by Jeremy Finn
THE HISTORY OF TEA
It was late afternoon on a crisp fall day and Jonathan Harney knew he should not be quitting work this early. He had been on the road for weeks now, though, and with a small amount of mischievous glee, he decided to call it a day and stroll aimlessly down the three or so blocks that comprised the heart of what passed for main street in this rural little town. It was not the sort of place he would have stopped if he had a choice, but concentrations of people were rarer than concentrations of cows or sheep in this part of the country and the town happened to be the only real choice for an overnight stay. As he passed by craft stores, cafes and creepy antique shops, he tried to shift his focus away from his monotonous job. He passed a little pizza shop that caught his eye, but was not hungry enough yet to stop for dinner. Perhaps after a stroll around town.
After no time at all, he reached the base of the thoroughfare where the road ended in a t-intersection with a two-lane county highway. He paused for a few minutes to watch two men blow and sculpt glass at an open furnace, and then crossed the street to head back up the other side. As he strolled back up the road, he passed by what must have once been a large barn or stable. Now, it was painted a pale blue and bore the decorative touch of someone skilled in horticulture. Gazing through the windows as he passed, he noticed shelves crammed with tiny boxes lining the walls within. Indirect lighting provided a warm glow to the atmosphere and it looked quite cozy as he pulled his light jacket tightly around his neck. The uniqueness of the spot tugged at his curiosity and he decided to go in for a closer look.
“Hello, welcome to our tea shop,” a woman called from behind a counter made of thick, rustic planks of wood. Her undulating French accent seemed just the right fit for the feel of the place. The army of tins standing tall in formations across most of the walls must be tea, then. It was more variety than Jonathan had ever known existed. His knowledge of tea was limited to the fannings stuffed in cheap bleached teabags and stocked on every supermarket shelf. The rest of the shop was adorned with tea utensils, pottery from various other countries enamored with tea and books about tea-related issues.
“Do you have anything specific you are looking for?” the motherly woman asked as she walked around the counter.
“No,” Jonathan replied, “I was just curious about the place and thought I would have a look. It sure smells nice in here.”
“Yes of course,” the woman smiled. “Tea is quite aromatic. If you would like to sample any of the teas you see here, ask Ellie in the back room. He will brew you a cup.”
“Thank you,” Jonathan replied and began to browse through the offerings. Several of the teas were familiar, such as earl grey, English breakfast and Darjeeling. Several were not. He even found many difficult to read, such as temi sikkim and wenshan baozong. It was fascinating since he never knew there was such a plethora of what he had up to this point considered a boring beverage.
Eventually, he strolled to the back of the store and found Ellie. He was a young man with a young man’s looks – frazzled trendy hair, an eager attitude and eyes that oddly seemed to burn with passion for the beverage he peddled.
“Would you like to try something this afternoon?” Ellie asked him.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jonathan hesitated. I’m not sure what to even ask for.”
“Well then, why don’t we try this?” Ellie suggested as he lifted a glass pot full of dark brown liquid off a stand containing a small candle used to keep the tea warm. “It is an orange-cinnamon tea, and most people without much experience with tea find it agreeable.”
“So you are saying it is a novice’s brew?” Jonathan joked as he watched Ellie pour a small white porcelain cup for him.
“Actually, I like to refer to it as the gateway tea, or the favorite tool of the teavangelist,” Ellie returned with a grin.
Jonathan sipped the piping hot beverage. It was strong and full of spice, yet naturally sweet at the same time. “Quite good actually,” he agreed.
“It is our top seller. It is made from orange peel, cinnamon, and a blend of teas from a region high in the foothills of the Himalayas where…” Ellie’s voice rapidly began to trail off and the store swirled slowly around Jonathan as if he had dipped his finger in the reflection of a still pool and swirled it slowly through the water. He felt dizzy and the colors slowly began to coalesce into a different scene.
The air felt humid and he realized he was outside. He still held the half cup of tea in his hand, but everything else had changed. Two long rows of rounded, jade-green bushes extended before and behind him and joined ranks with hundreds of others to carpet the rolling hillsides all around him. He stood there gawking for quite some time until the tea in his hand was cold. Then, a voice from behind startled him. A woman wrapped up in mismatched scarves and clothing to protect her from the sun was trying to speak to him in an unfamiliar language. She eventually realized it would do no good and grabbed his hand to escort him down the mountain.
Jonathan was still in shock and complied without resistance. When they reached the base of the hill, the woman handed him off to a balding, middle-aged man with deep brown skin just like the woman’s.
“Ah, what brings you here?” the man asked in jilted, high-pitched English. “And why on earth are you wearing a jacket?”
“I…I don’t know,” Jonathan mumbled. “This isn’t the tea shop anymore, huh?”
“Tea shop?” The man scrunched up his face. “No, no, tea plantation. Maybe you are a hiker and wandered onto my land? Anyways, do not worry. You may pass through. Please just don’t startle any more of the ladies. We haven’t seen any white men in these hills since the colonization.”
Jonathan listened to the man, but did not process what he said. “I…do you mind if I ask where I am?”
Again, the man cast a confused expression and tilted his sweaty head. “You are on the Kenilworth Plantation, in India, you know. And it is Monday. You must have been hiking deep in the mountains. By the way, where is your pack? Did you lose it?”
“No…no, I’m not a hiker. I mean, what month is this? It seems so hot?”
“Well of course, man! It is May. Goodness you are out of touch.”
Jonathan was shocked. How could it be May? He did not remember the exact date, but it was certainly nearing the last days of September. “What year?” he asked feebly with a grimace.
“Year?!” the man exclaimed. “Why 2012, of course. Did you think otherwise?”
“No, no,” Jonathan replied with relief. At least they agreed on the year. Perhaps this man was just confused, but then why was he suddenly standing in his…plantation? “Look, do you have someplace I can sit and rest?” he asked.
The man weighed him with his eyes for a moment before the charitable side of him took control. “Very well. You may rest on the porch of my house until you feel you are fit to continue your hiking.”
Jonathan gave up on arguing the hiking bit and plopped down on a cushioned chair in the shade of the porch. For hours he sat watching women pick tea leaves like honeybees circulating among fields of flowers and tried to work out his situation. At one point, he tried his cell phone, but it only produced a collage of distorted colors on the screen. Eventually, he decided he had overstayed his welcome and better be moving on to find someone who might be able to help him work through his problem.
“Thank you for your kindness,” he said as he approached the owner. “Could you tell me where I can find the nearest police station?”
The man opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, it grew to a gaping hole and began to swirl at the nexus of another world-altering whirlpool. Within seconds, Jonathan was standing before Ellie again. Ellie wore a quizzical expression but still held the pot of cinnamon tea in his hand.
“Are you ok?” he asked. “You suddenly seem to be sweating profusely.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jonathan said looking down at his sweat-stained shirt. “I mean, I’m ok, I think. Um, you wouldn’t happen to know anything abou
t a tea plantation in India, would you?”
Ellie gazed at him for a moment, then energetically began his response, “Oh of course I do. There are many and they have their origins with the British. Let me see, which one should I tell you about first?”
Jonathan listened patiently for over twenty minutes as Ellie relayed all his knowledge of the tea plantations of India – not exactly what he had meant, but it gave him a chance to stop sweating and collect his thoughts.
“Look,” Jonathan interrupted as Ellie began to introduce India’s southern neighbor, Sri Lanka, “this is really fascinating, but I have a dinner date and would you mind if I just made a purchase and got going? I may be able to stop by again in the morning before I head out of town.”
“Oh, sure,” Ellie said with some injured pride, but then rapidly reverted back to his enthusiasm for tea. “If you are new to tea and in a rush, I suggest this sampler we sell. It is four smaller tins of popular teas: red tea or rooibos from Africa, a good green sencha from Japan, oolong from the mountains of Taiwan and a good Chinese black from Yunnan.”
The energetic youth packaged the teas with a single-cup steeper and carefully instructed him on how to brew the perfect cup of tea. Jonathan listened carefully and paid for the package. As he left the shop, he noticed he had only been there for a little over half an hour. Regardless, his body felt as if it was bedtime already, so he grabbed a few slices of pizza to go and returned to his hotel room at the top of the main street.
Jonathan plopped down on the edge of the bed in his room and turned on the television. The early evening news was just starting to come on. He steeped one of the teas, rooibos, and downed a piece of pizza while he waited the required five minutes as per the directions on the little slip of paper that came with the tin. The information sheet also explained the tea was actually an herbal from a bush that grew in South Africa. This particular lot was harvested in July of this year. When he saw the minute hand on his watch reach the top of the fifth minute, he retrieved the strainer full of steaming wet dregs and gazed at the cup of red liquid. It smelled slightly fruity. Jonathan returned to his perch on the edge of the bed and cradled the white ivory cup in both hands. He felt foolish, but couldn’t deny he half expected some other out of body experience to take him as soon as he sipped the mysterious brew. With a quick sip and sudden scorch of his lips, he pulled the cup away from his mouth and winced. The tea mildly scaled his throat as it flowed down his esophagus and he made a mental note to be more careful next time. When he opened his eyes, the evening news was gone. He was standing amidst a cluster of hairy-looking green bushes on a plateau overlooking the ocean in the distance. There were a few women with tar black skin and colorful garments picking at the bushes not too far from him, but they didn’t seem to even notice his sudden presence.
“Amazing,” Jonathan whispered to himself. After surveying his surroundings and grinding a bit of the plant between his fingers, he headed to a trailhead that appeared to wind down the side of the plateau. The trail zigzagged into the coastal valley below and the vantage point revealed a large, modern city sprawled out along the flat terrain. The sound of cheering drew his attention and he took a branch of the trail off toward a large stadium near the edge of the rising plateau. When he came close enough to see down into the open-air stadium, he picked a comfortable spot on the hillside and stopped to watch the game unfolding before him. At first, he could not figure out what the two professional teams were playing. It looked like soccer at first, then like football. One minute the players were tossing the ball to each other, the next someone would kick it far down the field. “Ah, rugby!” he exclaimed to himself, proud of his deduction.
He sat contentedly watching the game for over an hour when suddenly the stadium rapidly melted before his eyes and was replaced by the evening news. The remaining slice of pizza sat on the plate by his side. He touched it. It was still warm.
Jonathan giggled with delight, but then an ominous dread rose up inside him. What exactly was going on? Was this some kind of hallucinogenic tea, or could he really be under the influence of some spell? Either way, there was potential for danger. Or maybe he was just losing his mind? Too much stress from his travels on the road, maybe?
Jonathan decided he better shower and go to bed. The sky outside was just beginning to fall into complete darkness, but his body felt as if it was the middle of the night. As he took off his clothes to shower, a huge, ghastly insect dropped on the floor and skittered under the sink. It was unlike any kind of bug he had ever seen before. Apparently things could travel with him from these places he had been. He would have to remember that fact.
Bed never felt better, despite the fact he slept on a mediocre hotel mattress. He awoke with the sun refreshed and curious as ever about the remaining three teas. Jonathan decided to try one before going down for the free continental breakfast. He selected the sencha and brewed a cup for the suggested three minutes. Maybe the brewing time affected the time in the trance. When he carefully slurped the pale green liquid to avoid the scalding, he was transported once again around the world. This time, he stood in a tea field much like the first in India, but much smaller and somewhat more neat and orderly. A surprised voice uttered an unfamiliar exclamation behind him and he turned to see an elderly Japanese man behind an immaculate hedge just up the hill.
“Sorry to scare you,” Jonathan apologized.
“It’s ok,” the man replied in English with a thick accent.
“Are you here to see my garden? I usually don’t allow tourists to come in without arranging the visit first. That’s the strange thing; I surely did not see you approaching. It seemed as if you just appeared up here on the hillside.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid I’m a bit confused myself,” Jonathan admitted. “Can I ask you a strange question? What is the date today? I mean the whole thing, month and year too.”
“Well,” the tea cultivator replied contemplatively, “It’s Sunday 21 April 2012. Did you not know that?”
“Just as I thought,” Jonathan mumbled to himself. The info sheet from the sencha listed the harvesting date as April 2012.
“Look, has anyone else ever just kind of popped up in your garden? Maybe especially a foreigner like me?”
“No,” the man replied with a growing look of skepticism on his wrinkled face.
“Ok, I’m very sorry about the trouble,” Jonathan said and began walking down the hill.
“Are you staying in town?” the man asked.
“Oh, probably for a few hours, I guess,” Jonathan said with a knowing smile. It was a beautiful day and he spent some time strolling around the rural town. He kept his eye on his watch and sat down under a tree to relax and wait for the return. He found a smooth rock and put it in his pocket. When the colors started to blur, he glanced quickly at his watch – about five hours had passed.
Sitting on the edge of the bed in his hotel room, Jonathan thought furiously about the evidence he had compiled from his little journeys around the world. The bulge in his pocket proved he could bring items back, but his initial guess that the brewing time affected the time away seemed wrong. While he had brewed the African rooibos for five minutes and stayed for around five hours, the Japanese sencha only required three minutes and he still stayed around five hours. Maybe it was just a fixed five hour period. During his initial trip to India, he was far too confused and surprised to pay any attention to his watch, but it could have been five hours – probably less now that he thought about it. Well, he had two more teas to try. Maybe they would help him figure it out.
Jonathan was too excited to wait and brewed up both teas before going down for breakfast. He was starving, but only a few minutes passed despite the hours spent in Asia. Fortunately, he was able to exchange a twenty dollar bill in his wallet for a bowl of soup while he was in Yunnan. The shop owner hesitated to take the foreign currency at first, but eventually decided the amount was worth the trouble. Taiwan was beautiful. He sat for hours just watching a blanket of
rolling mist swell up and down lush green valleys from his perch among tea bushes lining a high mountain ridge. He was able to figure out, too, that apparently the time spent at a location was linked to when the tea was harvested. All the four teas he purchased from the store were harvested this year, but in different months. Based on his close attention to his watch, it appeared each month since harvesting equated to roughly an hour in the location. Thus, the oolong harvested in June gave him about four hours in Taiwan.
Jonathan finally went to the hotel lobby for a continental breakfast. He was famished and felt as if he had spent the day already, which in fact he had despite the sun just peeking over the treetops outside. He checked out of the hotel and impatiently spent the rest of the morning reading a paper at a diner beside the tea shop, waiting for it to open.
Just after the hand-painted sign in the doorway flipped from closed to open, he hustled down the street and entered as the first customer of the morning.
