ABSTRACT
Looking down from aboard an aircraft, the hydrological landscape of the arctic tundra unfolds into an endless web of meandering creeks, with clusters of deep blue lakes dotting the luscious bedspread of mosses and grasses. In wintertime, bodies of fresh water are discernable by a smoother cover and hues that are slightly more saturated, offset by the blinding whiteness of the spectacular mountainous terrain. While aesthetically energizing, the landscape is arduous physically, especially for a walker who happens to be hauling load of water or ice. Yet, for many residents of contemporary Bering Strait villages, even those living in homes with tap water, hauling water or ice from a local source remains an everyday chore. Why? In Chukotka, the farthest northeast domain of Russia, this question will likely inspire affectionate comments about drinking tea. In the neighboring Alaska people may mention that water from certain sources makes better tasting coffee. On the Russian and American sides of Bering Strait, tea and coffee offer a way of comforting, celebrating, and welcoming. For many, these customs also serve to foster the relationships with local springs, ponds, creeks, rivers, and lakes. In the post-Soviet period, the paramount preference of either tea or coffee has also become a national identity marker for Chukotkans and Alaskans. The amounts of coffee and tea consumed by the United States and Soviet or Russian nationals, respectively, appear to be mutually bewildering for the residents of the two sides of the Bering Strait.
