By way of ‘train’sition from bustling Beijing to dillydallying Dali I embarked on a two week rail journey. I closed my Beijing year with a talk about bicycle touring for an audience of friends, colleagues, cyclists and journalists.

And so I departed, with mixed emotions, heading southeast in the direction of coastal Fujian. There are of course many more tea provinces in China. For me Yunnan will always be number one, but Fujian is a truly special place in tea lore.

Wuyishan wanderings

The first leg on the fast train from Beijing straight to Wuyishan 武夷山 in Fujian province is about 8 hours. It is the famed heartland of Da Hong Pao 大红袍 ‘Big Red Robe’. This, and the other delicious rock wulongs that are produced here, make it a true pilgrimage destination for tea lovers. I was excited to finally experience its craggy beauty.

It is a dramatic landscape. Eroded volcanic structures form peaks that rise to more than 2000m. They dip into steep valleys meandering up and down and around them like a maze. There are strange column formations, cliffs and caves. One larger river carves out nine bends from west to east. Every valley has its own unique volcanic soil composition and humid micro-climate. It is this geological and biological interplay that results in these unique mineral, flinty teas.

My first day there coincided with the last day of a national holiday. Alongside the landscape I was also a big attraction to the crowds of Chinese tourists. Usually I can handle this attention quite well. This time, I really wasn’t in the mood for whispering, laughing, pointing and unsolicited picture taking. Having just left my house, cat and friends in Beijing behind I was feeling somewhat fragile. In the morning, I took the incredibly scenic bamboo raft trip down the nine-bend river. Later, I hiked up to the highest peak. Both trips were stunning on an unusually clear sunny day – but I felt lonely among the crowds.

By day two the May-holiday crowds had left. The weather had turned to cloudy and wet. Without the curious gaze of crowds, I felt free as I wandered the narrow valleys between the towering rock formations. Here, this tantalizing tea grows. It was the height of the picking season so I encountered many female pickers and male carriers. They were nimbly navigating the narrow paths between between the bushes and jumping across rivers via slippery stepping stones.

There were some pretty secluded temples for hermits who enjoyed a contemplative life with tea here, with one calligraphy that particularly appealed to me:

“May my guests wouldn’t mind me offering them tea instead of wine, since I live in a secluded corner of the mountains with bamboo being my sole neighbour”

I enjoyed some lovely impromptu tea encounters on my wanderings. This really helped me to feel more like myself – and part of warmhearted Chinese tea culture.

What stayed with me was the sound of water everywhere: water falling from the cliffs in falls, drips and sprays. Gurgling brooks along every path. Rain. Clouds surrounding the hills. Plants pearled with water drops. With all this moisture came brilliant hues of green, bright against the dark dripping wet rocks. A unique landscape, where natural beauty really is in harmony with human craft. The result: some of the best tea in the world.

One more feature of this harmonious interplay between culture and nature is the many red rock engravings. The prettiest graffiti I have ever seen and I wish I could read all the poetry.

Amoy and Gulangyu

Xiamen, previously known as Amoy, is a really interesting city. Situated on an island its urban plan feels relatively constrained and I missed nature and bike lanes. This was amply compensated by the lovely people and the excellent Fujian (sea)food. Let’s not forget local delicacies such as finger-thick sand worms in jelly.

Interesting tea history fact about Xiamen: Robert Fortune is the man who smuggled the tea plant out of China. The British used it to develop tea plantations in India, thus breaking the Chinese monopoly on tea. This destroyed Xiamen’s power as a trade hub in the early 20th century, and any Fujianese went overseas to look for new opportunities. Today, about 350,000 ethnically Chinese who live overseas can trace their ancestry back to Xiamen.

Gulangyu

Just off the bigger island of Xiamen is Gulangyu. This speck of an island is a former international concession, negotiated after the Opium Wars. No cars are allowed here, and many colonial buildings have been preserved. I spent two days of peaceful and quiet wanderings around the alleyways. Looking for the former Dutch embassy, tea houses and more seafood.

Kinmen Island

Tea was not the only reason I traveled to Fujian. I needed to leave mainland for visa reasons. A short ferry ride from Xiamen lies Kinmen Island, formally part of Taiwan. For foreigners it is an official exit and entry point for mainland China.

Recently, I read a really good account of the separation of Kinmen from mainland in a brutal civil war: Daughters of the Flower Fragrant Garden. It is about the accidental separation of two sisters that happened as a consequence of the war. Local blacksmiths have specialized in crafting knives made of the steel from the bombs that have fallen on the island. I leave with a beautiful handmade kitchen knife and a wish for peace in these glum times.

For one day, I explore the island’s interesting landscape of historical architecture, defense structures and natural coastal beauty. Horseshoe crabs live here, a neat metaphor for the somewhat alien but not unattractive amalgam of nature and defense.

Over the decennia and centuries, many overseas Chinese returned or invested their good fortune in beautiful houses. They obviously enjoyed showing off their worldliness in a mix of Chinese and Western architecture. Some of these houses have been restored, some are falling into picturesque ruin.

There is also beautifully restored traditional architecture, and many traditional ‘wind god’ statues scattered all over the island. These are similar to those found on Okinawa – another cultural connection across the seas.

I am lucky to fall smack-bang into the most important local religious festival of the year. For one day and evening, groups of local men carry gods around the main town in sedan chairs. They swerve and rock them around the entrance of several temples in a frenzied dance. The gods are accompanied by their generals who totter along in the shape of superhumanly tall bearded effigies.

There are gongs, smoke of incense and fireworks. One guy is having a cracking time selling hot dogs from a barbecue mounted on the back of his motor tricycle. A troupe of women is dressed as oysters and ships, while another troupe is disguised like cantering and neighing horses. One group of garishly made-up women appear to have two bodies – one male and one female. A group of little fat buddhas is doing a TikTok dance routine. It’s pretty wild and there are no tourists apart from this lone laowai.

I really enjoy the colourful and exuberant coastal culture of eastern China. Here, influences from Japan, Taiwan, Hongkong, Macau and mainland were exchanged along ancient shipping routes. People still practice superstition and devotion out of fear for the sea and a wish for riches from trade. It is a world away from landlocked Yunnan.

Dali home

After I return to mainland I change my tickets as I cannot bring my knife on a train. I fly from Xiamen to Kunming and spend some time with friends. Finally, I continue to Dali.

My trip was quite unsettling for different personal reasons. One of the realizations that came with being unsettled was that I don’t want to travel or move anymore. I’ve moved enough. I’m really tired of moving.

The other realization is that I want to be in Yunnan.

I have decided to stay, so I let Yun come over from Beijing. The past week I have been down with a nasty bout of Covid. But with Yun here by my side I have been in good paws. Today we are listening to the first rains of the wet season pattering on the roof of our temporary courtyard. Home.