Taiwan Today

From ancient times, Chinese con­noisseurs have elevated the preparation and consumption of tea to an art. And today in Taiwan, despite the many alter­ native beverages of modern-day life, there are countless devotees of what the English poet William Cowper (1731-1800) called, in one of the best known Quotations on the subject, "cups that cheer but not inebriate."

The sentiments of its devotees, through the ages and around the world as well as in present-day Taiwan, were even more enthusiastically epitomized by Sydney Smith (1771-1845), an Eng­lish clergyman and writer, in this paean: "Thank God for tea! What would the world do without tea?....I am glad I was not born before tea."

The spirit of these lines is, no doubt, in the thoughts of devotees who increas­ ingly gather today to prepare tea by origi­nal Chinese methods designed to elicit its richest and most aromatic flavor.

Since the opening of Taipei's Chi­nese Kung Fu Tea House in 1977, the managements of Taiwan tea houses have been groping for styles quite different from the "old men's" tea houses and other tradition-bound local tea-serving establishments. Many new tea houses have sprung up, one after another, both in urban districts and rural areas. Most are very similar to coffee shops, with tea replacing coffee as the drink of the house.

Tasi Jung-chang, a pacemaker in promoting gourmet tea savoring and manager of the Lu Yu Tea Center, points out that the booming interest in tea drinking results naturally from the desires of people living under contemporary urban pressures to slow down the bustle and hustle of their lives.

Taipei now has more than 30 such tea houses, their decorative categories ranging from Japanese style, country flavor, and folkloric, to tea house­ cum-art gallery, imitation study, and straw-roofed cottage. According to Tsai, current tea houses generally fit into five operational modes: The first type caters to the connoisseurs, who regard savoring tea as an art and come to the tea house with only one purpose in mind-to drink, discuss, and criticize tea. They are knowledgably fastidious about tea utensils, tea leaves, and tea-compatible pastries.

The second variety shares the inten­tion of luring connoisseurs, but seeks to lure ordinary pleasure-seekers as well. On one hand, such tea houses provide a nice, cozy locale for conversation and relaxation. On the other, they offer the serious tea drinker a somewhat lighter, more amiable ambience. A majority of Taipei's tea houses fall into this grouping.

The third type evokes the old-time coffee shop. The only difference-the coffee is replaced by tea.

The fourth type focuses on the trade in tea leaves and tea utensils. Seating accommodations are available merely for the convenience of customers out to select the right tea or tea set.

The last grouping is involved in similar-if once-removed-commercial motivation to the foregoing. For exam­ple, some of the art galleries-cum-tea houses are interested in the sale of paint­ings or artifacts and have limited concern for the tea itself.

Besides the tea, a variety of snacks—watermelon seeds, toasted squid, dried bean curd, rice cakes, preserved fruits, etc.-play an important role in some establishments. Colorful artistic and folk activities—even seminars—are staged by some hosts to add a unique flavor to their establishments... if not to the tea.

For 64-year-old Wu Cheng-to, director of the Chinese Tea Ceremony Associ­ation and a professor at National Taiwan University, the proper management of tea houses requires thought and con­sistency: "Their success lies in their ability to establish chao pai ch'a (signboard tea). In order words, each tea house must create its own style and individuality."

Stepping down into the basement rooms on Tinchou Street, the patron is immediately embraced by an intensive folkloric decor. Time-worn urns gloom from one corner of the landing. The three green calligraphic characters Tung Po Chu (The Home of Tung Po) whisper their message from a dark panel over the lintel, too softly to catch the casual visi­tor's attention. Two small, dust-covered stone lion cubs dutifully guard the entrance from their pedestals. A "mini-miniature" temple dedicated to the God of Earth prostrates itself dwarfishly near the main doors. Supposing there was not the aroma of incense, the visitor would surely miss it. Two imposing door gods pasted to the two-piece vintage wooden doors fiercely repel wandering intruders.

Inside the doors, a houseful of folk artifacts jumps into view. An air condi­tioner, lonely in a corner of the small lobby, is the sole contemporary twist. The brick floor is brought into sharp relief by yellow electric light bulbs hidden within the decorative ceiling.

A broad tatami (thick straw mat) covered area occupies two-thirds of the innards. Separated symbolically by knee­-high partitions, each individual tea-savoring unit consists of a low wooden table, a lamp, a couple of cushions, and of course, a tea set.

Unlike other tea house routine, Tung Po Chu's customers are required to refill their own empty teapots from a big, wide-mouthed pot boiling on a tradition­al Chinese cooking stove, just a stone's throw from the tatami area. Using the giant-sized wooden ladle amid the fog of stream generated by the boiling water, one seems instantly transported back in time to an old farmhouse kitchen. Sur­prisingly, interested customers may toast their own dried squid on one of the three stoves—a taste of street vendors.

While navigating the narrow passage near the stove, a mutter of chirrups pierces the soft Chinese background music, alerting the ears. And sure enough, a cluster of uncaged Java spar­rows is perched there on a latticed wooden rack. They are not afraid of strangers at all; on the contrary, they freely fly here and there, sometimes hopping about gleefully on a customer's shoulder.

Near the bird rack, two private tatami rooms accommodate small-scale private parties. Frescos in each room, featuring Chinese mythical heroes, usher viewers into their ancient world.

Andrew Hsu, a 25-year-old graduate of the philosophy department of National Taiwan University and one of Tung Po's four partners, confided: "We treat this tea house as an extension of life. Our goal is to provide a quiet, thought­ invoking place. Meanwhile, we hope to help people understand the art of savor­ing tea."

Yin Kuei-chi, another young partner, talked about the effort expended on decoration: "We spent a couple of months trucking our way to outlying vil­lages to hunt down folk artifacts. The tea bowl in your hands was picked up in Tamsui. The icons, statuettes, bric­-a-brac, stone mortar, stone and wood carvings, and temple accessories along the wall near the counter were all pur­chased in various villages. Some things, we even made with our own hands-like the farm utensils."

As literary and poetic as its namesake (Su Tung Po was a prestigious literati of the Sung Dynasty), the establishment stages folk and artistic activities and seminars on calligraphy, paper-cutting, pottery, sculpture, traditional macrame etc. The 'hosts even provide, for a small fee, an electric kiln upstairs for amateur potters to fire their works.

Hsu noted that a majority of his cus­tomers are young people-quite different from other tea havens.

Chu Yu-san, an 18-year-old senior at a high school affiliated with National Taiwan Normal University, on being questioned, composed his lean and angu­lar face and crossed his legs: "I am now preparing for the college entrance exami­nations and come here almost everyday. The blending of the old mystique with a natural and family-like ambience attracts me most. It is a nice place to study because it counters the tension that builds up anticipating exams. Tung Po is not as noisy as other coffee shops or tea houses, and offers me a chance to meet new friends with similar tastes."

Even from the name Chu Liu­ hsiang-the title of a very popular TV serial and the name of its leading male character-the wary can strongly scent an impelling and intensive commercial flavor. A visit to this tea house, located on the fourth floor of a high-rise com­mercial building, further proves that sceptical instincts, cropping up in apprais­al, are sometimes matched to fact.

Redecorated from what once was a typical four-room family apartment, Chu Liu-hsiang exhibits an ingenious creativi­ty by transforming three separate balconies overlooking Chung Hsiao East Road into private, mini-tatami rooms. Inside each small triangle-shaped unit, encircling bamboo curtains hung from window frames and door lintels shut out outside life. A paper lantern, hanging lone and free from the ceiling, seems to mumble of unbridgeable alienation from modern society.

A small stage for musical performances stands in a corner of the main tea room. In the afternoons and at nights, the pleasing music of the cheng or pi pa (traditional Chinese musical instru­ments) flows from the fingers of a beauty in Chinese flavored costume. Sip­ping the tea slowly while enjoying calligraphic works and Chinese paintings on the walls, one will surely not doubt that he has travelled through another time tunnel, this time, back to the Tang Dynasty.

Young hostess Lien Tze-hsuan, a skilled hand at the cheng, enthusiastically elaborated the various steps for preparing tea:

The teapot is placed in a bowl and then filled with boiling water, part of which is then poured into the cups to warm them. The cups and the remaining contents of the teapot are then emptied.

Next, the choicest tea procurable is put into the teapot, which is filled again with boiling water. The cups are then filled, but this tea is not to be drunk: it is emptied into the bowl, as is whatever re­mains in the teapot, except for the tea leaves, impounded by a screen at the base of the spout.

Then, the teapot is once again filled with boiling water and the leaves left to soak for a couple of minutes. The tea is poured into the cups in succession, a little at a time into each one. This is done three or four times until all the cups are filled.

The idea is to ensure that each cup of tea has exactly the same properties. Then the tea is sipped slowly, savored as connoisseurs do the finest brandy.

Lien remarked: "Foreign guests often come here for the experience of savoring Chinese tea; local businessmen relax, recharging to face another challenge."

The three calligraphic characters Hsi Chiang Yueh (The Moon over Western River) on a light-colored paper lantern, and a big character for ch'a (tea), in­ scribed on a square bamboo curtain, greet the visitor at the door. Standing there on the porch, one is apt to look past the calligraphy and straight through the farther end of the 10 ping (about 360 sq. ft.) tea house. However, the soul­ caressing impression made by its simple, straw-roofed, cottage-like decor overcomes the drawback of its scarcity of space.

With wooden boards serving as partitions, the innards are formed into four separate mini-cottages. Unadorned wooden beams and pillars evoke the ambience of a primitive hut on a wild mountain. But quickly, a giant painting of a peony displayed on the center wall brings back the eagerly wandering fancy to a more domesticated world.

Lines of tin containers bearing names of teas adorn a checkered rack behind the rectangular counter. The air is permeated with tea fragrance. Unlike most other tea taverns, Western classical music here replaces Chinese music, diluting the ambience. It is 4 o'clock in the afternoon. At the farther end of the room, four young men are playing cards. A waitress in her 20s is joking with three male customers, apparently acquaintances.

Shih Yin, a middle-aged mathematics teacher at Ming Chuan College, occupies one of the two central tables, also the largest cottage; he talked about his impressions: "This is my first time here. I never knew of this place before. I just dropped in to kill a few hours be­cause my license plates at a nearby car dealer won't be ready until 5. Anyway, I like this place very much. It is cozy, quiet, comfortable. Additionally, the music is excellent, Mozart, Haydn.... I believe I will come here again." Pointing with his pipe to an alcohol burner sup­plied to warm tea at the table, he smiled embarrassedly: "Don't laugh, but I am neither a tea nor a coffee drinker. My knowledge of savoring tea is rather limited. I put the burner out because I saw it was wasting energy."

Compared with other more gaudy, luxurious tea houses, Hsi Chiang Yuen's flavor evokes an outing to a mountain­ side.

A flood of resplendent sunshine penetrates the checkered-glass window, then shines back from wooden floors. Serenity radiates from a lamp, hanging over a small counter to the right of the porch. Vari-sized tea containers and numerous small objects-such as wooden cigarette containers-line a shelf by a staircase leading to the second floor. Two oil paintings animate the environment with intensive, if weird, colors. Overhauled and redecorated from an old Japanese style house, Tzu Teng Lu (Wisteria) flaunts an inborn structural superiority that has inspired many con­troversies, even among hosts of other tea houses.

Through the inner door, a chandelier lights several oil paintings, hung along the walls to help spice the ambience with a dash of Western flavor. In a corner, copies of up-to-date periodicals and books on the art of savoring tea silently await the browser. Clothbound volumes on Chinese history pile up on waist-high bookshelves close to the windows, revealing the wistful fondness of the host. Loosely-spread seats add to the vastness of the spacious room-apparent­ly redesigned from living quarters.

The other rooms are neatly divided into individual tatami units. Walking along a murky passage, one seems back in the hallway of his own home.

Tea devotees swarm to Wisteria, not only for its inner ambience, but to view hundreds of potted plants displayed in the front and back yards. Many patrons, after a few savoring sips of tea, will step out into this floral world to experience the slight touch of nature. Mr. Wang, a frequent visitor, describes the feeling: "I have been to many tea houses. But Wisteria is the only place constantly attracting me to revisit. Viewing the potted plants, sprouting with young, green leaves, I regain the courage to walk back into city lite."

Perhaps, Taipei's citizens increasing­ly share such motivation, as they step more frequently out of their busy city into quieter modes, seeking the way to greater serenity ... a path now leading to the booming tea houses.