lHidden in a hard-to-find alleyway, just down the road from the bustling Wudaokou subway station, is a tiny tea house. I'd seen the sign several times before, and suggested to a friend named Andrew that we swing in and check the place out.
We walked through the plastic curtain and entered the small room. A wrinkled old man was hunched over a small table set with clay teapots and a big, tea-pouring plate. His eyes were closed; he was soundly asleep.
Inside, the air was hot and smelled strongly of tea - the raw, pungent, earthy smell of high grade leaves. The room was sparse and clean. In one corner, a silent TV flashed American cartoons. In another was a small rocking chair. Behind the sleeping man was a bookshelf filled with round wheels of pu'er tea, small tea sets, and big tins of green tea. We tried to be quiet, but the man woke up and welcomed us into his home.
He jumped to his feet, grabbed a metal pot, filled it with water from a 10-gallon dispenser and set the pot on a hot plate. He waved us over to the tea display and talked enthusiastically, in rapid Chinese, about his stock. He laughed, cupped samples from various tins and invited us to smell the tea. It was fragrant and fresh.
While he spoke to us, we simply shook our heads knowingly and smiled. He didn't expect replies, but I tried my best to fire back a little Chinese to let him know his show was appreciated.
For a full hour we sat across the table from the old man, sipping his tea and laughing at his stories. He told us about his hometown in Henan province, the dietary habits of his nephews and his experience with the weather in Beijing.
He'd lived in the big city for four years, he said, and he hadn't seen the stars yet. What a pity the pollution is. There are more foreigners here than ever before. Basketball is OK to watch, but the players run too fast. The action is rapid and the strategy is ad-hoc. That's why he preferred mahjong and chess.
Our cups were never empty. Immediately after we had drained the tiny glass bowls, he poured more. He laughed at our emphatic thanks after every refill and was impressed by our taste for his strong brew. As long as we kept drinking, he would have kept telling us tales and topping our cups. Until midnight, if that's what it took to quench our Western thirsts.
Eventually, I had to find an excuse for us to leave. I told him we had a meeting to attend at our campus. He shook his head and asked us to indulge in one more cup. We accepted politely.
I got up and picked up a glass bottle with a built-in tea infuser that I had spotted earlier. I asked him how much it cost. He said 20 yuan ($2.90). It was easily worth 50.
Andrew picked out some pu'er tea. He bought 20 yuan worth of the most celebrated variety. We paid, offered our sincerest thank-yous and promised to come back soon.
The old man saw us to his door, called us his American friends, and told us to invite our classmates next time. He loved to meet foreigners and on hot days like today he enjoyed the company.