Tea Plantations and Smiling Faces

The air was thick with the scent of earth and leaves as we stepped off the train, which had been winding through what felt like an endless sea of green. The hills rolled on forever, covered in tea plants—each one tended with care, as if nature and human hands were working together in quiet harmony. We walked through the plantation, our guide explaining how each leaf is picked with precision. “This,” she said, handing me a freshly plucked leaf, “is the soul of real tea. What you get in supermarkets? That’s the leftover dust.” As we sat for the tasting, I felt the warmth of the cup in my hands. It wasn’t just tea —it was a story. Each sip spoke of the hands that plucked it, the land that nourished it, and the time it took to perfect it.

But the real magic? It was the train ride through the hills, children running alongside, waving and laughing like we were old friends. Their smiles were infectious, and for a moment, the world felt simple, like everything we needed was right there in front of us— on that train, in those hills, with those smiling faces.