The question, “What is white tea?” is one that I’ve been struggling to answer for months. While many tea producers in northern Zhejiang Province claim that the only difference between white and green tea lies in the trees that produce them, others have consistently insisted that the difference is in their processing. After many weeks of struggling with this question, I went to Yao Guokun, Director of the China International Tea Culture Institute and Professor at almost every tea research center in Zhejiang Province.

White tea, Yao told me, is one of the six primary types of Chinese tea. These teas, he continued, are classified by their processing methods, not by their tree type. This means that the technical difference between white and green tea is in their processing.

There are many different methods by which green tea can be processed, but all green teas have one thing in common—they are fired after a very short withering period in order to halt any further oxidation. White teas, however, are never fired. So, while green teas are the least oxidized of all teas, white teas are the least processed.

Although many people consider the famous and extremely valuable Anji White Tea to be white tea, according to Yao and China’s leading tea classifiers, it is not. Since Anji White Tea passes through an early firing process, it is technically green tea. It comes from a varietal of camellia sinensis that was discovered about 20 years ago in the mountains of Anji County, Zhejiang Province, located 75 km north of Hangzhou and well known as the setting for the box office hit Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon.

The Anji White Tea tree is yellower than the typical tea tree, and when its leaves are steeped, a unique phenomenon occurs: the face of the Anji White Tea leaf turns a light green, almost white color, and its center vein becomes dark, emerald green. Its flavor is much lighter and sweeter than other green teas, and, consequently, this rare tea’s price is typically much higher.

White tea, as aforementioned, never passes through the firing stage that green tea does. After it is picked, the tea withers in the open air, then generally in the sun, and, if the tea processor has the technology, the leaves will be placed in a drying machine until its water content hits zero. If a processor doesn’t have access to such a machine, then the tea will be periodically placed outside in the sun to further wither and dry out the leaves.

The most famous of all white tea comes from Fuding, Fujian Province. The leaves that are used to make this tea come from one of two types of domestic tea trees or from wild tea trees; the two domestic plants are named Dabaihao (大白豪 or Big White Hair) and Xiaobaihao (小白毫 or Little White Hair). The names of these plants are derived from the white hairs covering the bud of their tea leaves, as displayed in the picture above.

Anji White Tea and Fuding White Tea have very different traits, histories, processing methods, and come from very different trees and environments. One thing they have in common is that they are two of China’s most respected teas. In order to further our understanding of Anji and Fuding White Teas, we will travel next to their homelands.

Walking through the mist-laden Longjing Mountains (龙井山-lóngjǐngshān), also known as the Dragon Well Mountains, I stumble upon the entrance to Lion’s Peak Village (狮峰-shīfēngcūn)—one of the five villages that comprise Longjing County. As I follow a cobble stone path next to a peaceful flowing stream, I’m suddenly assailed by “Lookie! Lookie! Wanna buy tea! Tea! Tea!”

I ask several assailers questions about their tea operation, but, unfortunately, they aren’t interested in talking with me; they only want to sell me things. Continuing up the path, I run into an amiable woman by the surname Wang. She is very eager to speak with me about the intricacies of running a tea operation in Longjing County and invites me back to her house, situated at the top of a green gully surrounded by lush tea mountains and fresh, misty air.
When we reach her house, she pours me a cup of Longjing tea and introduces her grandson and son. “I’ll go get the boss,” she says.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“My Husband.”

Tea Master Wang comes into the room with a big ear-to-ear grin spread out across his face. We sit together and talk over a cup of tea.

Master Wang’s family has been cultivating tea in the Longjing Mountains for over 500 years, which is probably why they have prime land—growing tea in the highest region of Lion’s Peak, where conditions are ideal.

Currently, the Wangs cultivate 5 mu (亩-mǔ) or 5/6 of an acre of land. The local government allots one mu of Lion’s Peak land for every person living under one roof in Lion’s Peak Village. The land is limited and the people are many, so this system seems pretty fair.

The Wangs grow tea through all four seasons, taking a rest for several months in the heart of winter. Spring tea is considered the best because the weather is ideal—it’s cold enough that the buds won’t spring open too fast and the insects aren’t a problem. The insects become a major hazard in the summer when the heat sets in.
“How do you deal with the pests?” I ask.

“I kill them,” he replies.

“Do you use chemical insecticides?”

He grimaces, “Yeah…I don’t have a choice.”

“I read an article published by the Tea Research Institute that outlined other techniques for preventing pests. Have you ever tried introducing carnivorous insects such as spiders and lady bugs to kill the aphids and caterpillars?”

“They don’t work,” he replied. “They can’t kill the pests fast enough. Once the heat sets in, the pests come in swarms. They chew the leaves and suck the juice from the stems. They cause my crop to wither, and once it begins to wither, there’s no turning back. I either spray them or lose my crop and thus all of my income. I have no choice.”

“I’ve heard that some farmers post fluorescent fly paper on trees…”

“Those don’t work,” he gasps. “Insecticides are most effective and, even still, they aren’t great. It all depends on the weather. If the weather’s right, there won’t be many insects. When the air is cool in spring, they stay away. I don’t need to use insecticides in the spring. But, when it’s hot, the swarms come and ruin my crop. The rain keeps the insects out too. If it rains a lot, then pests won’t be much of an issue. If it rains too little, I have to deal with drought conditions and swarms of insects. The sky determines the weather. The sky determines my life. It decides whether my crop will be good or bad. The sky provides for my family. Wo kao tian chi… I depend on the sky for food. I live by the sky.”

“So many people forget that in the city just over these mountains—how much their lives depend on nature.”

“Yeah, they forget it,” he chuckles, “but us farmers, we don’t.”

Beginning this March, I’m planning to take you on a journey through some of China’s most remote and ancient tea localities. With aid from a Fulbright Research Grant, I will travel across China, exploring a wide-range of tea growing regions in provinces such as Zhejiang, Jiangsu, Anhui, Fujian, and Yunnan.

Rice paddies along Guangxi's Yulong River (Photo courtesy www.projectreleaf.com)

My interest in China began during my freshman year at Kenyon College, where I began studying classical Chinese. Since then, I’ve studied Mandarin quite intensely, attending several Middlebury College immersion programs both in the US and in China. Throughout the summer of 2008, I was also fortunate enough to conduct environmental research in China’s Yunnan, Shanxi, and Sichuan provinces.

Fresh Longjing Tea (Photo courtesy www.projectreleaf.com)

At the crux of my research is a longing to better make sense of the the balance between China’s massive economic growth and its rapid environmental deterioration; I will analyze these effects of China’s swift modernization through the lens of China’s ancient-rooted tea industry. Fortunately, I will be guided by the advice of Mr. Xiaoning Wang, Secretary General of the World Tea Union. He will help me investigate how China’s market economy reforms have improved the Chinese tea industry and in what ways they have been detrimental. Extremely concerned by the environmental impact of China’s astonishing growth, I will pay particularly close attention to how pesticides, chemical fertilizers, severe pollution, and an emphasis on high-yield production are currently affecting the cultivation of camellia sinensis (the tea plant) in China today.

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Travel+Leisure recently came out with their Top Travel Trends for 2010 in their January 2010 issue. At number six is “Exploring Hot New Destinations,” which features Hangzhou (杭州), the capital of Zhejiang (浙江) Province.

Visitors observe the sunset over picturesque West Lake. (Photo courtesy of igougo.com)

This city, a mere one-hour train ride from Shanghai, has continually been on the rise for a number of years. Indeed, it is home to the famed West Lake (西湖 Xihu), which simultaneously provides a gorgeous panorama of traditional Chinese landscape for those strolling along the lake, and high-end shopping just a few steps away from the water’s edge. Given its proximity to Shanghai and its beauty, it is no wonder that luxury accommodations continue to be developed in the area.

We’re happy to see that T+L mentions two of our favorite new hotels for clients – the Banyan Tree and Amanfayun – that have recently sprung up amidst the ever-growing tourism industry in Hangzhou. The incredible locations and views of these resorts make them a must-stay for those traveling to the city.

For more information on these accommodations or traveling to Hangzhou, send us a tweet or an email to our Private Journeys director, Barbara Henderson, at barbara.henderson@wildchina.com.

Talking to a journalist recently. He asked me: I’m thinking of going to China in Sept. or Oct. to do a story on China’s holy mountains. Have you been to many of them? Any particular one worth profiling?

Here is my answer:
I am sure you’ve researched, two different definitions of China’s holy mountains:
Wuyue, Five sacred mountains:
1. Tai Shan, Taoist mountain of the east, Shandong
2. Heng Shan Bei, Taoist mountain of the north, Shanxi
3. Hua Shan, Taoist mountain of the west, Shaanxi
4. Heng Shan Nan, Taoist mountain of the south, Hunan
5. Song Shan, Taoist mountain of the center, Henan

Four Buddhist mountains:
1. Wutai Shan in Shanxi
2. Putuo Shan in Zhejiang
3. Ermei Shan in Sichuan
4. Jiuhua Shan in An’hui

Shame to say, I’ve only been to Er’mei, which is stunning. Most of these places are very crowded with tourist, but if you opt for hiking up the mountain the same way the monks did years ago, it’s still really beautiful. Jiuhua Shan is close to the Yellow Mountain. There are some lovely villages nearby that’s worth your visit – Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon was filmed there – all those bamboo forests.

If you include Tibet on the list, then I have been the holiest of all Mt. Kailash. I hiked around the mountain myself for 2 days. It’s a once in a lifetime experience.