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Catching up...
Sep. 10th, 2005 08:54 pmSoon after my post on Thursday, I climbed into the bus for the trip out to the pad for an event that has become something of a tradition since my first campaign a couple of years ago: blessing the rocket. (For all I know, it may have been a tradition even then; I'm just going on what people tell me.)
It may seem a little strange, in this modern day and age, that scientists and engineers would call upon a priest, from the Russian Orthodox church in town, to come read a short service before the rocket; then again, perhaps not. Quite a number of our Russian colleagues wear crosses around their necks, and I doubt it is for the purpose of decoration, as many of them are quite plain.
As the priest prayed, our group of Russians, French, Canadians, and Americans stood quietly behind him, as if in church. Many of the Russians genuflected at appropriate points in the service, including one uniformed army major.
At the end of the service, the priest took a chalice of holy water and blessed the rocket (see the photo above). Afterwards, he went among those present and blessed each person individually with a good drenching.
After this ceremony, I was off to Yubileiniy airport to help greet an airplane of VIPs arriving for the launch. A fairly aggressive (read: impossible) schedule had been set up for them, which started off with them arriving on time, at which point we were already behind.
We did some on-the-fly rearrangement of the schedule that kept the main events, albeit in a somewhat different order. From the airport, the group went directly to the launch pad to view the Proton cocooned inside the mobile service tower. After having their pictures taken, the bus zoomed down the highway to 92A-50 for a quick tour of hall 101, where the satellite was integrated into the space head unit, and hall 111, where the launch vehicle was processed.
From the полтинник, the bus followed Col. G's car to the Gagarin launch pad, where a Proton cargo vehicle sat in readiness atop a Soyuz launch vehicle that was scheduled to launch at 7:05 pm local time. We arrived about an hour early, in time to partake of snacks flown in with the VIPs and to watch a bunch of people arrive, including a couple of busloads of singing kids.
The viewing site was the same as for the Progress launch during the Intelsat 10-02 campaign (in other words, close to the rocket). Right on time, the umbilical disconnected and fell away from the Soyuz, and in a few seconds, there was a puff of smoke and a faint rumble from the direction of the rocket. And then, for the fourth time during this campaign, I watched a graceful cylindrical machine start its climb out of the planet's gravity well:
We were so close, I could feel my body vibrating from the sound of the rocket's engines. The Soyuz climbed straight up for a while before executing its pitch maneuver to allow the engines to not only lift it above the earth, but to accelerate it into orbit - an endless fall, if you will - around the planet, with the ultimate goal of delivering food and other supplies to the crew of the International Space Station.
Our bus got back just in time for me to transfer to another bus, which was taking participants to the session of the State Commission that would give the final "go" for fueling. I did my usual simultaneous whispering while a number of managers reported on their readiness for the launch and interpreted for our speakers when their turn came to appear. The proceedings went smoothly, and the Commission gave its nod.
By now, I had put in a 14 hour day and had less than 4 hours until my next assignment: reporting to the 4th floor of the Polyot hotel, where the audio-visual guys had set up a makeshift studio (and where I had shoehorned a voiceover session earlier in the day, between the rocket blessing and departure for the airport to meet the VIPs).
I went back to my room at the Fili and slept for 2-1/2 hours, then took a shower and reported for work about 2 hours before the launch. In distinction from previous campaigns, we had not received a script for the launch, which details what the official announcer will say at what time during the ascent (e.g., "30 seconds! The flight is proceeding as expected!").
Not having a script was not ruinous, as I have learned that the script changes only slightly from launch to launch. (Also, though having a script makes the interpreter's life easier, you still have to listen to make sure you're following what's being said and not what's supposed to be said.) I finished my edits to the previous script, printed it, and practiced it a couple of times.
A subtle irony of the campaign is that, in distinction from the campaign earlier this year, the pad we're using is not visible from my window at the Polyot, so, after having seen four other launches "live" over the past few weeks, I was reduced to watching this one on a television monitor (though the noise made itself felt, believe me). After my work was done, I checked in with the integration manager downstairs and prepared to leave and get some sleep, with the intention of coming back in about 6 hours to relieve Valery B., who was providing support at the time.
I stopped by the Proton Club on the way back to the Fili, to grab a bite and exchange congratulations with people. While there, I learned that an airplane scheduling snafu had resulted in a number of people, including Valery, being put on a flight that was to leave in just a few hours.
So, I hied myself back to the Polyot and relieved Valery, um, a little earlier than planned and stayed with the SIM until the last data transmittal was made, shortly after 4 pm. In the meantime, I learned that the task of interpreting for the lead table at the post-launch celebration had fallen to me, and that the party was going to start at 7:30 pm. Once the last data had been received (with extremely good results, I am told), I went back to the Fili for another 2-1/2 hours of sleep, and then walked back to the Polyot, where the party was being held.
Owing to the airline snafu and the departure of the VIP charter, it turned out that most of the managers were no longer in Baikonur, which made the job of interpreting easier. There were only two toasts to deal with, after which folks at other tables started proposing their own toasts, which were fielded by my colleagues. One Russian gent had composed a song to commemorate the launch, and a number of the Russians joined in an old-fashioned sing-along as he played his guitar. I am perhaps a poor judge of poetry, but the song touched me. Here is a stanza of the lyrics (followed by a free-form translation).
Later in the evening, the French took a turn a capella, but no American voices were raised in song (which is, sadly, typical of our culture). I left with the acting U.S. manager a little after 10 pm. Overall, I had been up for 40 hours with two short sleep breaks and no regular meals. You know I proceeded to get a good night's sleep.
* * * I spoke to the lead interpreter and the ops manager about getting some time to go to the church in town, as I felt a need to visit and do a little praying. I know I need no church to pray, but I felt I needed to get away from the environment at Area 95 to somewhere quiet, and perhaps listen to what the priest had to say, if he was there.
Everyone was accommodating and I joined a group of people who were going into town anyway for the usual market-and-Palermo jaunt. In addition, my companions got to stand around a while while I visited the church and lit a candle for my mother. The priest was not there, but it was still a comforting experience.
As it turned out, this trip had some additional unique points. Here, we came across a camel grazing literally a yard or two from the highway asphalt, so we stopped to take a picture. As the animal looked directly at us, I wondered whether camels spit while they ate, because this specimen was chewing on an impressive wad of vegetation, and I was really hoping the answer to my question was "no."
I accompanied my colleagues as they walked through the market and was again impressed with all the activity and the abundance of produce. Here, a vendor hawks a pile of gaily colored peppers from the back of a truck. Soon after, we met our escorts and went off to the Arbat for one last pizza at the Palermo. As we got out of the bus, two senior members of the community were sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree and enjoying the world as it went by. A small child played in the sand not far away. 
We didn't go directly to the Palermo, as some there were some items hanging in shop windows that intrigued the folks I was with. Among the places we visited was a bookshop, where my companions bought some guitar and piano music. Myself, I bought a puzzle for Huntür and a book of common pronunciation errors in Russian.
Tomorrow is our last full day in Baikonur. I am slated to support loading of the Antonov, which is supposed to occur around 9 pm. This will be the aircraft that I'll be taking out of here, on my way to Ulyanovsk and an overnight train to Moscow.
I am counting the hours.
Cheers...
It may seem a little strange, in this modern day and age, that scientists and engineers would call upon a priest, from the Russian Orthodox church in town, to come read a short service before the rocket; then again, perhaps not. Quite a number of our Russian colleagues wear crosses around their necks, and I doubt it is for the purpose of decoration, as many of them are quite plain.As the priest prayed, our group of Russians, French, Canadians, and Americans stood quietly behind him, as if in church. Many of the Russians genuflected at appropriate points in the service, including one uniformed army major.
At the end of the service, the priest took a chalice of holy water and blessed the rocket (see the photo above). Afterwards, he went among those present and blessed each person individually with a good drenching.
After this ceremony, I was off to Yubileiniy airport to help greet an airplane of VIPs arriving for the launch. A fairly aggressive (read: impossible) schedule had been set up for them, which started off with them arriving on time, at which point we were already behind.
We did some on-the-fly rearrangement of the schedule that kept the main events, albeit in a somewhat different order. From the airport, the group went directly to the launch pad to view the Proton cocooned inside the mobile service tower. After having their pictures taken, the bus zoomed down the highway to 92A-50 for a quick tour of hall 101, where the satellite was integrated into the space head unit, and hall 111, where the launch vehicle was processed.From the полтинник, the bus followed Col. G's car to the Gagarin launch pad, where a Proton cargo vehicle sat in readiness atop a Soyuz launch vehicle that was scheduled to launch at 7:05 pm local time. We arrived about an hour early, in time to partake of snacks flown in with the VIPs and to watch a bunch of people arrive, including a couple of busloads of singing kids.
The viewing site was the same as for the Progress launch during the Intelsat 10-02 campaign (in other words, close to the rocket). Right on time, the umbilical disconnected and fell away from the Soyuz, and in a few seconds, there was a puff of smoke and a faint rumble from the direction of the rocket. And then, for the fourth time during this campaign, I watched a graceful cylindrical machine start its climb out of the planet's gravity well:
We were so close, I could feel my body vibrating from the sound of the rocket's engines. The Soyuz climbed straight up for a while before executing its pitch maneuver to allow the engines to not only lift it above the earth, but to accelerate it into orbit - an endless fall, if you will - around the planet, with the ultimate goal of delivering food and other supplies to the crew of the International Space Station.
Our bus got back just in time for me to transfer to another bus, which was taking participants to the session of the State Commission that would give the final "go" for fueling. I did my usual simultaneous whispering while a number of managers reported on their readiness for the launch and interpreted for our speakers when their turn came to appear. The proceedings went smoothly, and the Commission gave its nod.
By now, I had put in a 14 hour day and had less than 4 hours until my next assignment: reporting to the 4th floor of the Polyot hotel, where the audio-visual guys had set up a makeshift studio (and where I had shoehorned a voiceover session earlier in the day, between the rocket blessing and departure for the airport to meet the VIPs).
I went back to my room at the Fili and slept for 2-1/2 hours, then took a shower and reported for work about 2 hours before the launch. In distinction from previous campaigns, we had not received a script for the launch, which details what the official announcer will say at what time during the ascent (e.g., "30 seconds! The flight is proceeding as expected!").
Not having a script was not ruinous, as I have learned that the script changes only slightly from launch to launch. (Also, though having a script makes the interpreter's life easier, you still have to listen to make sure you're following what's being said and not what's supposed to be said.) I finished my edits to the previous script, printed it, and practiced it a couple of times.
A subtle irony of the campaign is that, in distinction from the campaign earlier this year, the pad we're using is not visible from my window at the Polyot, so, after having seen four other launches "live" over the past few weeks, I was reduced to watching this one on a television monitor (though the noise made itself felt, believe me). After my work was done, I checked in with the integration manager downstairs and prepared to leave and get some sleep, with the intention of coming back in about 6 hours to relieve Valery B., who was providing support at the time.
I stopped by the Proton Club on the way back to the Fili, to grab a bite and exchange congratulations with people. While there, I learned that an airplane scheduling snafu had resulted in a number of people, including Valery, being put on a flight that was to leave in just a few hours.
So, I hied myself back to the Polyot and relieved Valery, um, a little earlier than planned and stayed with the SIM until the last data transmittal was made, shortly after 4 pm. In the meantime, I learned that the task of interpreting for the lead table at the post-launch celebration had fallen to me, and that the party was going to start at 7:30 pm. Once the last data had been received (with extremely good results, I am told), I went back to the Fili for another 2-1/2 hours of sleep, and then walked back to the Polyot, where the party was being held.
Owing to the airline snafu and the departure of the VIP charter, it turned out that most of the managers were no longer in Baikonur, which made the job of interpreting easier. There were only two toasts to deal with, after which folks at other tables started proposing their own toasts, which were fielded by my colleagues. One Russian gent had composed a song to commemorate the launch, and a number of the Russians joined in an old-fashioned sing-along as he played his guitar. I am perhaps a poor judge of poetry, but the song touched me. Here is a stanza of the lyrics (followed by a free-form translation).
Стартовые дни на полигоне.Believe me, it sounds better in Russian. At any rate, the fellow continued to play the instrument afterward, too, and the photo below shows a happy group of Russians singing around a table.
Тень от ферм ложится на бетон.
А народу - как на стадионе.
Люди ждут, когда взлетит "Протон".
Здесь ребята с разных точек Мира
Создают космический полет,
И миниятюрная Эльвира
Каски им на старте выдает.
Launch days at the pad.
Tower shade falls on the concrete.
And a stadium-like crowd.
People await the launch of the Proton.
Here, folks from many places in the World
Are engineering a flight into space,
While a miniature Elvira
Hands out hardhats at the pad.
Later in the evening, the French took a turn a capella, but no American voices were raised in song (which is, sadly, typical of our culture). I left with the acting U.S. manager a little after 10 pm. Overall, I had been up for 40 hours with two short sleep breaks and no regular meals. You know I proceeded to get a good night's sleep.
Everyone was accommodating and I joined a group of people who were going into town anyway for the usual market-and-Palermo jaunt. In addition, my companions got to stand around a while while I visited the church and lit a candle for my mother. The priest was not there, but it was still a comforting experience.
As it turned out, this trip had some additional unique points. Here, we came across a camel grazing literally a yard or two from the highway asphalt, so we stopped to take a picture. As the animal looked directly at us, I wondered whether camels spit while they ate, because this specimen was chewing on an impressive wad of vegetation, and I was really hoping the answer to my question was "no."I accompanied my colleagues as they walked through the market and was again impressed with all the activity and the abundance of produce. Here, a vendor hawks a pile of gaily colored peppers from the back of a truck. Soon after, we met our escorts and went off to the Arbat for one last pizza at the Palermo. As we got out of the bus, two senior members of the community were sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree and enjoying the world as it went by. A small child played in the sand not far away. We didn't go directly to the Palermo, as some there were some items hanging in shop windows that intrigued the folks I was with. Among the places we visited was a bookshop, where my companions bought some guitar and piano music. Myself, I bought a puzzle for Huntür and a book of common pronunciation errors in Russian.Tomorrow is our last full day in Baikonur. I am slated to support loading of the Antonov, which is supposed to occur around 9 pm. This will be the aircraft that I'll be taking out of here, on my way to Ulyanovsk and an overnight train to Moscow.
I am counting the hours.
Cheers...
