Sandry Law

Before an event listing goes live, before a host prints their tasting notes, the teas are already chosen — often by Sandry Law, who has spent the past ten years working directly with Yunnan’s smallholder farmers and family workshops. As Head of Procurement for Teamotea, they bridge the gap between the mountain roads of Fengqing, the wholesale halls of Kunming’s tea markets, and the cups that eventually reach tea.events participants.

Sandry’s role in this community is to make sure that any sold-out cupping, any vendor pop-up, and any festival booth stocked through our platform carries material that is traceable, clean, and expressive of its origin. Their deep familiarity with Yunnan’s micro-terroirs — from the bitter-almond bite of a high-elevation Shēng Pǔ'ěr (生普洱) cake pressed in Lincang to the honeyed top notes of a Yě Shēng Hóng Chá (野生红茶) from the Ailao mountains — means event hosts can trust that the teas on the table have been selected with rigour.

On *tea.school, Sandry teaches a concise module on procurement fundamentals for event organisers, covering seasonal harvest windows, logistic pitfalls, and how to build direct relationships without getting lost in translation. Their sourcing trips, often tracked on tea.travel, have become quiet masterclasses in their own right: a visit to a Wò Duī (渥堆) fermentation workshop in Menghai, a morning cupping in a Jingmai village, a meeting with a sixth-generation black-tea maker in Fengqing. These same lots frequently appear later on shop.puerh.app as event kits, allowing hosts to offer genuine single-origin experiences without the guesswork.

At tea.events, Sandry spearheads the vendor-pop-up cohort, curating a rotating cast of artisans and small brands who set up tasting tables, share fresh harvests, and connect directly with the community. In the thread Pricing events fairly — what we’ve learned, they unpack real cost structures, from máo chá* (毛茶) farm-gate prices to fair compensation for the tea makers who rarely appear on the ticket stub. It’s this kind of transparency — unglamorous, precise — that keeps the whole constellation grounded, a long way from the commodity floor and firmly in the hands of the people who grow the leaves.