Puer Tea

by Zhang, Jinghong. ,Project Muse.

  A social survey undertaken during the period of the Republic of China (1912–1949) recorded the presence of 350 teahouses in Kunming (Chen Zhenqiong 2004).10 Teahouses were categorized into four types at that time. “Teahouses for pure tea drinking” (qing yin chaguan), which served nothing but tea but sometimes allowed peddlers to sell snacks, made up 90 percent of the teahouses. “Broadcasting teahouses” (boyin chaguan) provided music along with tea. “Pure singing teahouses” (qing chang chaguan) featured musical performances in addition to tea. And at “telling stories teahouses” (shuo shu chaguan), tea drinking was subordinated to storytelling. This last type was the one that people in Kunming were now most interested in recalling, as it combined two forms of typical and traditional Chinese entertainment. All four teahouse types functioned as places not only to quench thirst but also to socialize, or for individuals to enjoy a bit of “quiet” time amid noisiness, perhaps all day. The survey also showed that the dominant tea consumed in these teahouses was green tea produced in Yunnan. Puer tea was mentioned, but its definition at the time was vague, referring roughly to good-quality green tea.

  The years from the 1950s to 1970s saw a decline in the number of these public tea places, both because of the nationalization of privately owned business after the establishment of the People's Republic of China in 1949, and because of the economic difficulties China faced, especially during the early 1960s. During the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976), political struggle became the dominant political theme and anything related to consumption was condemned. Lao Li was born in 1955. He recalled accompanying his father to storytelling teahouses when he was less than ten years old. He clearly remembered that most teahouses like that were closed when the Cultural Revolution began and when “Destruction of the Four Olds” (po si jiu)—meaning old ideas, old culture, old customs, and old habits—was advocated. Teahouses that featured storytelling, singing, or broadcasting were certainly considered old and undesirable, and Lao Li told us that drinking in teahouses at that time was despised as a luxury activity. As a result, tea was imbibed mostly at home or in the office and bought from a few national or collective grocery stores. The dominant type of tea at this time was still the green tea of Yunnan, which could be sun-dried, stir-roasted, or baked.

  After the Reform and Opening Up in the late 1970s and early 1980s, traditional public teahouses together with other forms of entertainment, such as storytelling, were gradually revived in Kunming. Lao Li recalled that one shop that specialized in selling tea was opened in the commercial center of Kunming. This was the period that I could start recalling along with Lao Li. As a local Yunnanese born in the mid-1970s, I remembered that both at home and in public, the green tea of Yunnan was the dominant type, brewed simply in a glass. But Puer tea was known to be an indigenous product, and would be given as a gift to people from other provinces. However, its image was still vague at this time, and the term was mostly used to refer to compressed types of tea.

  During the mid-1990s, public teahouses with “modern” style sprang up in the city center, such as around Green Lake Park. By modern, I mean that Western-style elements, such as tables, sofas, and curtains, were used in decorating them. These teahouses usually played popular music, both Western and Chinese, and served ice cream or juice in addition to tea. Some of these teahouses, like the major ones around Green Lake, were more like bars or cafés, but they were still called teahouses. They were often located in newer buildings with higher prices, and they were more commonly patronized by younger people, while the traditional teahouses were located on older streets and usually drew older customers.

  Since the late 1990s, there have been bigger changes as well. An international horticultural exhibition was held in Kunming in 1999. Around that time, the city government launched a master plan to build a “New Kunming.” Old streets and old houses were torn down, which in turn led to a reduction in the number of traditional teahouses. However, at that moment of destruction a new style of “traditional” teahouse and tea restaurant (like the third type of teahouse around Green Lake) emerged in Kunming. At the same time, Puer tea, an old local product of Yunnan that had been endowed with new meanings, became the dominant drink in all of the tea shops in Kunming.

  Often, something that seems old is the result of recent invention, and “invented tradition” may be a part of the discourse of nationalism (Hobsbawm 1983). The recent interest in Scottish kilts, tartan patterns, and bagpipes, for example, shows that such nationalist passion inevitably follows a process of commoditization (Trevor-Roper 1983). Likewise, the emergence of Puer tea's popularity is the result of tacit and selective repetition with the past, an example of “adaptation [taking] place for old uses in new conditions and by using old models for new purposes” (Hobsbawm 1983: 5). It is through such reinvention that Puer tea is now proclaimed to be the very tradition of Yunnan, even though its authenticity has been continually up for grabs. Moreover, the new meanings about its tradition are strategically applied to convince consumers of a “worthwhile” investment. In this regard, Puer tea is discursively constructed and symbolized toward a localized nationalism, which intrinsically has the same flavor as that of commoditization.

  Studies discussing the same period of spatial change in Kunming prove that the power of the post-Mao state was not weakened at all but rather reinforced through spatial reconstruction (Zhang Li 2006). The diminishing of old streets and the restructuring of Kunming since the late 1990s was implemented by the local authorities and the real estate sector in the name of “progress.” That is, they wanted to make Kunming a truly modern city in an undeveloped region of southwest China, to escape the reputation of being behind and to catch up with national and international metropolitan areas. The substantial purpose behind such reconstruction was to “accumulate political capital and/or financial profits” (Zhang Li 2006: 464). We can infer from this that spatial forms are never natural but contain the power of “social control and political ordering” (Zhang Li 2006: 462).

  Puer tea became prevalent against the same backdrop. The traditional teahouses that emerged were new in terms of when they were established but “old” because they borrowed numerous traditional elements. Some of them were established to “protect tradition,” being located in old but redecorated houses. Ironically, this protection happened after the destruction of most of the old streets, and meanwhile the destruction and reconstruction transformed not only the spatial outlook of Kunming but also the “very modes of social life, local politics, and cultural identities” (Zhang Li 2006: 461). In the reconstructed traditional teahouses, people drank Puer tea, which had recently been recategorized according to the updated definition of Puer tea in the market. Since its resurgence, Puer tea had been promoted as “a drinkable antique,” something that evoked modern nostalgia. The new “traditional” teahouses provided a niche for people who wanted to indulge their nostalgia. Yet the customers who frequented these teahouses to appreciate the “drinkable antique” were relatively young people, mostly in their twenties, thirties, or forties. Nostalgia has become “a hot commodity” and “cultural discourse” in metropolitan China since the mid-1990s (Hsing You-Tien 2006: 478). In this context, the transformed teahouses and transformed tea became a pair, catering to the demands of the new generation of consumers for something both old and new. This is consistent with the ongoing consumer revolution in China, which not only changed the substance that was consumed but also “nurtured individual desires and social networks” (Davis 2000: i).

  When Lao Li described his past experiences, Zongming was keen to see the traditional teahouses that had a storytelling component. Lao Li, Hongtu, and I took him for a walk along the central axis of Kunming City, where only small parts of the old Qing- and Republic-period neighborhoods are left. To Zongming's disappointment, we didn't find any old teahouses. In fact, many of the old houses were now enclosed by walls. It was said that a newer round of protection and restructuring by the local government was beginning. Eventually, we took Zongming to d
inner at a restaurant in a redecorated traditional house. The courtyard and the surrounding tile roofs presented a nice quadrangle, like the Chinese character “” (kou, mouth). Sitting in the courtyard of the wooden dwelling, Zongming was served a meal of classic Yunnanese cuisine. All through the meal Puer tea was served. Zongming enjoyed the food but didn't drink much of the tea. He didn't seem to think that Puer tea served in one of these “traditional” tea restaurants tasted good. After the meal, he asked to drink tea back in Hongtu's tea shop, which, although smaller and less luxurious, was more to his liking.

  CONCLUSION: MULTIPLE VISIONS

  The interplay between the places of Puer tea production and consumption is not new. But never has it been as important as in the current period for consumers to clarify the identity of Puer tea, an endeavor that has made the tea's authenticity more controversial. This controversy is situated in the context of China's transformation, the consumer revolution, and the desire of undeveloped regions, such as Yunnan, to promote themselves.

  As John Durham Peters pointed out, modern men and women view the world through two lenses simultaneously: through their own eyes, to see the locality close by, and through the modern media, to see the process of globalization (Peters 1997). Yunnanese people use this “bifocal vision” to view Puer tea not only from the local perspective but also from the perspective of others, namely the Cantonese or the Taiwanese. Like Puer green tea, Yunnan has had to take upon itself more than one identity: following the consumption custom that had long been shaped by the local environment; adopting the aged value of Puer tea from the outside and serving it to the global market; taking advantage of the tea's raw value and making Puer tea a new local representation. Therefore, conflict began, interwoven with multiple voices. And in the endless jianghu debate, there is always a counterforce against the temporarily established version. Puer tea's image became complicated. Rather than having a single and localized vision, it had mobile and multiple visions. One distinct taste preference, or one defined authenticity, is never intrinsic and fixed but is always on the way to being updated, moving along with temporal, spatial changes and with changes in the interests of those who seek to define it.

  CONCLUSION

  An Alternative Authenticity

  Puer tea has been packaged into a popular beverage that has attracted the fascination of many people in twenty-first century China. Its packaged values, in turn, have been debated, counterpackaged, and reinterpreted by multiple actors. The packaging process contains several parallel narratives of transformation. The first is the transformation of Puer tea's profile from something common and unnoticed to something extraordinary, valuable, and representative of high culture. The second is the new discourse about the value of aging: in production, older tea trees are regarded as much better than younger tea bushes; in consumption, the tea needs to be “cooked” to transform it from raw to aged, and the longer tea is stored, the higher its value. As a result, forest tea is preferred for cultivation and production, and the flavor of aged tea is preferred by consumers. Along with this change in tea production and consumption, a third transformation occurred in the representation of Yunnan, from a remote, undeveloped, and earthy area into an enchanting land with natural beauty and rich ethnic culture. These transformations have all taken place against an important backdrop—the transformation of China's economy and society, which is exemplified by the reemergence of a national fever for tea culture and other forms of consumption revolution. Within these general transformations, there have been many partial and back-and-forth changes during certain periods and in certain places. The authenticity of Puer tea has developed unevenly and unstably, subject to redefinition by history and context. The unresolved authenticity of Puer tea is part of the changeable social landscape; it embodies the transformation of people's understandings about national, regional, and individual identities.

  The counterpackaging process has reinforced the unstable status of Puer tea's authenticity. The unresolved authenticity of Puer tea lies in the multiple counterforces that are present in the unpackaging narratives. Endless debates, controversies, suspicions, and revisions relate to Puer tea's meanings, values, regulations, and representations. One force resists accepting the aged value of Puer tea and endeavors to reexplore and reinterpret its raw value, while another force deconstructs Puer tea's propagandized value and wants to draw it back to its “original” meaning in order to obtain a properly balanced value. Yet another force resists persuasion, guidance, cheating, and authoritative instruction, asking tea drinkers and traders to remain loyal to their own judgment and to solve problems using their own skills. And still another force subtly resists tough regulation, exploring the margin beyond any regulation and relying on itself to transform indigestible standards into acceptable practices.

  The above narratives and debates embody what I call the jianghu of Puer tea. These jianghu forces are particularly evident in the unpackaging narratives that grow out of the popular realm and stand for nonmainstream voices. The chaotic situation of Puer tea illustrates the intrinsic feature of jianghu culture. Jianghu is filled with risk, suspicion, vagueness, and contention. The debate and unpacking of Puer tea's packaged values also fully embodies the jianghu actors’ ability to cope with risks, debates, and nonstandardization. These features of jianghu culture embody important enduring as well as transformed characteristics of Chinese cultural consumption. This Chinese jianghu culture is crucial in helping us understand the chaotic situation of Puer tea today, as well as the responses to this chaos adopted by multiple Puer tea actors.

  After experiencing a violent rise and fall in 2007, Puer tea production and consumption continues, but not to the same extent as when “the entire nation was engaged in tea.” As many tea friends comment, “Only those who are truly interested in Puer tea remain in this circle.” The general tea price has developed stably year by year, more due to the increasing standard of living and price levels in China. The price of forest tea, nevertheless, has increased more noticeably, and the price gap between forest and terrace tea has expanded. In the autumn of 2012, the price of forest tea in Yiwu generally reached ¥600 per kilogram, sometimes as high as ¥1,300, whereas the price of terrace tea remained around ¥85. The value of forest tea has increased steadily, along with middle- and upper-class Chinese consumers’ pursuit of luxury goods. But the amount of forest tea is limited, and the competition grows fiercer. Several friends who continue to trade tea in Yiwu report that the jianghu in Yiwu has become even riskier.

  The jianghu concept sheds light on how the Puer tea fad and the debates around it have been shaped by a specific cultural and social context. A broader cultural comparative perspective could be used to deepen this understanding. A good comparison would be with red wine in the West. Both Puer tea and red wine are said to increase in value as they age, and tastes for both are shaped by growing environments, processing techniques, and storage conditions. Of course, the social lives of both tea and wine are influenced by their social and cultural contexts. These are important similarities, but an important difference is that it is far easier to authenticate red wine than Puer tea. The information on a bottle of red wine seems more authoritative to an ordinary consumer in Australia, America, or Europe than the information on a piece of Puer tea in China. The categorization of red wine has been more definitely fixed; many of its flavor descriptions have been documented and widely shared; and most government regulations concerning wine appear to be more standardized than the regulations for Puer tea. The distinctive situation of Puer tea invites drawing on the concept of jianghu to explore it.

  RETHINKING JIANGHU AND MULTIPLICITY

  Should my informants read this book one day, I suspect that some would appreciate the jianghu analogy because they have both suffered and benefited from the jianghu of Puer tea. Some even stated directly that the world of Puer tea is like a jianghu. At the same time, many would no doubt be disappointed, because they won't find a singular and authentic narrative in this book about P
uer tea. Instead, they may feel that the multiple voices described here will only make more trouble for readers. That is, although many of them regard the world of Puer tea as a jianghu, resist the dominant singular voice from the government, and have sorted out flexible ways to survive in this chaotic and vague jianghu, in ideal terms they all wished that there were a single clear and authentic definition of Puer tea. During my fieldwork, I met numerous people who showed great interest not only in tasting Puer tea but also in knowing about Puer tea. Many of them commented that previous writings about Puer tea had failed to cover all the facts or had provided false information, even though some of the popular writings used words like “full display” (daguan), or “most authentic” (zui zhenshi) in their titles. These informants may have hoped that my book would help to resolve some of the uncertainties. They may be disappointed or, even worse, think I am criticizing Puer tea or Yunnan, or that I am providing misleading information, which would negatively impact Puer tea's development in Yunnan.