Yerba Maté

I am doing a ritual that has now become a daily morning routine. While the water is warming on the stove, I pour loose yerba into a gourd, cover the top with my hand, turn the gourd upside down and gently shake it several times. The goal is to bring to the surface the polvo (powder). Then I pour a little bit of cold water on one side, not too much, just enough to soak the leaves and keep the other side dry. As an old man said to me once: “You are not simply pouring water, you are feeding the yerba so that it can breathe.” Just before the kettle sings and the water boils, I turn off the stove. I take the kettle and delicately tilt it until water starts pouring out and into the gourd. It is imperative not to use boiling water when preparing maté. Too hot and the leaves will burn, too cold and they will shrivel. You want the water to be just hot enough so it induces the precious leaves to release their elixir.

According to the Guarani legend, the goddesses of the moon and the cloud came to Earth one day to visit, but they instead found a yaguareté (a jaguar) that was going to attack them. An old man saved them, and, in compensation, the goddesses gave the old man a new kind of plant from which he could prepare a “drink of friendship.”

Maté is more than a drink. Comparing it to tea or coffee would be a huge understatement; it would be an insult. It is more like wine; it is a lifestyle. One that says time and relationships matter; one that says speed and singularity are not a priority. It is a ritual that invites sharing and trust, a reminder from Indigenous cultures, passing the pipe around as a sign of welcome and humility. It is a ceremony that invites strangers and solidifies friendships. When offered to you, it is the deepest and most sincere gesture of hospitality.

Taking a deep breath, I let the woody, toasty aroma fill my nose. A strong yet delicate fragrance, with a hint of fresh grass, tinged with roasted nuts. My memory neurons automatically recognize the scent and send my mind back in time, to that place in the jungle, where the soil is red and the trees are tall and green. Where the monkeys howl and the jaguar roams stealthily – the birthplace of yerba maté, the land of the Guarani people. Sipping on the bombilla, I bring the water to my lips, my taste buds delightfully connecting with the ancestral tea. Its potent tonic spreads through my bloodstream and invades my body, charging my senses.

Drinking maté connects me to an old ritual that was born from a culture that believes nature is something bigger than it. Today, living in a world of convenience and technology, I need these moments to remind myself of things that truly matter: friendship, hospitality, taking the time to be in the moment and cherishing the simplest things.