I’m watching the sunrise today — what beauty! The Sun is still below the horizon, but suddenly a blue sword cuts across the Earth, and a smooth azure arc spreads ahead of the sunrise, and then, as the Sun appears, molten copper runs across the clouds — its heat has licked the sleeping Earth. The station’s solar panels ignite with gold, and the darkness, like a coverlet, starts being pulled off the Earth, while to meet it, beyond the orange layer that seems to chase the night, the bright white light of day rises.

At ten in the evening we talked with the guys from the team that had climbed Everest. I know many of them; before the flight they came to my home, and we had a good talk over a cup of tea, so now I spoke with them like old acquaintances. The meeting was hosted by my old friend Yuri Senkevich. Our first question: “What did you see when you reached the summit?” “It was a small altitude marker post; from the small platform there was a view of the 8,000-meter peaks.” They asked us: “And did you look at them when the team was storming Everest?” I said that the first days we were very busy with work, and you have to get used to the Earth too, so unfortunately we didn’t see Everest at that time. But I promised to take photographs of Everest from space. Tolya asked: “What did you feel when you stood on the summit?” Ivanov replied: “Probably the same as you felt when you went up into space. It’s probably great fatigue and satisfaction that you’ve made it.” “Right now, guys,” we told them, “this 792nd orbit (we’re already leaving Soviet territory and heading over Kamchatka) we dedicate to your victory on the summit of Everest.” We heard applause over the comm. “Why did you choose that call sign?” they ask us. Tolya answered that Valentin used to be “Caucasus” before this, and besides, Elbrus is a two-headed summit and the highest in Europe. We said goodbye. The ground asks: “Will you come on comm in the next session?” We say: “Absolutely.”

Before bed I watered the peas and oats; tendrils have grown, but the leaves are starting to wilt. Right now a little cosmic field stands before me; I sniffed it and it seems like I can smell the Earth. Wonderful. I can hardly believe I’m in space. Today I installed the cardiac monitors; the sensors keep peeling off my hair, so I took a razor and shaved my chest — I didn’t even recognize myself; it used to be so lush and handsome, and now I look like a plucked chicken. Where are my loved ones now? Yesterday they flew to Grozny. Up here, the comedy recordings of Kartsev-Ilchenko and Raikin go over really well; I laughed to tears. An interesting moment — when we’re not talking, there’s silence on the station, dead silence, only the fans humming. I say: “Let’s at least turn on some music — we’re not sitting in an isolation chamber.”