Sometimes It’s Just Tea. Except It Isn’t

Morocco's Hidden Language of Love

I was alone for the long weekend in Tasmania recently, so a beautiful girlfriend invited me to stay with her at Low Head Beach House.

It’s paradise. And between the company and the location, I felt completely held and loved.

I asked my gorgeous friend what I could bring. She adamantly refused.

So naturally, I made it weird. As I like to do.

I arrived with five different kinds of tea. (All made from the same plant - because, everything from a black tea, green, oolong, pu-erh and white tea is just that - one plant). Then proceeded to run an impromptu tasting and explanation.

She’s a tea bag with milk kind of girl. But I was delighted when she loved the Pu-erh tea so much she’s still drinking it even after I left. It’s a fermented aged tea that’s meant to be great for digestion.

Me? I’m a purist. I like my tea without milk and NEVER with sugar.

Except when I do.

When I’m in India, I’ll drink it however it’s made for me. Chai jam packed with sugar and made with a suspicious milk that could be from a goat, a buffalo or who knows what. I’m in.

When I’m in Egypt, minty and sugary is the brew of the land. I hardly touch mint tea at home, but there I’ll sip it happily.

And in Morocco? Gunpowder green tea with so much sugar you’re not quite sure if it’s the caffeine or the sucrose making your head spin.

You see, sugar in tea is non negotiable there. And the prize ingredient used to be quite pricey, which made it even more special.

So even today it doesn’t just mean sweet tea.

A man wanting to propose to his lady will show up at her house carrying as much sugar as he can manage and present it to her parents.

Tea will then be made. If his comes out sugary, he’s in. He gets to propose.

If it’s unsweetened, he has his answer. But he can still save face and leave with his pride mostly intact.

It works the same way with smaller stakes when visiting friends. When your tea eventually arrives unsweetened, you’ve overstayed your welcome.

Time to pack up.

No awkward, “Well I won’t keep you”.

Just tea.

Except it’s not really.

It’s culture. It’s history. It’s the quiet language of a place.

And it’s the kind of story you only learn by being there, sitting with people, and sipping slowly while they share it with you.