Learning to whisk up spiritual refreshment in Kyoto

A hostess at the Urasenke Chado Research Centre tries to salvage some decorum for Jim Eagles at the tea ceremony - trying for enlightenment through practising the simplest things in everyday life. Picture / Jim Eagles

Unfortunately I wasn't able to whisk the powdered green tea and water quickly enough to create the froth that the tradition of Chado - the Japanese Way of Tea - requires.

It's not that I can't whisk with the best - my scrambled eggs are widely admired - but tea ceremony protocol requires a sideways movement while my whisking style is back and forward.

As a result, and to my shame, the smiling hostess had to take over the production of a proper bowlful.

It still tasted refreshing, soothed my heart and calmed my nerves, as the tea ceremony is intended to do, but I was disappointed to have failed in my role as host.

On the other hand, it often takes 15 years of training to master the ritual, so perhaps I didn't do too badly.

The Urasenke Chado Research Centre, in the ancient Japanese capital of Kyoto, where I had come to learn about the ceremony, runs a three-year fulltime course, but I got the impression that even after that it takes many years to become proficient.

Like all rituals, part of the comfort of the tea ceremony is that everyone knows exactly what will happen, and everything is done just right.

But, again like all rituals, the tea ceremony is deceptively simple and it's only when you try to perform it that the need for years of practice becomes apparent.

Still, it's well worth doing, not least for the insights it offers into Japanese culture.

The setting should be one of beauty andtranquillity, which is why teahouses are often designed to take advantage of a fine garden or glorious view. Later that same day I found a particularly lovely tearoom at the Nanzan-ji Temple in Kyoto where for 400 (about $5) you can enjoy a bowl of tea while contemplating a small waterfall trickling into a peaceful rocky green glade. And there are plenty of other such teahouses to be found where beauty, tranquillity and refreshment are combined in one delightful experience.

But even in the most mundane setting the proper atmosphere can be achieved, our hostess explained, with the aid of tastefully arranged flowers or an elegantly drawn scroll carrying a few words of poetry.

When I visited the Urasenke centre it had an exhibition of such scrolls which, being in Japanese, meant little to me beyond the gracefulness of the brushstrokes. But I noticed an elderly man standing in front of each one for several minutes, whispering the words to himself again and again.

I suspect the charm of the hostess, immaculately clad in traditional kimono and exuding an air of friendly hospitality, is also a crucial part of achieving the proper ambience.

For our tea ceremony we were welcomed with an offering of Kyoto's famous sweets served on a piece of paper folded over a small rectangle of wood and with a tiny wooden spoon alongside.

Even the sweets have to be eaten in the proper manner, with the spoon, which is afterwards folded inside the paper and placed in a pocket (you'll find out why in a minute).

Then the hostess went through the elaborate ritual of making a bowl of tea, symbolically cleaning the utensils with a cloth, getting the right mix of green tea powder and hot water, whipping it to a froth and then serving with the picture on the bowl - in this case of Mt Fuji - facing forwards for me to enjoy.

It was, indeed, a very pleasant and relaxing occasion, somewhat akin to having a proper English tea served in the best bone china.

The ceremony is a manifestation of the Zen belief that even the simplest things of everyday life can lead to enlightenment. You can see the same approach in Japanese gardens, flower arrangements and especially the display of food in a good restaurant, where even a boxed lunch is designed to delight all the senses and not just fill the stomach.

But achieving this mixture of beauty and tranquillity is not easy, as became apparent when the hostess invited me to produce a second bowl of tea.

Each utensil must be placed on the teamaking tray with absolute precision.

The old woman who was keeping an eagle eye on us from afar almost ran across the room when I put the container of powdered green tea about 2cm out of position where it would have interfered with the placing of the whisk.

Then the coloured cloth, which denotes who will play the role of the host, must be folded a particular way to ritually clean the utensils - the tea canister, the long wooden spoon, the whisk and the bowl - with the fingers held in a different position for each. Next, the right amount of tea powder should be put in the bowl, hot water from the kettle boiling on the charcoal in front of me added, and the combination whisked to the correct consistency.

Up to then I had been, er, clumsily adequate with my technique but the whisking just wasn't good enough.

Taking pity, or maybe wishing to restore some solemnity, the hostess resumed the presiding role and presented me with the tea I had helped make.

At the same time she explained the obligations placed on the guest.

You must express profuse thanks, admire the picture on the bowl and then drink it all down.

Being a foreigner I was given permission to take my time but I still had to drink the lot - "It is okay to make the slrrrrrp noise" - or risk giving offence.

The taste of powdered green tea is different to the leafy green tea, brown tea, soba tea or barley tea that most restaurants serve, with a slightly creamy texture, but nonetheless refreshing.

Finally, I had to study the residue in the bottom of the bowl - in case that's rather like checking the tea leaves I noted that my blob looked like a jolly green dragon - wipe the top of the bowl with my fingers, clean my fingers on the bit of paper in my pocket (did you remember that?) admire the picture again, turn it to face the hostess and return the bowl.

Phew. The ceremony was over and even the old woman across the room nodded in seeming approval.

My problem with the whisking aside, I felt we had, indeed, shared what Sen Rikyu, the 16th-century tea master who perfected the Way of Tea, would call "an exquisite singular moment in time".

* Jim Eagles travelled as guest of Japan's Ministry of Foreign Affairs.