From November to March, the days in the Himalayas are cool and the skies clear. This is when you can see the distant peaks glistening white beyond the tea bushes, like Kumbhakarna (7,710 metres), whose ghostly silhouette can be seen here. The best time to see them is at sunrise, before they disappear in the mist. The view is well worth the relative discomfort of the journey and the rudimentary morning wash with a bowl of cold water and a cloth, out in the open if you follow local custom.
Being a Frenchman, I admit I probably complain more than I should. And yet, as someone who spends much of the year travelling around regions of the world as diverse as a Himalayan kingdom, the Andes and the Great Rift Valley, in countries that are much less fortunate in terms of standard of living, I am well aware that France is the stuff of dreams, a kind of paradise in the eyes of so many of the planet’s inhabitants. It’s true that it shouldn’t take much for France to become a paradise if we united and sought compromise instead of adding fuel to the fire, preferring to fight rather than agree, thinking that violence will solve every problem. Why are we still so comfortable protesting instead of trying to build bridges? It’s a mystery to me.
Tea has opened my mind to harmony, to finding the right balance, to paying attention to others. What if we looked at the world differently? Let’s have a cup of tea and look around us. As we sip the delicate nectar, we can contemplate this beauty and feel grateful.
The purpose of this blog is to tell you all about Camellia sinensis, not about the monuments, however impressive, that a tea researcher might encounter on their travels. And yet, as I stood in front of the Golden Temple in Amritsar, in the silence and stillness, entranced by the lights, the gold and the shimmering evening light, I felt a deep sense of fulfillment. I was completely at peace, despite the crowds. Serenity. Time stood still. I felt transported. Opportunity, happiness – a gift. These were my thoughts as I felt compelled to stop and take in my surroundings. I sat down and contemplated the reflections on the water. It seemed to me that this liquid element, this precious material, this gold, corresponded to what I feel when I drink a cup of tea. Something rare, unique and delicate. A call to peace, tranquility and harmony. When I drink tea, I close my eyes, and what I see is beautiful, radiant and soothing, just like the Golden Temple.
At a time when we don’t have a clear view of what’s going on in Darjeeling, where the plantations have been suffering for many years from a crisis that we would like to see end, I am travelling through other tea-growing areas of northern India. “Nature is a temple where living pillars let sometimes emerge confused words,” wrote Charles Baudelaire. And here, in the Kangra Valley, who wouldn’t feel its presence? Look how these trees watch us with a familiar gaze! I don’t know if you can hear them. They speak to me.
On a tea plantation, unless you do everything by hand, from toasting the leaves in a wok to drying them (a truly titanic task), you need an engine to power the machinery. Those lucky enough to visit the Badamtam factory in India are in for a surprise. An authentic antique ship’s engine sits at the back of the building, and has been powering the various tea processing machines for years. Today, the engine gleams like a new penny next to a small Hindu temple. The gods watch over it to make sure it runs smoothly.
I love inviting employees to join me on a tea research trip. This is a unique opportunity for me to show the people who contribute to the success of Palais des Thés where tea comes from, how we source it, and who harvests and processes it. Here in Darjeeling (India), for example, they can immerse themselves in the world of tea, in direct contact with the leaves, and understand every stage of their transformation. Above all, they will discover how the work of the tea researcher is all about the people. We know the men and women who live on these mountains – some of them for decades – and we love them. Here, between tasting teas and visiting plantations, Audrey, Camille, Geoffroy, Laurence, Laurie and Marc realise that picking tea is not as easy as it seems.
Before I started working in tea, more than 36 years ago, I wanted to be a journalist. Since then, I’ve combined this original dream with my work in my own way, through my search for rare teas. I try my hand at reportage with this blog and with my podcast, Un thé, un voyage, which is another way of taking you on a journey.
When I meet villagers living in such poverty, like here, the reporter in me takes over and wonders: does the tea they harvest help them to live, and would they be worse off without it? Or does the tea – poor quality, worth little or nothing – help keep them in this situation?
In Darjeeling, a region I’m particularly fond of and have visited many times, there are large estates built by the British in the mid to late 19th century, as well as a number of small, local producers who own a few acres or collect the leaves harvested by neighbouring farmers. Some work on abandoned plantations. In these cases, the whole family harvests and then processes the leaves using artisanal methods, sometimes with great success. These initiatives include the Yanki Tea Farm and the Niroula Tea Farm.
One of the trickiest stages in making black tea is achieving the right level of oxidation. The leaves are left to wither for a good ten hours or so, then tossed to bruise them and break down their structure. Then it’s time for the oxidation process, which requires humid conditions. During this stage, the leaves change colour from green to brown. Their aromas also change radically, developing notes of wood, stewed fruit and spices, among many others. When should oxidation be stopped? In Darjeeling, producers use the “second nose” principle. At the beginning of the oxidation process, the tea leaves give off an intense aroma that gradually fades after a few minutes, only to return in full force a while later. This return of aroma is known as the second nose. It signals that it’s time to stop oxidation as the perfect level has been achieved. All that remains is for the leaves to be dried, sorted and packaged.
Today, on the eve of the biggest religious festival in the Indian state of West Bengal, workers at this plantation in the Dooars are on strike. They are demanding an increase in their annual bonus, which they use to buy gifts for their family and friends. The bonus is a significant part of their annual salary. Meanwhile, the tea bushes proudly support the bags and umbrellas. A few hours later, having achieved what they wanted, everyone returns to their belongings and the picking resumes.
