– Shoo! – I babbled. – Go on your way! However, the huge lizard blocking my path regarded me with the indifference of Buddha, and its gaze said: all is vanity and decay. I had to squeal and wave my arms. Then, as in a horror film, the creature puffed up, but instead of spitting out an Alien, it vanished into the bushes with a blood-curdling scream, where three more of the same specimens were waiting for it.
When you arrive in Sri Lanka and leave the resort area high into the mountains, where the famous Ceylon tea plantations are, you have to be prepared for anything. For the fact that there are more creatures here than people. That life flows quietly and steadily, like in a slow-motion film. That the plantation workers are not oppressed Eastern women, but perfectly civilized ladies who undergo interviews and send resumes when applying for a job.
A blend of Buddhism and socialism
The tea plantations straddle the mountains of Ceylon at an altitude of two and a half thousand meters. To get here, we had to get up at sunrise and spend half a day bouncing in a car along a narrow dusty "two-lane" road. The tsunami didn't have such "endurance": the wave raged only in the coastal areas of the island, penetrating inland just five kilometers. Here, close to the sky, where the air is full of strange sounds – sometimes someone hoots, sometimes squeals thinly, sometimes barks hoarsely, sometimes laughs wildly – the locals learned that disaster had struck the island only from TV news. We came to one of the oldest tea plantations on the island – "Gerahama", which means "Parrots" in Sinhalese.
These little birds feel perfectly at home here, like crows in metropolitan parks and squares. They walk along the paths with a businesslike air and will not give way to anyone. These seemingly innocent birds, if you believe the Sri Lankans, can form organizations even more formidable than the "Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam". In solid ranks, beak to beak, they attack rice fields, devouring crops not so much to satisfy hunger as to annoy the planters.
There are countless plantations like "Gerahama" on the island. And all of them are private. On an area of 175 hectares, 150 people work, who are born here, get married here, and die here. Each plantation is a world in itself. Along the slopes of the mountains, dotted with tea bushes, are scattered small huts of the plantation workers, like houses of cards. In the center of the plantation is the building of the tea-leaf processing factory, where fresh, just-picked leaves are turned into what we call tea. Everything here is their own – their own shops, a club, and even a cemetery.
Our guide was the factory manager, Ramya Puara, a young man with skin the color of well-aged rum. He said he works as a supervisor. However, having looked around and settled in, we understand that there is no one to supervise here.
Buddhism in Sri Lanka is combined with socialism. The two teachings fit together like a plug in a socket. Buddhists already don't care about anything, and socialism raised this worldview to the absolute. From the religious-ideological marriage was born a unique child – the Sri Lankan way of life. The idea of rebirths – past and future – literally permeates the air of Sri Lanka, determining the actions of the islanders. For instance, any Sri Lankan knows that a thief will be a dog in the next life. And therefore no one steals on the island.
At the tea factory there are no checkpoints with guards, you won't see any fences or barriers. It wouldn't even cross a Sri Lankan's mind that tea from the plantation could be brought home and then, packaged in the basement, sold somewhere at the nearest market. Who would want, for the sake of such a trifle, to spend the next life wagging its tail and searching for food in garbage dumps?
To avoid being bored, the factory manager Ramya Puara constantly chews betel – a mixture of leaves of some special palm, slaked lime, tobacco, spices, and seasonings, which protects against tooth decay and has a mildly alcoholic effect. Betel is chewed everywhere in Sri Lanka, which makes the locals' gums turn orange and lifts their mood.
The Journey of the Chinese Herb
The Sri Lankans have already forgotten who is the boss in the tea business and like to claim the palm of leadership in this business for themselves. In fact, tea is native to China. Legend says that long ago, under the scorching sun of China, there lived a cruel ruler, Shen Nong. As a result of a palace coup, the unjust monarch was exiled. While wandering the earth, observing the surrounding world, he was forced to drink only boiled water. One day, after boiling some water once again, he took a sip and was struck by the vigor and freshness emanating from the drink. This is how the wild tea tree was discovered, a few leaves from which had fallen into the brew. Since then, the triumphant march of the "Chinese herb" around the world began.
For a long time, only the Chinese possessed the secrets of tea production, carefully guarding the brewing recipes from foreigners on pain of death. According to one legend, the classic recipe for Earl Grey tea was obtained by the British Foreign Secretary, Sir Charles Grey, from a Chinese mandarin as a result of a cunning political intrigue. The beginning of England's "tea captivity" can be considered 1662, when merchants of the East India Company presented two pounds of "Chinese leaf" to King Charles II as a gift on his wedding to the Portuguese princess Catherine of Braganza.
Ceylon, in those time immemorial, was a thoroughfare of Europe. Who didn't roam here, who didn't wash dusty boots in the waves of the Indian Ocean. The island passed from hand to hand: first the Portuguese, then the Portuguese were driven out by the Dutch, the Dutch by the British, who planted tea trees here. In 1871, a young and self-confident English entrepreneur, James Taylor, landed in Ceylon. He chose the perfect time – an epidemic had completely destroyed the vast coffee plantations, after which local farms had no choice but to replace coffee plantings with tea.
But Ceylon did not become one of the world leaders in tea imports right away. Many books have been written about the complexities of relations between the British and the Sri Lankans. But the frescoes of Lankan temples can tell about this more vividly than anything else. First fresco: the British walk around a Buddhist temple in their shoes, the Sri Lankans proudly remain silent. Second, third, fourth frescoes: wars, wars, wars. Last fresco: the British walk barefoot in the Buddhist temple, the Sri Lankans look at them affectionately. And why did it not occur to the British to take off their slippers right away?
To be continued.