A Snapshot of Darjeeling

By Kevin Gascoyne

Early March on a chilly Himalayan morning. We rattle through the clouds in a 40-year-old Land Rover patched with scrap metal and ingenuity. We pass Ghoom village, which at 2,247 meters is one of the highest points of the region, and enter the damp forest reserves. The driver hugs the tight turns and makes the best of the rough road. The pitch and lurch make this an invigorating way to travel. Pines and giant ferns soon give way to vast slopes of regimented tea "bushes" that have been pruned leafless during the winter. Through the mist, their silver-gray bark gives them a ghostly, skeletal appearance.

My fourteen fellow passengers are tea workers from the various gardens that line this road through the northwestern part of the Darjeeling District in the Indian state of West Bengal. We have all crammed in for the sake of economy. My passion for Darjeeling teas and fascination with the region have brought me down this road in this manner many times. Mr. Tamang, sitting next to me and on his way to see his cousin at Lingia Tea Garden, is a retired soldier from the Gurkha regiment of the British army. He says, shaking his head with raised brow and smile, "Once the rain comes, the picking starts, it is work - only work."

The spring rains should be falling already. They will end the dry dormant winter period by stimulating the growth of the year's earliest, most delicate shoots, Darjeeling's famous First Flush. Once picked and processed, the leaves will be shipped to Darjeeling drinkers worldwide who, like me, anticipate the aromatic delights of the year's first cup. The lack of rain is not a good sign, and the growers are starting to worry.

The tea industry here in Darjeeling occupies a unique position. Unable to compete in quantity with the high-yielding gardens of the other regions of the world, Darjeeling is bound to its reputation as "the Champagne of teas." A hectare of Darjeeling bush will yield a mere 500 kilos of tea each year. Gardens in Assam easily produce three times as much, so Darjeeling chooses the very labor-intensive alternative of working to perfect the taste. At auction, it is the First and Second Flush teas that fetch elevated prices and keep the industry alive.

Fortunately, this area in the Himalayan foothills has powerful natural advantages. The gardens are planted high on the steep-sided valleys, at altitudes of 600 to 2,300 meters. The soils are rich, well-drained, and slightly acidic. The leaves profit from the intense, high-altitude sunlight, while frequent cloudy periods prevent drying out or burning. Complimenting these ideal growing conditions, a large percentage of the bushes are of the classic "China" variety. Introduced by the British during the second half of the 1800s, this hardy strain, Camellia sinensis var. sinensis, has a strong root system, tolerates a nip of frost, and produces a small, waxy leaf that is highly prized for its bright and lively liquors. Growers are quick to mention divisions of their gardens that are pure "China" bush; the sections of hybrid, clonal, or plain assamica plants may not be pointed out.

Most tea-growing regions have adopted modern, highly mechanized production techniques that focus on high yields. Quality is inevitably compromised. However, in Darjeeling most teas are still processed using industrial techniques developed in the late 1800s, collectively referred to as Orthodox Manufacture. The comparatively laborious steps require expertise and intuition, and give growers greater control over the many delicate variables that affect the chemistry of the leaves. It is these chemical changes that give each batch, called an "invoice," its own characteristics. These subtle variations create flavors such as berries and the famous muscatel that is often associated with Darjeelings. Aromas range from the floral and fruity to smoky or chocolatey. This diversity is often compared to that of fine wines or whiskies. As with other premium products, the exquisite qualities of Darjeeling teas are the creations of extra toil and of respect for the innate qualities of the raw material.

Just before we reach the Nepalese border, having travelled about 30 kilometers from Darjeeling town, the Land Rover enters the small village that marks the limits of the 285 hectares of the Marybong gardens. Seven hundred employees live within the garden's boundaries. We pass along a ridge with a stunning backdrop of white peaks. Kangchenjunga, the world's third tallest mountain, is in full view. Well-ordered tea fields stretch out from the road to cover the slopes descending on every side. Left to their own devices, these bushes would become trees up to six meters tall, but in tea gardens they are pruned waist high to facilitate picking. The thousands of gnarly trunks are over 100 years old; their dwarf form and concentration of detail give a feeling of bonsai. It is hard to imagine that with a little rain they will produce a lush canopy of deep green leaf.

As we pull up to the Marybong factory, Mr. A. K. Roy, manager of the garden and one of the region's most respected growers, walks out to meet me. He smiles, shakes my hand, and we stand for a few moments, silent, palms and eyes raised to the heavens not so far above us.