From CEO to Space Tourist

There were many tests, each one harder and harder. I learned how to don and doff my spacesuit even while wearing a gas mask against fire. I spent two hours motionless in the suit in a vacuum chamber. I was spun around in a giant centrifuge to experience the G-loads of the rocket. I was flown in a transport plane to exercise in a state of weightlessness.

Finally, launch day arrived: April 7, 2007. My Russian crewmates and I met with our families—speaking through glass, since we were in quarantine (lest we carry some bugs to the space station). The launch preparation itself is full of traditions: for example, before we climbed the stairs to the elevator, the chief designer himself kicked us firmly in the behind to get us going. Once ensconced in the capsule, we could feel a powerful quiet and peace, which ended with the rumble of the launch. In just eight minutes we were in orbit, weightless.

The window blinds remained drawn for the first few hours: just seeing the Earth go by below could make us sick. But my training worked well. I did not get spacesick at all: any unease I felt reminded me of the chair and how I could tolerate it.

The arrival to the space station at sunset, when the most incredible colors appear, was the high point of my trip. Framed by the empty blackness of the sky and the brilliant blue of Earth, the first permanently settled outpost of humanity in space is an incredible view—at once unexpected and inviting.

Working in space for the next two weeks and watching the Earth from that vantage point filled me with a new sense of hope and pride. From our low orbit, the Earth looked like the most beautiful blue sky I have ever seen—it is big, it is peaceful and it is adorned with white clouds. Traveling around the globe over the years, I have seen many beautiful places. But only as a space tourist did I discover just how beautiful the world truly is.

© 2007