The true soul of a place often whispers, refusing to compete with the clamor of its most famous sights. In Xiamen, the postcard-perfect view is Gulangyu Island, a car-free haven of colonial architecture and piano melodies floating on the sea breeze. Yet, for me, the city’s deeper resonance was found not in a grand vista, but in the intimate, deliberate spaces between: the sweep of a brush on paper and the silent unfurling of a tea leaf in hot water. This is a journey into the quiet heart of Minnan culture, where artistry is sipped and savored.
After the delightful sensory overload of Gulangyu’s winding lanes and Zhongshan Road’s bustling food stalls, I sought a counterpoint. I found it in a tucked-away shufa (calligraphy) studio within the older quarters of Siming District. Stepping inside was like crossing a threshold into a different dimension of time. The air was still, carrying the faint, earthy scent of ink and aged paper. The only sounds were the soft rustle of xuan paper and the occasional tap of a brush against the rim of an inkstone.
My teacher, Mr. Chen, moved with a tranquil economy of motion. He laid out the Four Treasures of the Study: the brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. "Calligraphy," he said, his voice calm, "is not writing. It is a dance of discipline and release. You must control the brush's pressure, speed, and angle, but you cannot force the line. It must flow from your center." My first attempts were predictably clumsy—thick, shaky strokes that bled into ugly blotches. But as I focused on my breathing, mirroring Mr. Chen’s poised posture, something shifted. The world outside the studio’s window faded. My entire universe contracted to the tip of the brush meeting the hungry paper. In that focused silence, I understood this wasn't about creating a perfect character; it was about the mindfulness of the process itself, a moving meditation practiced here for millennia.
If calligraphy trained my hand and mind, the next chapter was a lesson for the senses: the world of Fujian tea. The province is a holy grail for tea lovers, the birthplace of legendary varieties like Tieguanyin (Iron Goddess of Mercy) oolong and the smoky Lapsang Souchong. In Xiamen, tea is not merely a drink; it is the fundamental currency of hospitality and conversation.
I was invited to a traditional chaguan (tea house) for a proper Gongfu cha ceremony. The tea master, a woman with serene eyes, sat before a meticulous setup: a small Yixing clay teapet, delicate aroma cups, and tasting cups. She prepared a high-mountain Tieguanyin. The process was a ritual of precision and respect—a quick rinse of the leaves to "awaken" them, followed by multiple, short infusions. She poured the first infusion into the tall, slender aroma cup, then inverted the tasting cup over it. With a deft flip, the tea was transferred, and I was instructed to first smell the empty aroma cup, now holding the ghost of the tea’s fragrance—a breathtaking bouquet of orchids and cream. Then, I sipped from the tasting cup. The flavor evolved with each infusion, from floral and bright to deeply rounded and mineral. "Good tea," she said, "is like a good friend. It reveals its true character slowly, over time." This was the antithesis of a hurried coffee grab; it was an exercise in presence, in appreciating the nuance of a single leaf’s journey from a misty mountain to this tiny cup.
The beauty of Xiamen is how these ancient arts aren’t preserved behind glass but are woven into its contemporary, creative fabric. Nowhere is this fusion more vibrant than in the Shapowei Art Zone. What was once a collection of old fishing port warehouses is now a warren of indie galleries, design shops, and trendy cafes. And here, the themes of my journey beautifully collided.
I wandered into a minimalist space that was both a gallery and a tea shop. On the walls were modern calligraphy pieces—bold, abstract interpretations of classical poetry. The owner, a young designer, served me a cold-brewed Jin Jun Mei, a refined black tea, in a sleek glass. "We love the old traditions," she explained, gesturing to her artwork. "But we live in today's Xiamen. The spirit of the brushstroke can be free, and the tea can be enjoyed cold on a hot day. The essence remains." In another café, a barista practiced latte art with the fluid wrist movements of a calligrapher, creating swirling, temporary masterpieces on a canvas of foam. It was a perfect metaphor: Xiamen honors its past not through rigid replication, but through inspired, daily reinvention.
For the traveler seeking this layered experience, Xiamen offers countless entry points. Skip the generic souvenir shops and seek out these authentic interactions.
Look for short-term workshops offered in cultural centers or studios in the Hulishan Fortress area or near Xiamen University. Many are geared toward visitors and provide all materials. Even a one-hour session offers profound insight. Consider purchasing a traveler’s set of brushes and a small inkstone—a functional and deeply personal souvenir.
Venture into the tea markets near the Yuanbo Garden. Don’t be intimidated by the rows of shops; vendors are often passionate and happy to offer tastings. Learn a few key phrases: "nong xiang" (bold aroma) or "qing xiang" (light aroma) for Tieguanyin. For a curated experience, book a tea-tasting session at a reputable chaguan. And yes, bring some home. A vacuum-sealed pack of premium Tieguanyin is a gift that captures the very flavor of Fujian.
Structure a day around these arts. Begin with a morning calligraphy class, channeling the quiet focus. For lunch, seek out a restaurant serving traditional Minnan cuisine—perhaps with some shacha sauce, whose complex flavor mirrors the depth of good tea. In the afternoon, visit a tea house for a slow, mindful ceremony. As evening falls, explore Shapowei, seeing how the day’s lessons in line and flavor have been reinterpreted by a new generation. End your day on a balcony overlooking the harbor, the sea air mixing with the memory of ink and the lingering taste of orchid-infused oolong.
In the end, Xiamen reveals that its greatest treasures are not just to be seen, but to be practiced and tasted. The steady hand of the calligrapher and the patient pour of the tea master teach the same lesson: to slow down, to engage deeply, and to find profound beauty in a single stroke, a single sip. It is a travel experience that doesn’t just fill your camera, but quietly transforms your pace, leaving you with a calmer hand, a more attentive palate, and a spirit refreshed by ancient rhythms.
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Author: Xiamen Travel
Link: https://xiamentravel.github.io/travel-blog/calligraphy-and-tea-a-xiamen-experience.htm
Source: Xiamen Travel
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