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Baikokur, Day 3...
Jun. 2nd, 2003 03:08 pm...I think. All that travel last week, coupled with the understanding that there are no days off (or at least no scheduled days off) during these final days of the launch campaign, has tended to make me lose track of time. I'm currently the "on call" interpreter, and am at the hotel, in my room, with some time to spare.
Yesterday evening, dinner turned into an unplanned evening outdoor picnic. The French team started by assembling around one of the tables outside the front of the hotel and mixing generous slugs of anise-flavored liquor with mint liqueur and water (there is a name for this cocktail, but it escapes me at the moment). Depending on how much water is added, the drink either has a bright green appearance (if there's little water) or a cloudy green shade otherwise.
As folks clinked glasses, I could not help but think of Robert Service's miner "fresh from the creeks" in the ballad of The Shooting of Dan McGrew, who sat alone and "watered the green stuff in his glass" (a reference to the consumption of absynthe, which is derived from wormwood and is illegal in most places) as he likely contemplated vengeance and murder. Those sentiments were undoubtedly furthest from the fore in the minds of the people out in front of the hotel last night.
Anyway, the gang soon started cooking meat on the huge, industrial-sized grill out front, and before you knew it, the kitchen staff started bringing out the food they'd prepared, and everyone started to sit around the tables as only Europeans know how to do. Seating was a bit skimpy, and I ended up on a flimsy plastic chair that gave way under me, providing momentary entertainment for the assemblage as I tried (unsuccessfully) to recover my balance, ending up plowed into some shrubbery. I was lucky, I suppose, not to get impaled by something inanimate or bit by something animate, and the only thing hurt in the process was my ego, a little.
Other than my incredible demonstration of how to properly roll to break a fall (note the positive spin), the evening passed quietly, for the most part. As two neighborhood dogs passed by, the larger of the two (a dog that looked like a St. Bernard) suddenly mounted the other (a golden retriever) to the amused and boisterous approval of the French team in particular. Shouts of encouragement could probably be heard over at the site where the rocket was being guarded by the military, about a mile away.
Earlier in the evening, as I climbed out of the van from the work area, I was asked to come along with a small group that was departing to check the battery box (about which I've written earlier), which I did. (After all, it's not as if I'm going to go on liberty or anything, right?)
We were met at the site by a Pinkerton guard, who took along a spare respirator for me as our small group headed off to the railroad siding where the rocket lay on its transporter and connected to the air-conditioning railcar (and, naturally, the battery box).
If the Proton was impressive from the "top," the view of the "bottom" of the rocket is no less impressive. The engine bells - pointing in unison at some far destination - sort of gleamed in the sunset, but since the vehicle was now under the jurisdiction of the military, I was told that unlimbering my camera was almost guaranteed to be a Bad Idea™.
After most of the food was gone and the wine bottles emptied (both California and Provence wines were represented), someone broke out a guitar and folks started strumming and singing. The French program system manager turns out to be an excellent guitarist and singer, and Galina V., with whom both Olga and I work on the interpretation side of things, is top notch, too, and her voice reminds me a bit of the tracks I'd listened to of Edith Piaf a little while ago. Out of consideration for the sanity of my workmates, I passed when the instrument was offered to me.
There was lightning during the night, and I halfway expected the radio net to erupt with activity, but apparently whatever needed to be done got done without a lot of fuss. If it weren't for the lightning, I am positive I would have slept through the night without waking, as I had the previous two nights (though in both cases, I managed to quickly get back to sleep).
My assignment today was pretty straightforward. I worked the morning status meeting and did a couple of translations before returning to the hotel. It turns out there is a bus that will depart the hotel around 9:15 tonight to head on over to the Mars Express launch, and that getting there will take a couple of hours, to clear all of the range safety roadblocks. I plan to get some shuteye on the way there, because once we get back (around 1 am, it is said), I'll have only 4 hours or so before I have to report to the vehicle for its rollout and operations that will take it (along with me) to the launch pad.
I'm looking forward to this.
Cheers...
Yesterday evening, dinner turned into an unplanned evening outdoor picnic. The French team started by assembling around one of the tables outside the front of the hotel and mixing generous slugs of anise-flavored liquor with mint liqueur and water (there is a name for this cocktail, but it escapes me at the moment). Depending on how much water is added, the drink either has a bright green appearance (if there's little water) or a cloudy green shade otherwise.
As folks clinked glasses, I could not help but think of Robert Service's miner "fresh from the creeks" in the ballad of The Shooting of Dan McGrew, who sat alone and "watered the green stuff in his glass" (a reference to the consumption of absynthe, which is derived from wormwood and is illegal in most places) as he likely contemplated vengeance and murder. Those sentiments were undoubtedly furthest from the fore in the minds of the people out in front of the hotel last night.
Anyway, the gang soon started cooking meat on the huge, industrial-sized grill out front, and before you knew it, the kitchen staff started bringing out the food they'd prepared, and everyone started to sit around the tables as only Europeans know how to do. Seating was a bit skimpy, and I ended up on a flimsy plastic chair that gave way under me, providing momentary entertainment for the assemblage as I tried (unsuccessfully) to recover my balance, ending up plowed into some shrubbery. I was lucky, I suppose, not to get impaled by something inanimate or bit by something animate, and the only thing hurt in the process was my ego, a little.
Other than my incredible demonstration of how to properly roll to break a fall (note the positive spin), the evening passed quietly, for the most part. As two neighborhood dogs passed by, the larger of the two (a dog that looked like a St. Bernard) suddenly mounted the other (a golden retriever) to the amused and boisterous approval of the French team in particular. Shouts of encouragement could probably be heard over at the site where the rocket was being guarded by the military, about a mile away.
Earlier in the evening, as I climbed out of the van from the work area, I was asked to come along with a small group that was departing to check the battery box (about which I've written earlier), which I did. (After all, it's not as if I'm going to go on liberty or anything, right?)
We were met at the site by a Pinkerton guard, who took along a spare respirator for me as our small group headed off to the railroad siding where the rocket lay on its transporter and connected to the air-conditioning railcar (and, naturally, the battery box).
If the Proton was impressive from the "top," the view of the "bottom" of the rocket is no less impressive. The engine bells - pointing in unison at some far destination - sort of gleamed in the sunset, but since the vehicle was now under the jurisdiction of the military, I was told that unlimbering my camera was almost guaranteed to be a Bad Idea™.
After most of the food was gone and the wine bottles emptied (both California and Provence wines were represented), someone broke out a guitar and folks started strumming and singing. The French program system manager turns out to be an excellent guitarist and singer, and Galina V., with whom both Olga and I work on the interpretation side of things, is top notch, too, and her voice reminds me a bit of the tracks I'd listened to of Edith Piaf a little while ago. Out of consideration for the sanity of my workmates, I passed when the instrument was offered to me.
There was lightning during the night, and I halfway expected the radio net to erupt with activity, but apparently whatever needed to be done got done without a lot of fuss. If it weren't for the lightning, I am positive I would have slept through the night without waking, as I had the previous two nights (though in both cases, I managed to quickly get back to sleep).
My assignment today was pretty straightforward. I worked the morning status meeting and did a couple of translations before returning to the hotel. It turns out there is a bus that will depart the hotel around 9:15 tonight to head on over to the Mars Express launch, and that getting there will take a couple of hours, to clear all of the range safety roadblocks. I plan to get some shuteye on the way there, because once we get back (around 1 am, it is said), I'll have only 4 hours or so before I have to report to the vehicle for its rollout and operations that will take it (along with me) to the launch pad.
I'm looking forward to this.
Cheers...
