The Leaf and the Future: Tea as a Bridge and Beacon

Lorela Lohan
Sep 19
9 min read

Part IV of a 4-part series:

Following the Leaf — A Journey with Jeff Fuchs

In this interview of 4 parts, Jeff shares insights on tea culture, from its romantic myths to its gritty realities, and reflects on a life shaped by tea and travel.

Part IV - The Leaf and the Future: Tea as a Bridge and Beacon

Youth, legacy, unfinished paths

Inspiring the Next Generation of Tea Drinkers

Lorela: You also educate others about tea. What’s your approach to engaging a new generation of tea drinkers? Any advice you’d give to young people or newcomers who are curious about tea (or even someone who wants to follow in your footsteps as a “tea explorer”?

Jeff :

My approach is to start with the experience and keep it fun and visceral. I believe the best way to spark someone’s interest in tea is to let the tea do the talking – through their senses – rather than overwhelming them with facts. For example, my wife and I run a nonprofit in Hawaii focused on nature and culture education, and every summer we host groups of teenagers from around the world. Without fail, I incorporate a “tea time” into our program. Picture 30 high-schoolers on a warm afternoon, maybe a little tired from activities – I’ll quietly set up an impromptu tea session. I bring out some really good tea (often something unique but enjoyable, like a high-mountain oolong or a sun-dried white tea from Yunnan), and I just start pouring for everyone.

At first, they might not know what to expect – some of them have only ever had bottled iced tea or maybe a basic green tea bag. I don’t tell them much at all initially. I might not even say the name of the tea. I just encourage them to sip. As they drink, we’re usually in the middle of a group discussion about their values or experiences (that’s the official workshop theme), and the tea is kind of quietly fueling that. What I’ve observed is amazing: within minutes, the energy in the room lifts. They become more alert, more engaged – the caffeine is subtly doing its work, and the novelty of the taste gets them curious.

By the end, invariably, hands shoot up: “Sir, what was that drink? That was tea? It tasted different… I kind of liked it!” And boom – they’re interested. Some of the teenage boys, who at first might’ve smirked at the idea of “tea time,” end up saying things like, “I feel really good… can I have another cup? Also, where can I get this?” It cracks me up and pleases me to no end.

Only after they’ve shown that spark do I start giving a bit of info – “So, that was a type of oolong tea from Taiwan. Here’s how it’s made….” – and they’re actually listening, because now it’s connected to something they felt and enjoyed.

This approach – experience first, knowledge second – has been very successful for me.

If I had to boil down my advice for newcomers or educators, it would be:

Just share a cup of tea – Start by drinking tea together in a relaxed setting. Don’t worry about doing it “right.” Choose a decent quality tea that you enjoy, brew it simply, and offer it to the person. The act of sharing and the tea itself are the best introduction.
Skip the lecture – Avoid bombarding beginners with a ton of information or jargon upfront. Let them form their own impressions. If you immediately start saying, “This tea is from X mountain, hand-picked at dawn, with notes of apricot and a hint of petrichor,” you may unintentionally intimidate or influence them. First, let them sip and say what they taste or feel.
Engage the senses – Encourage them to notice the aroma, the colour, the feel of the tea in their mouth. Make it a sensory game: Does this smell remind you of anything? How does the aftertaste feel? There are no wrong answers. This builds confidence and a personal connection to the tea.
Tell the story, not just the stats – Once they’re interested, share the human or natural story behind the tea. People love narratives. For instance, “This is made by a single family in the mountains; they’ve been doing it for generations.” Or “These leaves get their sweetness because the insects nibble on them and the plant produces more sugars – cool, right?” Such tidbits are memorable and make the tea come alive beyond flavour.
Keep it relatable – Use simple, relatable language. For example, instead of saying “It has a mineral taste,” you might say “It’s a bit like the smell of wet stones after rain.” Instead of “umami,” maybe “a savoury broth-like feel.” And if they don’t get those references, no big deal – focus on what they describe. The world of wine tasting, with its elaborate descriptors, can be off-putting; I try not to let tea go too far down that road, especially with newbies.
Foster a safe space for impressions – Make sure they know there’s no elite knowledge needed to enjoy tea. A newcomer’s “This tastes like sunshine” is just as valid as an expert’s “notes of jasmine and hay.” By validating their impressions, you empower them to keep exploring.

I often recall how I was introduced to tea. It wasn’t initially through a formal ceremony; it was through warm encounters – a friendly Taiwanese shopkeeper brewing cup after cup for me, or a Tibetan family sharing butter tea. Those experiences hooked me emotionally. Only later did I dive into the academic side of tea. So I try to replicate that path for others: emotional connection first, intellectual understanding next.

One more thing: We should remember that tea is fun! It’s not supposed to be a stodgy subject. I’m not above throwing in a mischievous experiment, like pairing tea with cheese or chocolate in a tasting session, just to surprise people and make them go “Whoa, this actually works!” (For example, a ripe pu’er with a bit of dark chocolate – people are amazed how the flavours complement.) These kinds of interactive experiences keep younger folks, especially, engaged.

Lastly, I caution against a pitfall I see: sometimes those of us who are passionate can inadvertently come off as overbearing know-it-alls. It’s important to stay humble and open-minded. Tea is so nuanced that we are all perpetual students. If a 20-year-old novice says, “I taste blueberries in this oolong,” I’m not going to correct them – who’s to say they’re wrong? Maybe their palate detects something mine doesn’t. That kind of openness makes learning about tea a collaborative journey rather than a one-way lecture.

In summary: Pour the tea, share it, and step back a bit. Let the tea work its magic on the person. Guide, but don’t dictate.

If you do that, you’ll find that many young people quickly go from curious to genuinely passionate. And that, for me, is one of the most rewarding things – seeing a new tea lover born.

Discover the Aloha ‘Aina at Hawaii’s Akahiao Nature Institute

Preserving Tea Traditions and Stories

Lorela: Through your writing and expeditions, you’ve documented the lives of Himalayan tea traders and other tea elders. Do you feel a duty to record and share these stories as tea culture modernises? How important is it to capture the old traditions in today’s world?

Jeff :

Duty is a strong word, but yes – I do feel a responsibility. And funnily enough, that sense of duty was impressed upon me by the very people whose stories I was gathering. I recall interviewing an old Tibetan trader, one of the last generation who had run caravans over the mountains. We were in a remote village in the Himalayas, and I was peppering him with questions about the old tea trade – what they carried, the dangers they faced, how life was back then. At one point, he looked at me, somewhat puzzled, and asked, “Why are you doing this? Why isn’t a Tibetan or Chinese researcher here asking me these things?” I explained that I was simply fascinated and wanted to share this history with the wider world.

He paused and then said in Tibetan (through my translator), essentially, “If you think it’s important, then it’s your duty to tell it.” That struck me deeply.

From then on, I’ve carried that sense that I owe it to these generous people – who shared their time, their memories, often their tea and hospitality – to pass their stories along as accurately and respectfully as possible. Many of them never had an audience beyond their community. Some were genuinely surprised that anyone cared to hear about the hardships of carrying tea bricks on a mule in 1940, or the way bandits would ambush caravans in a certain mountain pass. But this is precious human history tied to tea – it’s the soul behind the leaf. I think the modern tea world can only be richer by knowing these things.

We often talk about terroir and cultivar and flavour profiles (and those are great), but there’s also this cultural and historical terroir, if you will – the imprint of human journey and endeavour on tea.

For centuries, tea moved not just through lands but through people’s lives: it was a currency, a social staple, and sometimes a saviour.

Just as an example, in some parts of Central Asia and the Himalayas, pressed tea bricks were literally used as money in trade. People could pay taxes or barter goods for tea bricks. And of course, those same bricks would be brewed into the butter tea that was daily sustenance for Tibetan and Mongolian families. So tea had this dual identity: drink and currency, livelihood and lifestyle. Sharing anecdotes like that can really broaden a tea lover’s appreciation – suddenly that pu’er cake in your hand connects to a caravan winding through the mountains 100 years ago.

I see my role as a bit of a bridge between eras. On one side, the fast-paced modern tea industry with its innovations and on the other, the fading voices of people who lived a life with tea very differently. The Himalayan traders I met, the tea mountain villagers, the monks in a monastery who kept specific tea traditions – those stories can easily vanish in a generation if not recorded. Many of the elders I spoke to have since passed away. I sometimes feel emotional about it – but also honoured that I got to hear them.

So yes, I write about them, I include their tales in my talks, and even in casual conversation, I’ll find myself saying, “You know, in the old days, a caravaner would judge the value of tea by smell because their lives depended on trading good tea…” Little things like that. It’s not about living in the past; it’s about enriching the present with the depth of the past.

Tea is changing – new trends, new processing techniques, new consumers – and that’s wonderful.

But I think knowing the legacy gives a sense of continuity. It keeps tea human. If you sip a bowl of matcha in a trendy café, it might add another layer of meaning to know you’re part of a chain that stretches back to samurai and monks who drank it for focus. If you enjoy a pu’er, how cool is it to recall that entire caravans once spent months transporting pu’er over deadly terrain, or that a portion of their journey is now a hiking trail you could actually follow?

I sometimes encourage tea friends: create your own little rituals to honour the history. Even something as simple as taking a moment in the morning, when you brew your tea, to think of the hands that plucked it, or the fact that someone 500 years ago might have been doing the same thing at that moment. It’s a quiet nod to the lineage we are part of.

For me personally, preserving these stories is also about gratitude. Tea has given me so much – adventure, friendships, a livelihood, not to mention countless cups of pleasure. The least I can do is ensure that the wisdom and struggles of those who came before us are not forgotten as time marches on. The modern tea industry tends to focus on the product, but I want to spotlight the people and journeys behind the product.

And practically speaking, these old ways still have lessons for us. For example, how traders packed tea to keep it fresh over long journeys has informed some of my own storage methods. Or the fact that tea was used as a peace offering between tribes – it reminds us that tea can be a tool of diplomacy and connection, even today in our divided world.

In short, I do feel it’s part of my calling (and joy) to document and share the rich tapestry of tea’s heritage. It’s not a burden at all – it’s like being a storyteller for something I love deeply. As long as I’m around, I’ll keep recounting the epic of tea: the humble leaf that launched journeys and shaped cultures.