Fujian

Day 1.

The local variety of Camellia sinensis produces, upon infusion, an aroma which I can only describe as — and I acknowledge the imprecision of this term — geological. As though the plant has absorbed the character of the rock upon which it grows and is now, in some manner, returning it. I have noted this phenomenon in my ledger as “mineral transference” and intend to investigate further.

Day 4.

I have revised my earlier assessment. The aroma is not geological. It is more accurately described as: the memory of geology. There is a distinction, though I confess I am struggling to articulate it. My colleague Dr. Pemberton would say I am being fanciful. Dr. Pemberton has never been to Fujian.

Day 9.

A secondary note emerges upon cooling — something between orchid and charcoal, which is to say, something between life and its aftermath. I have written “orchid-charcoal” in my notes and then crossed it out, as it is not a scientific term. I have written it again in the margin.

Day 14.

I asked my interpreter to ask the tea master what he smells when he opens the canister. The tea master considered the question for some time. He said: home, but from a distance. I have recorded this response verbatim, as I cannot improve upon it.

Day 21. Final entry.

I am no closer to a satisfactory scientific description of this aroma than I was on the first day. I have filled eleven pages of notes. I have used the words “mineral,” “floral,” “woody,” “smoky,” “ancient,” and “inexplicable” — the last of which is not, strictly speaking, a descriptor.

What I can say with confidence is this: the smell does not stay where you put it. It moves. It changes depending on the temperature of the room, the time since brewing, the mood of the person smelling it. It is, in the technical sense, unstable. In another sense, it is the most stable thing I have encountered in four months of fieldwork.

This report will not be published. I am not sure what it would be a report of.