Hanging around Chengdu’s teahouses
People often think of China as a monolith, however it’s anything but. Not only does each of its 31 provinces, municipalities and autonomous regions have unique food, history, languages (or dialects), landscapes and cultural elements, even the temperament and habits of their people are distinct.
The Hunanese, for example, are known for their toughness; Dongbei people for their short-temper. The Cantonese are China’s most openly religious, while those from Shaanxi are called ‘loyal, honest and bold’. Then there are the Sichuanese, legendary for their love of spicy food, having great skin (the climate is humid) and for being, on average, shorter than everyone else in the country. They’re also renowned for their friendly natures and laid-back approach (the rest of China tends to think they’re lazy!) Which is probably why Sichuan has so many teahouses.
There are plenty of reasons to be drawn to Sichuan (pandas, that food, the local opera style, natural beauty and glimpses of Tibetan culture spring to mind), but honestly, you could ditch the sight-seeing completely, decamp to a teahouse, sit with the locals, break out the melon seed snacks and be totally happy. You’ll be embracing the local modus operandi if you do, which is to slow down, chill out and enjoy life – especially food and drink.
Teahouse culture is said to have evolved as much around gossiping and getting information as actually consuming tea; before mass communication and easy travel, Sichuan was pretty isolated and the teahouse was where you got your news. And went to grizzle about the government, away from listening ears. Chengdu has more teahouses than anywhere in China and they run the entire gamut of humongous/intimate, indoors/out, easily found/obscure and no-frills/plenty frilly, to smart-modern/traditional, atmospheric and rickety.
Maybe the mother of all Sichuan teahouses is the sprawling Heming Teahouse (鹤鸣茶社), in the middle of Chengdu’s lovely People’s Park; it’s over a century old. Despite being on the tourist radar, there’s a stubborn retention of good, local vibes and, away from the frenzy of a large city, it’s calming. From early in the morning folk come to smoke, play cards, read the paper, shoot the breeze, have their ears cleaned (yes, really!) or simply kill time over endless cups of zhuyeqing (竹叶青 a tea from nearby Emei Shan), bitan piaoxue (碧潭飘雪 another local teen tea, infused with jasmine), longjing (the vaunted dragon well tea 龍井茶), chrysanthemum (菊花) or tieguanyin (铁观音), for starters. Depending on what you order, teas are cheap and come with a massive flask of boiling water for top-ups; you can literally extend your tea for hours without obligation to spend on anything else. Adjacent is the fabulous Zhong's Dumpling Restaurant (钟水饺(人民公园店), family-owned since its founding in 1893. Their zhong shui jiao, (钟水饺 pork dumplings in spicy sauce), tian shui mian (甜水面 literally called ‘sweet water noodles’), Chengdu’s signature long chao shou (龙抄手 thin-skinned wontons swimming in red chilli oil) and other delicious, local snacks are still made by hand.
Over the years we’ve spent many happy hours in Heming, and other teahouses in Chengdu, such as the ones at 17th century Wangjiang Pavilion Park (望江楼公园) and the Wenshu Monastery (文殊院), with their idyllic tree-shaded courtyards. Whether meeting local friends, hanging with travel companions or lapping up the mood solo, they’re always a treat. The last time we were in the city, our mission was to see a particular teahouse we’d heard about, deep in the city’s suburban bowels. It was a 300 year old institution, purportedly in a small clutch of crumbling, historic streets, and unchanged for decades. These are increasingly rare in modernised China and the mere whiff of ‘old’, ‘historic’, ‘atmospheric’ and ‘unchanged’ are catnip for us. We had to find it.
A 60 minute car ride dropped us at Pengzhen, seemingly in the middle of absolutely nowhere but, upon closer inspection, filled (as promised) with old dwellings, canteens and shops. Miraculously they’ve escaped the demolition ball plus survived the 2008 earthquake that ripped through these parts. It isn’t just the buildings that are original; the local way of life and appearance of community also appears intact, speaking to a simpler, more genteel (and, admittedly, economically poorer) existence. Chefs thump armfuls of fresh noodles on rickety trestle tables outside noodle shops. Cooks ladle soup from steaming cauldrons in open-air kitchens. Someone scuttles past with a live chicken tucked under their arm. Old men sit and watch their ‘hood go by, exchanging greetings; a lady passes through, hawking vegetables from heaving baskets balanced on bamboo poles over slight shoulders.
The teahouse, variously called the Old Tea House, Guanyinege Old Teahouse, Guanyin Pavilion and Pengzhen Tea House ( (双流彭镇老茶馆 in Chinese), just near Pengzhen’s main street, is incredible. With its uneven floor, old-style bamboo chairs, coal-heated water station and original propaganda artwork, it’s like a film set. Indeed, it does attract local photography enthusiasts and even wedding parties wanting to inject some patina into their portraits; it’s regarded as one of the oldest surviving of its kind in the entire country. Domestic tourists come to grab a rare glimpse of a vanishing way of life; the building feels every one of its 300 years. Inside, men in faded Mao jackets and flat caps drag on traditional-style bamboo pipes, filling the air with smoke that mingles with thermos steam and sends clouds into the rafters. The clientele play cards, chat, or just sit still in silence, sipping their tea, nonplussed by curious, camera-welding outsiders. They’re used to it.
The teahouse opens everyday, from around 5am, and many regulars walk kilometres to get there; the only nod to the 21st century are the headphones worn by Li Quiang, the owner, who darts about topping up cups with boiling water and dispensing more tea. If you want to visit, you need to go by cab or have a local take you; there’s zero English spoken and you kind of have to make things up as you go, comms-wise. But if you’re like us and yearn for places that speak of the past – and make absolutely no concession to tourists – you’ll absolutely freaking love it.
Let’s go traveling…
