Darjeeling Read Free Page A

and camellias bloom, the first of the pinkish-red rhododendrons .
    The tea bushes, stimulated by the moisture after a winter of dormancy, begin to flush new shoots so quickly that they need to be picked every four to five days. As the light filters through the darting clouds, workers pluck the young leaves: slender and lightly serrated, lacquered green in color, sprightly.
    The finished tea comes out of the dryer grayish green. Steeped, it produces a pale-gold to almost-green-toned liquor that’s grassy with fresh-cut-field aromas and a floralness in its bouquet, intensely fruity in the mouth, with a hint—no more—of tartness. The season is still cool and breezy in the high hills, and that freshness carries on into the cup.
    “First flush is a spring tea,” said Glenburn Tea Estate’s young manager and resident tea maker, Sanjay Sharma, in the garden’s well-lit tasting room.“The cup’s light, it’s bright, it’s fresh, it’s green, it’s brisk,” Sanjay recited in rapid-fire singsong, touching the tips of his fingers with each adjective. “It has that hint of astringency, so that lends a little crispness to the cup, it’s fresh on the palate.”
    Standing at the white-tiled counter, he considered the cup he was describing. Looking more like a safari guide than a tea planter, Sanjay wore polished leather Timberland boots with white socks rolled at the calves, khaki shorts, a pressed white polo shirt, and a zipper photo vest with an inch-thick Swiss Army knife snapped into a top pocket. He had a quick grin and ready one-liners, whiskery chin-beard, and an Errol Flynn mustache that gave him a slightly caddish look only somewhat offset by his rimless glasses. His left hand, partly covered with a patchy scar from a childhood cobra bite, fingered the white tasting cup emblazoned with Glenburn’s name in elaborate Victorian cursive. “Also it’s the time when we have all the citrus plants or trees blossoming, so it’s got a very fruity kind of citrusy-ness note to it.” It has, he said, “everything synonymous with springtime.”
    Darjeeling tea is “self-drinking,” meaning not only that blending it with another tea is not required—a standard practice among most of the world’s black teas—but also that it doesn’t need milk or sugar or even, because of the slight astringency, lemon. While the bold and brisk black teas from other regions in India are often prepared as sweet, milky masala chai, spiced by ginger, cardamom, and cinnamon, and slurped scalding hot from a glass held nimbly between thumb and middle finger, Darjeeling’s flavors are delicate, easily buried by such additions, and washed out by more than a few drops of milk.
    First flush teas are the most delicate Darjeelings of all.
    Commanding top prices, they are highly anticipated by aficionados, especially in Europe, where certain boutiques and tea rooms celebrate their arrival with pomp generally given over to Beaujolais wine. DARJEELING NOUVEAU announces a round sign in the window of the legendary Parisian maison de thé, Mariage Frères, and in a banner across the top of its Web site, of the year’s first offerings . “Arrivage spécial par avion,” it says, Grands Crus and Première Récolte from a highly selective choice of gardens: “Aloobari, Happy Valley, Ambootia, Namring, Castleton, North Tukvar, Nurbong, Bloomfield, Moondakotee.” This is akin to listing Bordeaux’s most prestigious châteaux.
    Sanjay took a sip and yielded to the tea’s gentle, composed embrace in silence.
    “Springtime in a teacup,” he calls it.

CHAPTER 1
Into the Hills
    Darjeeling is isolated. Located in the far north of the country among high mountain peaks, it’s jammed like a thumb between once-forbidden Himalayan kingdoms: Nepal to the west, Bhutan to the east, and Sikkim (and then Tibet) to the north. The closest airport is Bagdogra, outside Siliguri, a hot, flat city down at the edge of the northeastern plains where the Himalayas begin