The Sip.


The room was hot; I removed my sweater. I looked down at my outfit, pleased that the black and grey houndstooth jersey dress with black tights and over-the-knee boots had been able to withstand a long day of air and bus travel from Xi’an to Shanghai to Zhangjiagang – still chic and fresh, despite such a long day. I settled into a worn brown chair, which felt like it was built for me. I leaned back, crossed one leg perfectly over the other. Comfortable.

This was the most relaxed I’ve felt all year. I let it rush in.

Spark (his western name) was our table host and an instant friend. The conversation glided between topics that ranged from life in Zhangjiagang, to western music, and ultimately, multilinguism. I learned that Spark speaks German.

We practiced our German as we sipped our tea. Each word was like a jolt of caffeine. I had forgotten how much I love the German Language, each syllable abrupt and staccato. So much beauty there, I never understood why so many people don’t see it.

It was a special night, in a special place, with special people.

This post was written in participation with #reverb10. Moment: Chinese Tea Ceremony in Zhangjiagang.

Photo credit: Karen Dickinson

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