are non-fermented, semi-fermented and fully fermented varieties.

Unfermented teas, also called Green teas, are made from leaves that are quickly dried after picking to seal in natural flavors. Rich in antioxidants and low in caffeine, popular varieties of Green tea such as Gunpowder and Dragon Well are believed to promote health and longevity.

The leaves of partially fermented teas are carefully rolled after picking, left to oxidize and then heated. Oolong, the most prized of all Chinese teas, and its illustrious variations such as Tungting, Wenshan Paochung and Iron Goddess belong to this category, as do the widely acclaimed White teas.

Fully fermented varieties produce a strong brew with a distinct malty taste. The leaves are thoroughly dried and oxidized before firing. Black teas -- or Red teas as they are known in Chinese -- are of this high-caffeine type.

Other eminent Chinese teas such as Pu-erh and flower-scented blends like Jasmine are more tricky to classify as they can variously be non-, semi- or fully fermented.

"Tea has been grown in Taiwan for more than 300 years," continued Grace patriotically, "and many international buyers now consider our tea to be the best in the world. The world's most expensive tea comes from Taiwan ... first-class Tungting Oolong sells for $2,500 per chin (600g)."

My impressed expression as Lulu translated her speech must have pleased Grace immensely, as she then volunteered to give us an impromptu tour of the factory. Friendly workers voiced a cheery "ni hao" as we browsed over large wicker baskets of fermenting leaves and a rustic array of exotic machinery used to cure the season's harvest.

Thanking Grace for her gracious hospitality, we bade her a hearty "zai jian" and stepped outside to wander the rest of the plantation. A blissful hour of frolicking through fields of verdant tea and cherry blossoms followed.

Lulu had one last treat in store as we rejoined the Taipei- Ilan highway on our way back to the capital. With a hint of pomp she slid in her favorite CD for the drive home -- The Beach Boys' Greatest Hits.

As we coiled through the highlands of northern Taiwan to a surreal soundtrack of groovy Californian beach tunes, I leafed through a booklet to discover that tea shrubs, if left unpruned, can grow as tall as a two-story house. Moreover, there are tea bushes in China more than 1,200 years old.

Extraordinary. Yet not as amazing as hearing a petite Taiwanese lady belt out a stirring rendition of Good Vibrations.

It was a happy day, indeed.