Tea in the Mist

We could call it a simply beautiful view, but no, it's not just a view—it's above all a metaphysical experience. Literally and figuratively, because…

Somewhere below, beneath the endless cumulus and stratus clouds, hundreds of meters below, in the mist-shrouded depths, grows an ancient forest. On the mountainsides, where paths disappear faster than human feet can tread them, stretches a forest so ancient that even time respects it. Dense treetops intertwine high overhead, submerging everything in a soft, green glow, as if the air were saturated with the essence of life. In the moss and ferns, in the rustle of leaves and the whisper of the wind, an ancient power indwells—pulsating, wild, and untamed.

We – here in Piag – like to imagine that this forest is inhabited by ghosts.

Among the tree trunks, twisted like the history of the world, among the mists that linger at dawn, dwell the forest spirits, who never sleep. These spirits keep constant watch, guarding the forest and the tea groves hidden deep within the slopes. They move among the tree trunks with the lightness of morning mist, and each of their steps—silent and elusive—carries a particle of ancient wisdom. They imbue the plants with their energy, intertwining their own power with the life of leaves, bark, and roots, as if they had always been one. For in this place, the boundaries between forms of existence have long since blurred: spirits are trees, and trees are spirits. The roots pulsate with the echoes of ancient beings, the sap flowing within them is the blood of ancestors, and the branches move as if they speak the thoughts of these invisible guardians. It is their presence that allows the forest to breathe more fully, and the tea groves to flourish, nourished by the heart of nature. And only sometimes, when darkness falls and the last ray of sunlight slips through the branches, you can hear someone humming a song of remembrance of all those who have passed away and become inhabitants of this green land.

And it is precisely this ancient forest, filled with magic and mysterious whispers, that hides within its wild thicket the tea groves visited once a year by dragontail gatherers. Their ascent, which begins at dawn, lasts many hours, and their destination is reached by winding, narrow paths, offering frequent views of the mountain ranges of Ha Giang Province. When they finally reach a place we could boldly call untouched by human foot, filled with respect for nature and its creations, they gather the pristine buds of a rare camellia species, Camellia taliensis. The buds form multiple layers that are strikingly reminiscent of dragontails. Besides creating a magnificent, almost artistic display, their main task is to protect their inner self, the youngest buds. 

While these tireless pickers gather the tea buds, the forest spirits watch them from afar. They rejoice in these visits. They are so rare that they do not disturb their forest peace. The spirits observe the life that once was, circling among the greenery. Life walks among them, greedily taking what nature has created. Such is the order of the world… And then night falls. Tired of the climb and the harvest, they spend night at the summit, and the next day, once again with the dawn, they set off back down, carrying the harvested tea buds to their villages.

As you drink this exceptional tea, reflect on its long journey. Think about how it grows in the Vietnamese wilderness, the hard work required to harvest it, but above all, think about the beauty hidden within, the beauty that surrounds it on all sides. Misty, ancient forests, mountains immersed in a sea of ​​clouds, greenery so beautiful that all the languages ​​of the world sound like jokes and ghosts next to it… You will certainly feel it when drinking our Dragon Tail.