Ode to Green Tea

Here along the waters of West Lake
Much adored by poets of dynasties hence
Comes the equally praiseworthy Dragon Well tea.

Green, supple leaves, almost magical in my mind
to make such a simple and delicate drink.
We shouldn’t be surprised that this unassuming shrub
chooses such a delicate region as its hub.

This warm, soothing beverage
Rich with antioxidants
Gives off just enough caffeine
No, not too much
like that jittery beverage from the tropics
But just enough
For a midday pick-me-up.

Immediately one can hear the sound of the guqin and the bawu
And see the willows swaying in the gentle breeze
Not to mention the craggy mountains behind.
Those scholars of yore took it upon themselves
To sip tea while discussing Confucius and literature
Don’t picture the aloof philosopher, the snobby aesthete
This is serious business, with tea in hand they meet.

I love to watch the green leaves dance in the simmering water.
I won’t stop you if you really want to add milk, sugar, and all the rest
But, as for me, no additives please.
I am content with these unadorned and unfermented leaves.

Hangzhou and the West Lake

“Above there is heaven, below there are Suzhou and Hangzhou.” -a Chinese proverb

I had heard about the virtues of Hangzhou and the West Lake, but I was not prepared for the town’s utter tranquility and beauty of poetic proportions. Perhaps a few years living in a landlocked Chinese metropolis, interspersed with occasional family visits to the hard-nosed capitalist enclave of Hong Kong, hardened me to the possibility that such a peaceful city exists in China. I am happy to report, though, that it does!

While there, I also had the opportunity to visit the renowned Dragon Well tea plants, one of the most well-loved green teas in China, that grow along the legendary West Lake. Poets through the ages have compared West Lake to beautiful women, and beautiful women to West Lake. I wish I had not lost my camera and could show you some photos, but, alas, you will have to use your imagination. I also took a visit to the National Tea Museum, which helped me appreciate more one of China’s gifts to the world. This visit to the source of one of my favorite beverages inspired a poem (see above).

A New Year's Day Feast

[My grandmother is third from the right on the bottom row.]

My grandmother is essentially the matriarch, the eldest of the family on both her side and my grandfather’s side of the family, so, traditionally, all of the relatives would come to visit her house on New Year’s Day. However, in true Hong Kong fashion, she has in recent years invited the relatives to 喝茶 (drink tea) and eat 点心 (dim sum) with her at a restaurant. I saw a lot of relatives I have not seen for a long time, and, in a few cases, never. My uncle very helpfully drew a family tree for me on the back of a menu, which clarified our rather large and complicated family (my grandfather has eight siblings).

The food at the restaurant was exquisite. I personally am not picky about food – especially compared to some of my friends who always strike me as having highly cultivated taste buds – and, except most kinds of meat, am content to eat almost anything. Yet, as I write this, I find myself craving more shrimp dumplings, sautéed Chinese broccoli, stuffed tofu, seafood porridge, cold mango soup, and dozens of other culinary delights I scarcely have the vocabulary to describe. The sheer variety of dim sum food not only boggles my mind but also awakens my underdeveloped taste buds.

Another quintessential part of New Year’s Day is the giving of 红包 (lucky red envelopes stuffed with money). Traditionally, the older generation gives 红包 to the younger, unmarried generation. And not just family members but, at least in the case of my grandmother, everyone she has social contact with: the storekeepers, fruit vendors, etc. When we first arrived at the restaurant, waitresses came from all directions and sometimes, it seemed, from completely separate rooms to wish my grandmother 恭喜发财 (good fortune) and 身体健康 (good health), and she obliged by handing out the traditional 红包. Though she carefully prepared her supply of 红包 the night before, the trip to the restaurant must have emptied her. Upon arriving at her apartment, she greeted the security guard but, reaching into her purse, produced a couple HK $100 bills, sans envelope.

The New Year in Hong Kong

The time has come where millions of Chinese take to the trains make the annual trek to their 老家, their hometown and ancestral homeland, and reunite with family members for a time of feasting and celebration. In keeping with this tradition, I have come to my 老家, Hong Kong, to celebrate with my relatives. The celebration of the lunar new year in China, roughly speaking, is equivalent to Christmas in America. However, instead of having explicitly religious origins, Spring Festival has roots in this traditionally agricultural society, where the lunar new year and the coming spring mark the beginning of a new season of planting and growth and a renewal of life all around.

Though many in the U.S. have images of lion dances and dragon parades in the streets, these are essentially Chinese-American creations. The tradition within China is to reunite with family and have a big feast. Friends in Beijing have told me that, when they were young and their families were poor, Spring Festival was the only occasion to eat meat.

Spring Festival is also the occasion for firecrackers. The Chinese, of course, invented firecrackers (and gunpowder), and the evidence is plain to see (and hear) during this time of year. Beijing feels like a war zone: not only are the streets relatively deserted but also deafening explosions can occur, without warning, around every street corner, and remnants of smoke hang in the air long afterwards. I have realized that I can only take so much of this and am happy to report that Hong Kong so far seems more regulated.

As I left to catch my plane to Hong Kong, my housemates sent me off somewhat ceremoniously by lighting a long string of fireworks. Imagine a machine gun shooting a round of bullets 200 times, and then amplify the volume fourfold, and you can begin to imagine this particular firecracker. I guess they do serve their supposed function of scaring evil spirits away; if I were an evil spirit, I would certainly find another place to go.

(I lost my camera on the train back to Beijing, so, sadly, most of the photos I took on this trip I cannot share.)