In China, the city of Xi’an and its Terracotta Army attract tourists from all over the world. But as a tea lover, staying in the country’s former imperial capital, I was drawn to a different representation of this army – soldiers made not from clay, but simply from tea. Compressed tea, to be more precise, the kind usually shaped into cakes after the leaves have been steamed. To make a cake, you need a mould, and a mould allows you to give the tea whatever shape you like. So why not that of the warriors in this famous army? They may not be life-size, but they still have an impressive presence.
The province of Shaanxi, where the beautiful city of Xi’an is located, is not known for its teas, unlike the more mountainous provinces further south. All the more reason for local producers to show a little creativity.
If you’re not familiar with compressed tea, the leaves can be crumbled and infused several times.
Slowness and self-mastery
In China, tea is sometimes served in tiny cups. This does nothing to diminish the warmth or simplicity of the occasion. On the contrary, it highlights the precious nature of the brew. Here, the host pours hot water over the same leaves of a fine tea several times, then distributes each distinct infusion among the guests, filling their cups one by one. Gradually, the leaves unfurl more, releasing new flavours and aromas for everyone taking part in the ceremony to savour.
This method is known as Gong Fu Cha. Gong Fu, a term applied to various disciplines, refers to self-mastery and slowness.
A taste for variety
In Burundi, 80% of the land under tea cultivation belongs to smallholders. This high proportion explains why the plots are so fragmented, as you can see here. Around the farms, the fields form a mosaic of different food crops. This system of small plots means farmers aren’t dependent on any one crop – a sensible approach.
School’s out
All around the world, the same scene plays out. You come across some children walking home from school. They ask you to take their photo, so you show it to them. They laugh and ask you to take another, then another. They laugh even harder. You carry on your way and they trail behind you, keeping their distance. As they grow bolder, they start performing all sorts of antics to impress you, like hanging from the cable of a suspension bridge and trying to climb up it.
Brick by brick
What did tea look like one or two thousand years ago along the Silk Roads? Back in those days, tea was compressed into bricks, like this one. To make it easier to transport, the tea was pressed and dried before being loaded onto the backs of horses, yaks, donkeys or camels. It then travelled over thousands of miles, through some of the hottest and coldest places in the world – depending on the season – like the Gobi Desert and the Taklamakan Desert. The heat and sweat of the pack animals could affect the leaves, causing them to ferment. This transformation significantly altered the properties of the brew, imparting aromas of mushroom and undergrowth, leather and wet straw.
The tea brick in this photo is one of the objects that can be admired in the museum at the stunning Ogyen Choling Heritage House in Tang Valley, in the Bumthang district of Bhutan. Owned by author Kunzang Choden, a direct descendant of the family who built the house, the museum displays many everyday objects that offer a glimpse into the lives once led by the nobles and peasants of these Himalayan valleys.
Compressed tea is still consumed in many regions of the world and is particularly popular with the Chinese diaspora, from Kuala Lumpur and Singapore to San Francisco. In Hong Kong and Taiwan, too, many enthusiasts swear by it. Most tea bricks or tea cakes come from the Yunnan region of China; the tea is crumbled before being steeped several times in tiny vessels.
Abandoned cup
I’m not sure exactly what this cup is made of, but that’s not important. In its own way, it is unique. The woman who was holding it a few seconds earlier put it down on this windowsill after drinking a strong tea with milk and sugar. We are in the Himalayas. Tibet is not far. Here, they drink tea to warm body and soul. The cup is worn through daily use, and discoloured from the tea. It has become a familiar object: quietly reliable, available, reassuring.
This cup makes me think of all the victims of the Nepal tragedy, of all the lost lives. I think: how many cups of tea await those who will never return? How many lives have been destroyed by these climate disasters?
Tea is a journey
Tea is a journey. I often share photos here of tea bushes growing in fields and on plantations, close up and from afar. But my work as a tea researcher isn’t all about tasting – it mainly involves a lot of travel. It’s a quest, and the route itself is part of that. It gives you time to prepare for discovering something new – time to become familiar with the local climate, the landscape, the people and their customs. Sometimes you get lost, and that’s part of the experience too. You always find your way eventually, crossing plains and mountain passes you’ve never seen before, venturing along unfamiliar roads and tracks – by car or motorbike, on horseback or on foot. Like here, in Bhutan. Tea is a journey. It teaches us to slow down and notice what’s around us.
African massage
Several East African countries are among the world’s biggest tea producers. In Burundi, I travelled along the shores of Lake Tanganyika to the Tanzanian border, gazing across the water towards the mountains of the DRC (Democratic Republic of the Congo), while at night, the fishing boats scattered across the lake glittered like a constellation of stars. In a week, I did not come across a single Westerner, and some local children had never seen one, rushing over as soon as they caught sight of me. They emerged from the water in a constant stream, full of excitement, laughter and curiosity. I barely had time to snap a few photos and try to answer their eager questions before returning to my vehicle, leaving them to their waves. After hours on chaotic tracks that tossed me violently in every direction, I headed for the mountains. In Burundi, those long hours spent being jolted along gruelling roads have a name: the African massage.
On my return to France, someone pointed out to me that my photo wasn’t straight, that the lake was tilted. At the time, I didn’t believe them. Nor did I later. I had never seen anything like it. I want to believe my photo is faithful to what I was lucky enough to witness. I want to believe it is faithful to that unexpected axis on which beautiful Lake Tanganyika seemed to rest. When you travel, you have to accept being challenged, to confront other ways of seeing the world. That is all part of the charm of adventure. Here is the lake as I saw it that day: tilting gently to the left, no doubt beneath the weight of the boats and the children’s laughter.
Pastry chefs at the École du Thé
Part of the tea sommelier’s role is to host tasting sessions for pastry chefs. Tea can be used like a spice in the kitchen: single-origin teas and flavoured blends can lend a lingering finish, additional texture or a delicate bittersweet note. The same tea can impart a multitude of flavours and aromas – zesty, honeyed, woody and more – to a dessert.
Among the pastry chefs who attend our tastings, some work in prestigious establishments that serve up splendid afternoon teas. These feature a succession of delicate delights, sweet and savoury. Of course, tea is an essential part of the experience, so it is important for pastry chefs – for whom this is not always their speciality – to understand different tea varieties, brewing methods and food pairings. Here at the École du Thé in Paris, we welcome top pastry chefs from prestigious establishments such as the Saint-James, the Shangri-La, the Bristol, Lucas Carton and Maison Bernard Loiseau.
(Photos: A. Denni)
Contemplation and calm
In Japan, with cherry blossom season in full swing, it’s a time for contemplation. People travel from far and wide to admire the trees covered in blooms and take selfies or simply enjoy a picnic beneath a canopy of pink or white petals. This love of nature at its most fleeting naturally brings to mind the saying ichi-go ichi-e, which is an invitation to focus on the present moment, to understand and accept the transience of existence. This precept forms an essential part of understanding cha no yu, the Japanese name for the tea ceremony.
This contemplation of cherry blossom evokes tea in another way. When you ask a tea enthusiast what tea means to them, what it gives them, the word that comes up most often is a sense of “calm”. Tea soothes us – in the same way that we are soothed by this silent, joyful, blissful contemplation of cherry blossom, by scenes of delicate beauty, like here in Kenroku-en in Kanazawa, one of Japan’s most celebrated gardens.










