Atlantis Flies

Cape Kennedy, Florida
July 12, 2001

The shuttle Atlantis, lifts off on STS-104.

"Ten nine eight seven six five four...main engine ignition..."

The pale white shuttle gleamed under orange strobes as sparklers burnt off any excess gas under the engines.

At five miles distance, the spacecraft, with its white booster rockets and orange fuel tank, looked like a child's toy sitting alongside a erector set.

A voluminous billowing of grey-white smoke, glowing orange in places, rose up and swallowed the scene.

"three two one...we have LIFTOFF!"

Scattered clapping around me, one collective intake of breath as the black-pointed nose poked out from the cotton balls of smoke. Rising in slow motion, upon a pillar of orange white flame, the Atlantis stretched away from the launch pad, surging up on a single white leg of fire and smoke. I dropped my binoculars and took in the brilliant fireball rising into the early morning sky. Thin cirrus clouds glowed incandescent, pulsing like a fluorescent light being turned on; the horizon shone and long shadows danced across the water.

Yet the night remained otherwise silent, un-breathing, unmoving; like a dreamy vision.

Suddenly, a thunderous boom swept across the dark lagoon and grasslands, engulfing the crowd on the causeway. A collective hue and cry rose up, we shouted with exhilaration, joy, and triumph. I heard myself cheering, laughing and crying. Our sounds lost themselves in the rumbling crescendo which shook the air around us.

The detached voice from mission control rattled off key points in the shuttle's escape from our Earthly bonds. A slight orange glow as the booster rockets separated, falling away from the whiter flame of the shuttle engines. Three minutes later, the blue fire shrank to match the remaining night stars, and became lost in the heavens. The Eastern horizon began to glow a lighter blue.

Reflecting on the moment, a common silent hush befell those around me. More than just the 104th mission to space, the heaven-ward gaze into the infinite reminds us of the mystery of our owns lives and the poignant hope embodied in our dreams.

"Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth..
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God."

Cuba Libre

Havana, Cuba
July 4, 2001

I arrived illegally in the country that is a declared enemy of the US on our own independence day. How fitting. I must have fallen a long way from leading Marines in Desert Storm!

That being said, the Cubans I met seem to love Americans and most cannot understand the animosity for Castro. I see classic 1955 Chevy´s plying the roads here, reminiscent of American Graffitti, as well as a time of friendship with the United States.

Walking the Mercado in Havana, which runs along the waterfront, the place can easily be mistaken for Bombay. Run down buildings interspersed with outdoor cafes under fluorescent lights adjoin lovely restored buildings in warm pastels. Young couples strolling arm in arm complete the scene.

Ambling through La Habana Vieja, the historical district of the city, transports one right back to Spain, with Barcelon-esque alleys and pedestrian Prados opening up to a hidden square facing a cathedral, lit softly by orange lights in the bell towers. Underneath, short palm trees set off a section of umbrellas like a sprouting off mushrooms in the moist shelter of a tree. Here, revelers sit to the evening breeze, drinking Mojitos and Cristal, the local Cuban brew. Salsa music plays in the background.

Regal hotels rise alongside billboards proclaiming the revolution with a portrait of Che, as he is know here, sans last nombre. Cuba presents a mixture of modern culture, with jazz clubs and partying youths; set alongside the tributes to revolutionaries, whose time seems to have passed, but whose legacies loom large.