Spend an afternoon appreciating Ceylon tea in Central Sri Lanka, served with a side of humour by tea ambassador Bernard Holsinger

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, near Hatton, wiping off tears of mirth 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 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 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!”

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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 kilometres per hour!”

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

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?”

A Taste from 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, 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.

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.”

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!”

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 an entertainer to a mentor.  “Now we drink properly,” he says, lining up 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 says, as he offers a particularly fragrant cup, “would sell for a fortune in Tokyo. But I make it just for friends.”

As our session ends and lunch beckons, I remember I wanted a photo with him. 

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 knowledge. But it does show two people smiling — 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.