Long before tea arrived, the Ottoman Empire had already perfected the art of hospitality, but instead of teahouses, coffeehouses were the gathering places of poets, politicians, and philosophers, where conversations stretched as long as the smoke from a nargile pipe. Yet in the early 20th century, as the new Republic of Turkey – founded by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk in 1923 – sought to build its own identity, coffee became expensive. Tea, by contrast, was affordable, adaptable, and soon found fertile soil in Rize, a city on the Black Sea where climate gave life to endless rows of tea bushes. By mid-century, tea was no longer a substitute — it was the nation’s drink and integrated into every layer of Turkish life.
Although Rize currently produces almost 5% of the world’s tea, with 95% of it staying in Turkey, it has not always been so. Tea first reached the Ottomans via the Silk Route from China, and its cultivation began under the reign of Sultan Abdülhamid II. It was first grown in Artvin but after it became profitable, taxes were soon levied on tea. After mounting complaints from farmers, the governor of Trabzon – the region where tea continues to thrive today– eliminated the taxes. Several plantations were established in Erzurum, Ankara, Bursa and even Istanbul, but none succeeded due to the climate. The Eastern Black Sea region, however, offered ideal soil for tea agriculture. Large-scale production began with seeds brought from Georgia, giving rise to Turkey’s most famous tea-growing area, Rize. Nearby towns were renamed to Çayeli and Çaykara emphasizing the importance of this new industry and tea quickly entered Turkish folk songs, riddles, sayings and literature.
No matter where one goes in Turkey, tea seems to follow the same rhythm as the people. In the morning, it steams beside fresh bread and olives, at midday, it marks work breaks, and in the evening, it gathers friends and families around the table. From the hills of Rize to the cafés of Izmir, from a bustling street in Istanbul to a quiet Anatolian village, the ritual remains the same—a glass of red çay, poured fresh, sipped slowly. Everyone drinks tea including students studying late, shopkeepers chatting between customers as well as men playing backgammon in teahouses. The preparation of tea connects the whole country; children grow up watching how their grandparents master the art of çay making. Turkish tea is born from a dance of two teapots—the çaydanlık. It is a cousin of the samovar with two vessels stacked one on top of the other, working in quiet harmony. In the lower pot water boils, in the upper, loose black tea leaves wait patiently. A little boiling water is poured over the leaves, and then time takes over—ten, fifteen minutes, or longer—until the brew turns rich and aromatic. From this small ritual comes a beautiful freedom where each drinker decides their strength, adding hot water for a lighter taste or pouring it dark and strong, as tradition prefers.
As much as tea is a unifier, it also shows Turkey’s regional diversity. The Black Sea region – Karadeniz, as the Turks like to call it – is the home of nearly all Turkish tea, thus locals take their çay strong and fresh, and tea is brewed constantly in most households in case of guests. In this region, conversations over tea often center around the tea: discussions on brewing time and tea plantations are constant signs of their regional pride. In Turkey’s largest and most vibrant city, Istanbul, tea is a part of urban life and public rhythm. It is drunk on ferries, from street vendors, and in bazaars, but one thing is common – in Istanbul tea is mobile and casual, balancing between old teahouses and sleek cafés, both giving space for generations to mix and exchange ideas. In Central Anatolia, including the nation’s capital, Ankara, tea is strong and unsweetened, giving a perfect background for decision-making and negotiations as tea is ritualized in official life reflecting Anatolia’s calm rhythm. In Eastern Anatolia – Erzurum and Van – tea is very strong and hot, locals prefer the so called kıtlama style, where a small piece of sugar held between the teeth while drinking the tea. Here,offering tea for guests has a deeper layer of social interaction as it provides literal and emotional protection against the cold winter. On the Mediterranean coast weather is light and enjoyable, thus tea is drunk more leisurely in open-air cafés and locals also prefer lighter brews. Finally, in Southeast Turkey tea accompanies rich culinary traditions and is served with sweets after meals as this region is home to Turkey’s most famous foods like baklava, lahmacun and even çiğ köfte. Tea is deeply tied in respect thus elders are always served first.
Even in modern Turkey, where coffee shops have multiplied and city life rushes forward, tea has held its ground, and Turkey remains one of the biggest tea consumers per capita. Çaykur, the country’s national tea company secured the market by guaranteeing a selling option to the farmers. Of course, there are still numerous family businesses with own practices but in general, nationalizing the tea industry not only helped to regulate prices and investments but also created new workplaces in tea production, retail, and logistics. Turkey also exports a large amount of tea to 93 countries, primarily to countries with large a Turkish diaspora like Germany. Çaykur offers several options for packed tea leaves but also has a tea bag selection offering black and green variants. Both are produced from Camellia Sinensis, but fermentation determines whether it is black or green.
Even today, tea is still the first act of Turkish hospitality, but there is an unspoken etiquette: first, it is always offered to guest, second, it is bottomless, poured again and again before you can finish your glass. In restaurants, endless tea is often comes after the meal, but you can easily find cay in very unexpected places and in very strange times: once while searching for fruit late at night, I found myself on the balcony of an old fruit seller, drinking tea and chatting. She could not give me apples I came for, but she would not let me leave empty-handed. Instead of my bag, she filled my heart with love through tea.
Perhaps this is why Turkish Tea never feels like a simple drink. The clinking of tulip-shaped glasses, the fog of steam, the soft pause after a sip — these sounds and silences echo from the ferries of Istanbul to the quiet kitchens of Kayseri in Central Anatolia. Each glass holds not only tea but time itself, for an empty tea glass is never just about thirst, it is a quiet invitation to linger a little longer. Although Turkey has transformed from empire to republic, and from past to present, çay has remained a constant in an ever-changing land.
