Imagine luscious plantations in some of the most exotic places in the world. Could tea tourism take over where commodification fails?

Sipping cold-brew sencha above the tea hills in Shizuoka, Japan, our guide Akito Ohashi disclosed that the average age of a Japanese tea farmer was 70. The industry was in decline, and his tours were designed to revive interest in a proud and long tradition of tea growing, production and trading in the region.

Ohashi’s offering was merely a nascent, intimate version of what I had witnessed in Sri Lanka. Drive up through the mountains of Nuwara Eliya and the way is studded with tea plantations, factories and free cookie-cutter tours where you can view the harvest come in, watch the machines at work and then exit through the gift shop.

Tourism is often a double-edged sword. Tea accounts for about 2% GDP in Sri Lanka, and most is commodity, so adding tourism boosts its value. Other tea tourism I’ve seen includes events and accommodation, cultural heritage tours and museums. But once a place relies on tourist dollars, it takes an enormous risk. Everything from natural disasters to a global pandemic can hit the travel industry and scupper a regional economy in weeks.

However, done with balance and sustainability in mind, tea tourism can avoid being exploitative and also become more than another revenue stream. Tourism flows both ways: money goes to the host country, but travellers also become conduits for experiences. We shouldn’t forget that tourism is connection.

My fondest memories in Sri Lanka are of a day spent cupping at Lumbini Tea Valley; a fantastic trip to Mexico – a place where good tea was incredibly scarce – was capped off by a long evening talking to a teahouse owner in CDMX; and a day wandering around Riga became a delightful afternoon debrief, where even my tea-averse partner had a nice time in a beautiful building. The more connected we feel, the more we come to understand the world. And isn’t that the foundation for world peace?