tea for horses

tea horse (photo from chinawatch2050.com)

Song dynasty: the Chinese were vulnerable because they had inferior horsemanship leaving them vulnerable to nomads and conquerors from multiple directions. The solution: tea. The Tibetans in particular fell prey to the power of the leaf. By giving them a taste of the brew, the Chinese of the Song dynasty actually got their adversaries hooked on the stuff.

'...With the burgeoning tea trade, however, China discovered a new weapon (for caffeine addiction is a subtle but powerful, persistent force) in its Sisyphean attempts to appease and bridle the nomads. This was the beginning of the fabled tea and horse trade, which turned the Tibetans into the most copious tea-guzzlers on the planet, opened up some of the world's most daunting trade routes, and remained a cornerstone of China's foreign policy until the end of the Qing dynasty.'

(source: The True History of Tea p.70 by Victor H Mair & Erling Hoh)

This is a fantastic development. You may be wondering why I'm so fascinated with this. Well, it just so happens that I'm visiting family in Texas over the next few weeks and I've just come up with a brilliant idea.

tea for horses

I wonder how much really excellent Long Jing I'd have to part with to get a halfway decent mare. The book keeps mentioning a measurement of tea that I'd never heard of. A 12 3/4 hand horse in China would have set me back 132 catties. How much tea was there in a catty? Could it have been that much?

Now, I'm trying to imagine the conversation I might have in cattle country with a horse trader.

Me: Howdy there, fine sir.

Horse trader: *eyes me with skepticism* *grunts*

Me: I was hoping to do some business with you today...although I must admit it's a bit unorthodox. Might you be interested in a creative transaction involving your livestock?

Horse trader: *raises his eyebrow*

Me: You see, I was reading in a book about the Chinese and their inability to procure acceptable horses. It was the Song dynasty, and it was causing the Chinese rulers a lot of trouble. They were being attacked repeatedly by their neighbours, who were superior horsemen. It turns out the only thing the Chinese had that was worth trading was tea. 

Horse trader: *looks surprised*

Me: You know the phrase 'All the tea in China'? Well, these Chinese had a lot of tea to trade. So my proposition here is that we recreate this manner of trade and I give you a certain number of pounds of tea for one of your better horses. 

Horse trader: Ah don't drink tea. 

Me: Yet! You don't drink tea yet. I was actually prepared for that eventuality. And the truth is that it doesn't matter that you don't drink tea. The Tibetans didn't drink it either when the Chinese first arrived.  But they learned. Eventually, they made up for lost time. Tell me, my good man, do you drink coffee? Enjoy a daily cup of Joe?

Horse trader: Yeah, I drink coffee. What of it?

Me: Do you ever have a cup or two of coffee and feel your heart start to race and your mouth go dry? 

Horse trader: Uh, well actually...yes. I like the taste of coffee, but it doesn't always seem to agree with me. 

Me: Well, that doesn't happen with tea. Not at all. The caffeine doesn't hit you all at once. It eases into your system and makes you both alert and calm at the same time. Here - I just happen to have a flask of hot, delicious tea right here...


And...scene...can you just imagine? Not only am I going to get a horse, but I'll be simultaneously luring someone over to the leaf-side. This is going to be great.

The 'most famous' green tea I've never heard of

About a week ago, I found a really interesting article in the local paper's travel section about Long Jing tea. It referred to this green tea as the most famous green tea in the world, which struck me as funny because I'd never heard of it. Not that I'd venture to guess what the 'most famous' was. Nevertheless, I was still a bit unsettled by this news.

As I read through the article, I was more and more curious about this elusive tea. The tea 'Meisterin' (mistress) is quoted as saying that she doesn't release the tea to the outside world in shops, but that people go there to try her tea and then sometimes take a few bags home. My cynical side thought, 'This is the travel section. They're trying to get you to go there.' Which you can. And tour the plantations and everything. It's only about 200 km down the coast from Shanghai. Not so hard to imagine making the trek if you were already in that part of the world.

I'm going to go into more details about this article another time (there's just too much information to try and cover all of it in one go), but I will talk about two things that caught my eye.

The journalist asks her what makes tea from the mountains around this village so special. She admits that although tea is ultimately all tea, that's a bit like saying all wine comes from the same sort of vine. It has to do with many things-the distinctive quality of Long Jing-whether it be the temperature their, the amount of rain, the number of sunny days, the time of year that it's picked and the length of time between picking and preparation. All those things play a part, but she says, but what's most important is the love that's in the whole process.

Once again, there's a part of me that wants to say, 'Please. Are you kidding? You can't quantify love.' Certainly not the love that goes into the preparation of tea leaves. But I want to believe it. I desperately want to make that leap and believe that the monks saying their mantras while they cook the leaves in a pan has something to do with the other-worldliness of this tea.

The other thing she tells the journalist is that people from all walks of life come to see her tea house. That she has tea novices and billionaires come in to try the tea and that after 3 or 4 cups that all people are the same.

There're those three cups of tea again.

Now, I know this logic is also a little questionable. I guess it's the same idea that disease knows no socio-economic boundaries. Cancer can strike no matter what your status. And the divisions that we walked into the tea house with are inconsequential when we're sitting in the glow of enjoying our tea. But when I get up and walk out alongside that billionaire, none of his filthy wealth has rubbed off on me. I think I get the bigger point though, and that's what I want to explore in more detail later.

The first thing I wanted to do was ask if you'd heard of this tea. Does one really have to go a few hours southwest of Shanghai to try this stuff?