
The Island Four
Everything we bottled this season: both tins and both loose-leaf pouches. This is the one I keep at home.

I bring four teas from São Miguel to Dubai. Picked by hand, never sprayed, one harvest at a time.
Nine islands in the middle of the Atlantic, 1,500 km from Lisbon. São Miguel is the largest, and the only one with tea.

North-facing terraces on volcanic soil. Cloud sits on the rows until about eleven most mornings.

Too far out, too humid year-round: the pests that attack tea elsewhere never established here. There is nothing to spray for.

April to October, two leaves and a bud. Nothing is taken in the wet half of the year.

Sealed at origin, flown in small runs. We hold one season, then we sell out.

Which is where Faty would tell you to stop reading and put the water on.

I asked for a seal you can feel under your thumb. The metal is matte rather than glossy, and the gold band is only thin enough to catch late afternoon light.

One tea tells you one thing. Two or four tell you what the island does — and cost less than buying them apart.

Everything we bottled this season: both tins and both loose-leaf pouches. This is the one I keep at home.




Choose a plan, choose your teas, choose monthly or every two months. Pause, skip, swap or cancel in one click from your account — no email, no phone call, no retention offer.
She is from the island. I visit almost every year, and I live in Dubai now. I used to come back with two tins in my luggage; people would ask where they could buy it, and I had no answer.
This brand is the answer. It is not a marketing idea — it is a way for something of hers to exist where I am.
The island, and her

The thing that makes the tea difficult to grow is the same thing that makes it taste like this.

No timer, no thermometer, and better than mine every time.

What it takes to move a small harvest six thousand kilometres without ruining it.