Sabrina generously offers to start our vacation with poetry: "Reading a few verses by the Chinese painter-poet Laoshu ("Old Tree", real name Liu Shuyong) brought back memories of a trip to China, to Yunnan, to the gardens of ancient, centuries-old tea bushes on the Jingmai plateau in Xishuangbanna, the cradle of Pu 'er teas."
Tea bushes in the fields,
The lushness of young leaves.
The time comes when flowers fall
When mists and drizzles arrive.
Tea bushes in the fields,
The plucking is whispered.
Birdsong
Resonates at the bottom of the valley,
Everything is a poem.
Tea leaves on the branch, young and delicate.
How far will they be my confidants?
Tea leaves on the branch, fruits of Nature.
I dispose of them freely, yet emotion grips me.
Tea in a cauldron,
A process that spans the ages.
Seized with both hands,
It's held as close to you as possible.
Tea in a cauldron,
The fire catches under the twigs.
A few tender leaves
From a boundless landscape.
Tea in the workshop,
It's rolled and aired.
Again and again,
It's withered and dried.
Tea in the workshop,
It becomes what man desires.
As soon as brewed, it is pure and sober,
Its aroma comes with time.
Cup of tea in hand,
Sitting opposite a cherished friend.
Everywhere around us, broken lotuses,
A single tree, a withered willow.
The tea slowly cools,
Twilight is infinite.
A day fades away,
Tomorrow, again, the hustle and bustle...