Loveleen Arun spends an afternoon learning about Ceylon tea from tea sommelier Bernard Holsinger

Ceylon Tea Trails

If you think tea tastings are stuffy affairs with raised pinkies and hushed voices, you haven’t met Bernard Holsinger.

I certainly hadn’t expected to laugh my way through a lesson on Ceylon tea. But there I was at the Dunkeld Tea Factory courtesy Ceylon Tea Trails, wiping tears of mirth from my eyes as this larger-than-life character transformed what could have been a dry educational tour into the highlight of my Sri Lankan adventure.

Bernard greets you like an old friend who happens to know everything about tea. This teddy bear of a man – round, warm, and utterly huggable – stations himself at the factory entrance, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 

He doesn’t just start a tour; he launches a one-man show. “Welcome, welcome!” he booms, gathering our very small group. 

“So, you want to know about tea? Let me tell you about those Chinese virgins first.”

Several of us exchange glances. Virgins? In a tea factory?

Bernard launches into an elaborate tale about ancient Chinese emperors who supposedly insisted that only virgins with golden scissors could harvest white tea. Their pure hands were the only ones worthy of touching such precious leaves.

“But how did they verify these qualifications, hmm?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and a suggestive pause that sends ripples of laughter through our group.

 “And more importantly, how did they keep reusing the same virgins year after year? Very suspicious, no?” Just as we’re caught in his storytelling spell, he claps his hands. “Enough history! Into the factory!”

Tea with theatrics

Inside the factory, the serious business of tea processing is underway. But Bernard makes machinery fascinating through pure theatrical talent. He mimics the movement of the withering troughs, his arms waving like leaves drying in circulated air. At the rolling machines, he does a little shimmy that has us in stitches. 

His tour is peppered with merciless mockery of tea drinkers worldwide. The British get the brunt of his humour. “The British,” he sighs dramatically, “they conquered the world for tea, then got too lazy to brew it properly! Tea bags! Dust in paper! That’s like buying a Ferrari and never taking it above 30 kilometers per hour!”

The Chinese aren’t spared. “They drink green tea — unoxidized! It’s not even finished yet! It’s like eating cake batter instead of waiting for the cake!”

We Indians aren’t spared either. He clutches his heart. “Ah! The inventors of masala chai! Taking perfectly good tea and drowning it in spices! Why not just drink the spices and save the tea for someone who appreciates it?”

His jokes land perfectly because they’re wrapped in his obvious, infectious love for tea. This man isn’t just knowledgeable but passionate to his core.

A taste of history

Sri Lanka’s tea industry has a complex history, something Bernard touches on between jokes. Established by the British in the 1800s after coffee crops failed, tea plantations transformed the island’s highlands. Today, tea remains Sri Lanka’s primary export crop, with over 200,000 hectares under cultivation and employing over a million people directly or indirectly.

“Look around you,” Bernard says in a rare serious moment, sweeping his arm toward the window where endless rows of tea bushes cascade down hillsides. “This is our heritage now. The British planted it, but we perfected it.” 

The Dunkeld estate is part of Dilmah Tea’s properties. Dilmah holds a special place in Sri Lankan hearts as the first producer-owned brand, founded by Merrill J Fernando, who broke the colonial model by keeping profits in Sri Lanka rather than shipping raw tea to be branded overseas. “Dilmah is Sri Lankan pride in a cup,” Bernard explains. “When Mr Fernando said ‘Do try it’ in those TV commercials, he was really saying ‘Try OUR tea, made OUR way.’ “

We move through the factory, learning about withering (removing moisture), rolling (breaking cell walls to release enzymes), oxidation (where black tea develops its character), and firing (halting oxidation). Bernard demonstrates each process with sound effects and body movements that keep us entertained. 

At the grading section, he becomes professorial “BOP, FBOP, OP, Pekoe, Dust – these aren’t random letters, they’re your guide to leaf size and quality.”

His expertise becomes apparent during these technical moments. Between jokes, Bernard drops knowledge bombs that reveal his deep understanding of tea chemistry, cultivation practices, and market trends. This man could probably identify a tea’s exact elevation, flush, and processing method with a single sniff.

The tour finishes at the packing area, where neatly arranged bags await shipping. Bernard waves his hand with theatrical flourish and announces: “And it is from here, ladies and gentlemen, that the tea… LEAVES!”

He waits for his pun to land, eyes gleaming with delight as groans and laughter ripple through our group. 

Knitty-gritty

But the real magic happens afterwards. Guests staying at Ceylon Tea Trails can arrange a private tasting session with Bernard. In an intimate setting, he transforms from entertainer to mentor.  “Now we drink properly,” he says, lining up teacups. lilineup of teacups. “No milk, no sugar—not for this exercise.”

He demonstrates professional tasting techniques — the loud slurp that sprays tea across all taste receptors, the thoughtful consideration of mouthfeel, the evaluation of astringency and sweetness. Under his guidance, I discover subtle differences between teas grown merely kilometres apart but at different elevations.

Beyond commercial varieties, Bernard shares his passion projects — __ artisanal blends he creates as a hobby. “This one,” he whispers conspiratorially while offering a particularly fragrant cup, “would sell for a fortune in Tokyo. But I make it just for friends.”

By this point, I consider myself among those friends. Bernard’s warmth has that effect, breaking down barriers between stranger and friend in the time it takes to steep a perfect cup. 

As our session ends and lunch beckons, I remember I wanted a photo with this remarkable character. Before I can ask again, he calls across the room:

“Hey, you! You wanted a picture with me, no?”

The resulting photo captures neither his boundless energy nor his encyclopaedic knowledge. But it does show two people smiling widely –– one who’s found his perfect calling as tea’s most entertaining ambassador, and one who’ll never drink a cup of Ceylon tea again without hearing his booming laugh.