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Work spike...
Sep. 3rd, 2005 11:36 pmToday was a fairly quiet day, despite the fact that there were things for me to do and say as the on-call guy (mostly relaying information about the start and completion of fuel loading operations). Fuel loading is a hazardous operation that requires all non-essential personnel (basically everyone except the Pinkerton guards and the safety engineer) to quit the полтинник, so I set up shop in my room at the Fili. I caught up on some finer points of Russian grammar while waiting for word that operations were complete for the day.
At 5 pm, a mix of music professionals (teachers, mostly) and amateurs (students, mostly) put on a show in the auditorium of the Proton Club. The turnout was lighter than I expected; I suppose many people - especially members of the French team - figured they'd have more fun at the Luna in town tonight (the bus gets back at 4 am!).
The program resembled the show that was put on during the Intelsat 10-02 campaign, but there were not as many performers. However, there was more than enough enthsiasm to go around!
I kept my camera pretty much buttoned up to the end of the show, when the performers took a curtain call on stage. It was quite a sight!
I tagged along with some of the managers as they made their way to the front of the auditorium to mingle with the performers on stage and give out some souvenirs of the occasion (pins, mostly). Obviously, there was a chance to see the performers up close - including one young man who was quite adept at picking the strings on an instrument that reminds me - in terms of sound - of a banjo (roughly like saying that cognac reminds one of whiskey).
Afterward, the managers and Vladimir and I gathered with our hosts for an opportunity to toast each other and, of course, drink. For me, the highlight of this event was the invitation of partake of shubat, which is fermented camel milk.
Most people would automatically pass on trying something so exotic (from an American perspective), but most of the time such decisions are based on incorrect assumptions. (If you think milk from a camel is disgusting, then how can you justify drinking milk from a cow?) A long time ago, when I first had an opportunity to travel abroad, I decided that - barring obvious aberrant behavior - I would consume anything my hosts consumed and avoid making disparaging remarks about the food if it was not to my taste. (Hey, if you don't like it, you don't like it, and there's no sin in not finishing your first helping.)
On the other hand, there are times you can get in trouble by not accepting a second helping. In many cultures - Russian and Kazakh for sure - finishing what is on your plate or in your glass is an unspoken sign to your host that you are still hungry or thirsty; it will get you a second helping. (Finishing your second will get you a third, and it's useless of argue!) In the end, tonight I accepted a second glass of shubat, as I had drained my first glass, which prompted our hospitable hosts to refill my glass as a matter of course. Fortunately, I did not find the shubat to be objectionable at all - it tasted like lightly carbonated buttermilk - though I am not sure I would go terribly far out of my way to deliberately seek it out as a refreshment.
Speaking of hospitality, early in the proceedings the honcho on the Kazakh side made a point of going around to each table in the room (about a dozen, each with 3 chairs), where he touched glasses with everyone and then picked sopapilla-looking Kazakh food items from a basket of such items on each table and handed one to each person at the table.
The interpretation was exhausting; by far the most intensive session thus far this campaign. The group finally broke up shortly after 9 pm, when everyone returned to the hotel, where dinner had been held for us.
I'm very happy to note that a really neat side effect of having a Moscow cell phone number here in Baikonur is that I really no longer have to rely on Skype (not so good over dialup) or factors beyond my control (lines home are busy 90+% of the time, when they are working at all) to talk with Galina: She can call me on my cell phone. What's even better, incoming calls are free!
Gotta get to bed. I've a van to catch at 9 am.
Cheers...
At 5 pm, a mix of music professionals (teachers, mostly) and amateurs (students, mostly) put on a show in the auditorium of the Proton Club. The turnout was lighter than I expected; I suppose many people - especially members of the French team - figured they'd have more fun at the Luna in town tonight (the bus gets back at 4 am!).
The program resembled the show that was put on during the Intelsat 10-02 campaign, but there were not as many performers. However, there was more than enough enthsiasm to go around!
I kept my camera pretty much buttoned up to the end of the show, when the performers took a curtain call on stage. It was quite a sight!
I tagged along with some of the managers as they made their way to the front of the auditorium to mingle with the performers on stage and give out some souvenirs of the occasion (pins, mostly). Obviously, there was a chance to see the performers up close - including one young man who was quite adept at picking the strings on an instrument that reminds me - in terms of sound - of a banjo (roughly like saying that cognac reminds one of whiskey).
Afterward, the managers and Vladimir and I gathered with our hosts for an opportunity to toast each other and, of course, drink. For me, the highlight of this event was the invitation of partake of shubat, which is fermented camel milk.
Most people would automatically pass on trying something so exotic (from an American perspective), but most of the time such decisions are based on incorrect assumptions. (If you think milk from a camel is disgusting, then how can you justify drinking milk from a cow?) A long time ago, when I first had an opportunity to travel abroad, I decided that - barring obvious aberrant behavior - I would consume anything my hosts consumed and avoid making disparaging remarks about the food if it was not to my taste. (Hey, if you don't like it, you don't like it, and there's no sin in not finishing your first helping.)
On the other hand, there are times you can get in trouble by not accepting a second helping. In many cultures - Russian and Kazakh for sure - finishing what is on your plate or in your glass is an unspoken sign to your host that you are still hungry or thirsty; it will get you a second helping. (Finishing your second will get you a third, and it's useless of argue!) In the end, tonight I accepted a second glass of shubat, as I had drained my first glass, which prompted our hospitable hosts to refill my glass as a matter of course. Fortunately, I did not find the shubat to be objectionable at all - it tasted like lightly carbonated buttermilk - though I am not sure I would go terribly far out of my way to deliberately seek it out as a refreshment.
Speaking of hospitality, early in the proceedings the honcho on the Kazakh side made a point of going around to each table in the room (about a dozen, each with 3 chairs), where he touched glasses with everyone and then picked sopapilla-looking Kazakh food items from a basket of such items on each table and handed one to each person at the table.
The interpretation was exhausting; by far the most intensive session thus far this campaign. The group finally broke up shortly after 9 pm, when everyone returned to the hotel, where dinner had been held for us.
I'm very happy to note that a really neat side effect of having a Moscow cell phone number here in Baikonur is that I really no longer have to rely on Skype (not so good over dialup) or factors beyond my control (lines home are busy 90+% of the time, when they are working at all) to talk with Galina: She can call me on my cell phone. What's even better, incoming calls are free!
Gotta get to bed. I've a van to catch at 9 am.
Cheers...
