It looks like a dance floor, a three-square-meter section of smooth wood among the rough planks that make up most of the flooring, all surrounded by giant locomotive-like drying machines. I’ve been waiting at the cool, dark packing station just inside the front door of the tea factory, and alternately in the warm April Sunday morning sun just outside, for my packing shift. Packing represents the final step handled here at the factory, completing my education in the processing of my favourite tea.

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