Another turning point occurred in 1973, when artificial fermentation was invented in Kunming in order to satisfy some consumers’ wish to produce a mature tea in a shorter time. The technique was applied in Menghai soon after its invention, and the result, known later as artificially fermented Puer tea (shu cha), could be finished in two or three months. Today Menghai is known as the best place to produce artificially fermented Puer tea due to its special natural environment as well as its advanced techniques. “Menghai taste” refers to the unique flavor of Menghai's artificially fermented Puer tea.
This artificial fermentation is more technically complicated than producing raw Puer tea. A national tea factory was never established in Yiwu to popularize artificial fermentation. In fact, many Yiwu people despised this processing technique and preferred not to drink the resulting tea. The iconic Puer tea of Yiwu had always been raw tea (sheng cha) intended for natural fermentation. I asked many people in Yiwu why they didn't produce artificially fermented Puer tea. Some replied, “That's not our tradition,” or “We don't know how to do that.” This shows that artificial fermentation belongs in the large modern tea factory rather than in the small traditional home production unit. “Using Yiwu tea material for artificial fermentation,” one young tea producer remarked, “is like burning a pile of money,” indicating the pride of Yiwu people in their excellent tea resources. In their minds, high-quality tea material is good enough to drink after simple processing and should only be fermented naturally. One female tea producer told me, “I've witnessed the process of artificial fermentation. It's not clean at all. Is that kind of tea drinkable?” Her concerns were echoed by other Yiwunese, who regarded the fungi that grew on the tea in the process of artificial fermentation as unclean and harmful.11
These preferences were rooted in Yiwu's production tradition and affected by the authenticity standard that had recently been initiated by Taiwanese connoisseurs and further developed by other traders and consumers. As several Taiwanese traders explained to me, the rare and valuable Tongqing and Songpin brands, and other aged teas of the same generation, were all naturally developed from raw material originating in Yiwu and the nearby mountains. That is, the Taiwanese preference “strongly emphasized the concept of originality” (Yu Shuenn-der 2010: 133). They also contended that handcrafting would make the Puer tea cake sufficiently “loose” to be suitable for natural fermentation, whereas Menghai's mechanical processing led to a hard “discus” of tea that was too tightly packed to allow contact with the air. Such distinctions were elevated by some Puer tea writers, from both Taiwan and Yunnan, to a more abstract level. They argued that handcrafting and natural fermentation stand for superior culture and embody the essence of Daoism (Lei Pingyang 2000; Deng Shihai 2004).
In terms of the binary contrast between “the raw and the cooked” (Lévi-Strauss 1970; 2008; see also Leach 1970), as artificial interference increases, food moves further from nature and closer to culture. Handcrafting involves more human labor than mechanical production does; therefore, handcrafted tea is further from nature and closer to culture. But in terms of the naturalism of the raw Puer group, this is only the first step. They also believe that tea aged naturally produces the purest taste and superior spiritual enjoyment (Deng Shihai 2004; Lei Pingyang 2000). This pursuit is rooted in traditional Chinese philosophies, such as Daoism, which look at human beings as part of the unity of the cosmos and seek to follow the way of nature. The art of Japanese food, which should be made “as close as possible to the natural state of the foodstuff” (Ashkenazi and Jacob 2000: 86), also embodies this idea of Daoism. In this sense, the raw and natural essence of Puer tea does not mean that there is no human intervention at all, but that “the human intervention must be as ‘natural,’ that is, as minimal as possible” (Ashkenazi and Jacob 2000: 86). It shows that culture can be “cooked” not only by removing it from nature, but also by “preparing” it in a way that contains the essence of nature as much as possible. This approach displays the continuity of one important characteristic of Chinese culture in seeking authentic things: it seeks things that look natural but that, nevertheless, must be subtly and artificially processed. It echoes a saying about Chinese arts, such as the Chinese garden: “It is man-made, but it looks like it was created by nature” (Sui you ren zuo, wan zi tian kai).
Craft objects may be embedded with more symbolic meanings than mass-produced ones. Craft objects are also more closely linked to localized authenticity and can be used to construct a distinct “cultural authenticity” to counteract the globalization of production and consumption (Terrio 2005). Similarly, the preference for raw tea in Yiwu is contextually selected and utilized by Puer tea actors to construct their ideal nature and culture. To them, artificially fermented tea is technically produced by an unknown other, while raw tea is to be “naturally” stored by oneself. Though such natural storage is also a product of human action, importantly, it is “processed” by the collector. In this regard, the self-collected and self-stored tea becomes even more authentic because its postproduction involves personal participation and therefore is more closely tied to identity. The artificially fermented tea of Menghai lacks this personalized authenticity.
When the outside traders chose the unique handcrafted Puer tea of Yiwu, they were also choosing a unique type of social relationship. They wanted to negotiate with the small-scale family unit rather than the large-scale factory. Some traders described the relationship with the former as “warm” (nuan), whereas the relationship with the latter was “cold” (leng). Regarding the Chinese construction of social relations, the contrast between an “uncooked and raw person” and a “cooked and ripe person” has been used to stress that only via identity transformation from the former to the latter could an “outsider” be accepted as an “insider,” thus bridging the social gap. In Chinese culture, the boundary between self and other is often unclear, and personal identities are not necessarily bound to human nature but “constantly being created, altered, and dismantled in particular social relationships” (Yang 1989: 40).12 Likewise, traders in Yiwu found that it was easier for them to be transformed from uncooked to cooked when dealing with small-scale family units rather than big factories. Some of them even stayed with the family throughout the tea harvest season, seeking chances to talk and dine with the family members and sometimes even cooperating with them on some aspects of tea production and trade. Through this cooperation, traders made the final tea products more understandable, imbued with more human effort and emotion, and hence more authentic.
In addition to distinguishing between the different production processes, many locals, traders, and consumers drew a contrast in taste between teas from Yiwu and Menghai. Yiwu has always focused on raw Puer tea, but Menghai now produces both raw and artificially fermented Puer tea. In Menghai, all I heard about was the “Menghai taste,” which was later extended to cover raw tea as well as artificially fermented tea. When applied to the latter, Menghai taste refers to the mellow flavor of the tea that results from the advanced fermentation technique, and the special climate and water resources that contribute to this process. When applied to raw Puer tea, Menghai taste refers to a strong tea energy (cha qi or ba qi) and the deep and long-lasting sweetness in the throat that follows the strong and bitter flavor (huigan). These features are attributed to the excellent and special tea resources in Menghai. Historically, Yiwu tea has commanded a higher price than Menghai tea, but a particular sub-tea mountain in Menghai, called Laobanzhang (see Banzhang in map I.2), has stood out in recent years, and its tea price has exceeded that of Yiwu. The tea from Laobanzhang has become a superstar, praised as the “king” of all raw Puer teas.
In contrast, Yiwu's raw Puer tea was described in softer terms, though its softness was said to also contain strong features. Yiwu's soil tends to be more acidic and Menghai's more alkaline; objectively, this results in a difference in taste. According to some Yiwu tea lovers, the raw Puer tea of both Laobanzhang and Yiwu is strong, but the strong flav
or of Laobanzhang is too direct, whereas the strong flavor of Yiwu is subtle and gradually leads to a lingering aftertaste.
However, in the opinion of those who prefer the Menghai taste, all these soft advantages and culturally significant features became disadvantages. In their view, Yiwu's tea was tasteless, or, in the words of a trader, “only a cultural speculation.”
Jian, a trader from Jiangxi (in eastern China) who went to both Menghai and Yiwu, told me that he had considered this distinction for a long time. He observed:
The Mekong is the boundary. On the west side, tea from Menghai is liked by Hong Kong and Guangdong traders. They prefer strong-tasting tea, which accords with their food habits; they don't pay too much attention to “culture” but just want to acquire more varieties and quantities of tea, which is to the advantage of the tea factories in Menghai. The Six Great Tea Mountains, to the east of the Mekong, belong to Taiwanese traders. They care very much about the “culture” attached to the tea; for example, they practice more classical Chinese arts and have more respect for traditional culture, and therefore are happier about Yiwu tea. They are the opposite of the Cantonese traders. The Taiwanese care more about quality than quantity, which the handcrafted way of making Yiwu tea is suitable for. Therefore, I'd say that Hong Kong and Guangdong traders collect tea (shou cha), but Taiwan traders refine tea (zuo cha).
In sum, Menghai, standing on the west Mekong, represents the modern mechanical method: large-scale factory production, accelerated fermentation, and strong “king” taste. To the east of the Mekong, Yiwu stands for the traditional handcrafted method: small-scale family units, natural and slow processing, a soft, gentle, but lingering aftertaste, and with more “culture” elements.
A CULTURAL TEA TOUR
Mentions of Yiwu and the Six Great Tea Mountains in historical records13 reveal this region's importance in the tea trade, especially during the Qing and early Republican periods, but the records do not contain much detail. By using works such as Selected Works of Historical Accounts of Xishuangbanna, Volume 4 (Banna wenshi ziliao xuanji di si ji) (Zhao Chunzhou and Zhang Shungao 1988), the Taiwanese pioneers launched their journey as well as their new narrative about Yiwu. Zeng Zhixian, one of the Taiwanese pioneers who came to Yiwu in 1994, published a book in 2001, Experience within the Micro Circumference: A Deep Exploration into the World of Compressed Tea (Fangyuan zhi yuan: Shen tan jin ya cha shijie), which was one of the earliest works to depict Yiwu in detail with text and rich illustrations. In Zeng's narration, Yiwu became a space where the past and present converged:
With the historical record as a reference and with the storytelling about the old teahouses by local elites, in our mind there came prosperous scenes of tea processing surrounded by people coming and going. Looking at aged architecture in disrepair but still representing the classical ancient style, walking along the Ancient Tea-Horse Road, we imagined that the boundary of time was broken, and we were going back to the past during the late Qing and early Republican period, sharing travel together with the famous masters of those well-known tea families. (Zeng Zhixian 2001: 109)
Illustrations show the old architecture, the flagstone path on which the ancient caravan had traveled, the famous stone monument recording a local legal case on tea, and the inscribed signboard. According to Zeng, these are not dead relics; they have witnessed the vicissitudes of the old family tea brands and survive in the livelihoods of their descendants.
Echoing Zeng, the subsequent literature, mass media illustrations, tour designs, and commentaries all reiterated this nostalgic theme, encouraging tourists to imagine the glorious past by using the present relics as reference points. Like many popular narratives in the world that had boosted the popularity of a certain cuisine (see Appadurai 1988; Ferguson 1998) or a certain place (see Ivy 1995; Notar 2006b), this literature played an important role in packaging Yiwu and its Puer tea.
Zhang Yingpei, a journalist from Kunming, has written several well-known works on Yiwu (Zhang Yingpei 2006). When I interviewed her in 2007, she told me that one of her motives for writing about Yiwu was her uneasiness about the fact that the previous works about Yiwu were written mostly by Taiwanese authors. She claimed that in those books she had found some serious mistakes; for instance, they were wrong about the date that Tongqing Hao was established, which would mislead consumers trying to identify an authentic piece of Puer tea. As a Yunnanese, Zhang Yingpei felt that she could do better than the outsiders. Her critical attitude demonstrates a strong identification as Yunnanese, in which conveying accurate information about the production site of Puer tea becomes an essential mission.
Locals also joined in this historical research and writing. Zhang Yi, the retired township head, was famous for this. He was well educated, he had worked on local history in the government, and he had cooperated with the first group of Taiwanese connoisseurs. He claimed to have a rich knowledge of Yiwu and its Puer tea and had become the most important source of firsthand information for many visitors and media workers. The other famous local writer, a middle-school teacher, put his mission directly: “Only Yiwunese can clearly describe Yiwu events.”
Local people had increasingly realized the value of Yiwu's past. They welcomed researchers to the town, conveyed stories inherited from their ancestors, showed their own book collections on Yiwu and Puer tea, and suggested that the researchers visit certain places or interview certain people. Many of the locals had gotten used to being disturbed by visitors, and they warmly welcomed these disturbances, believing that historical discovery would boost their tea business.
Puzi (web name), who writes a column on a tea website, was delegated by a tea company to go to Yiwu to write a new book about the Six Great Tea Mountains. As his companion joked, Puzi was always happy when an old man appeared, because he would be able to dig out more stories. He interviewed his sources with detailed questions, as an anthropologist would, as though the tea would be more flavorful if this detailed history could also be infused into the cup.
Traders, whose original task was to trade good tea rather than history, also participated in this research. While collecting tea itself, some traders endeavored to gather interesting stories to share with their future customers. In their teahouses in Kunming, maps of the Six Great Tea Mountains were hung, and pictures of Yiwu's tea trees, old architecture, and handcrafted ways of making tea were displayed. The masters of the teahouses who were able to annotate these images with stories were respected by their clients as perfect tea experts, and the Puer tea infused with this history was endowed with a unique cultural taste, and deemed worthy of being more carefully savored.
Through all these efforts, Yiwu was presented by multiple actors as a tea locale with rich culture (wenhua). According to those proponents, first, the culture in Yiwu lies in a series of concrete representations, as illustrated by the pictures in Zeng's book: the old architecture, the remnants of the Tea-Horse Road, and various relics. All these things are taken as living antiquities, silently but persistently showing the ever-prosperous period of Yiwu.
Second, these silent antiquities needed to be awakened and vocalized. Past stories about tea families needed to be dug out, iterated, and verified. In this sense, history, which involves wonderful stories and rich human characters, is equated with “culture.” When the historical moment and the present converge in a real place, nostalgia—a necessary emotional experience for visitors—is aroused.
Third, this nostalgia for Yiwu is put in a niche because it is so well linked to its representative commodity: Puer tea. Generally, nostalgia refers to recalling the past with memory. But, in a “further globalizing twist,” nostalgia could be “without memory” and used “for the present” (Appadurai 1996: 48; see also Jameson 1983). The past life of the older generation can be shared with and memorized by the younger generation, who have never had the experiences being remembered (Bloch 1998); the overseas Hmong, for example, have a strong nostalgia for their presumed ancestral place in China, a place that they haven't
ever visited, and they intend to reunite with “homeland” people whom they have never been separated from (Tapp 2003). The cult status of aged Puer tea evokes a similar nostalgia. In popular writings, aged Puer tea is described as the best tea “bearing the weight of time” (Ruan Dianrong 2005b), symbolizing the hard journey of the old caravans (Zeng Zhixian 2001), representing elders with much experience (Mu Jihong 2004), and bearing the stories and experiences of unknown others because it has been stored and circulated via several hands (Ruan Dianrong 2005b). Buyers of aged Puer are encouraged to look back nostalgically to a world they have never lost. This is nostalgia for “imagined pasts never experienced” (Lowenthal 1985).
In the preference for raw tea in Yiwu, a new version of nostalgia is created. Collecting, storing, and consuming raw Puer tea is part of one's own experience and memory; it starts from the present, and therefore the social life of this Puer tea is clarified by rather than dependent upon mythical and unaddressable others. This can be nostalgia using one's own memory, and the collection and storage of raw tea is preparation for nostalgia in the future, when the raw Puer tea becomes aged. Advocacy for raw Puer tea is thus advocacy for a future that hasn't come, yet has already been designed.
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