You'd have thought it would be easy to spot a 44 metre high rocket, particularly when that rocket was in the middle of one of the most barren places on earth.

The day had started well enough, landing on one of the world's longest runways in the early hours of the morning courtesy of Siberian Airlines, whose company motto seemed to be "We have a large servicing facility for our aircraft," which I suppose was reassuring.

It's difficult to say what I'd been expecting - some buildings perhaps or a couple of space rockets lying about. But Baikonur is nothing like the US Kennedy Space Centre all white metal and shimmering tarmac - more rusty metal and broken concrete.

From the runway you can get an idea of just how vast the cosmodrome is, it would take around two hours to drive from one end to the other.

Launch over in seconds

Along the way you'd pass the Gagarin launch pad - from where mankind was first lifted into space. Launchpad 41 where 165 people died in a massive explosion in 1960. And gantries which were designed for the Soviet equivalent of the space shuttle - a spaceplane which was proved to work but which was abandoned for lack of funds.

You'd drive over railway lines which ended in twisted metal, but mainly you'd drive past nothing. Nothing except steppe, barren scrub and grassland which alternates from uncomfortably hot in summer to uncomfortably cold in winter.

Uncomfortably cold

There was no snow today but it was definitely uncomfortably cold - not something that worries your average space engineer. Whereas NASA might call off a launch at the slightest breeze, the Soyuz manned spacecraft had been launched in blizzards where they practically have to be dug out of snowdrifts.

Still no sign of that rocket though. We drove to the town with no name. To give the architects credit, they had tried. There were park benches and trees, dead trees mainly, there were a few cats and dogs, half derelict buildings, piles of rubbish and dirt roads.

This is the heart of the Russian space programme, the crumbling structures house some of the most qualified technicians and rocket support staff in the world. People who, because of the state of their country's economy haven't been paid for three months.

A matter of pride

Zarya: first component of station

It's easy to question the priorities of a nation which can't afford to pay its staff but carries on with the luxury of space exploration. But it's more complicated than that - not only do rocket launches bring in much needed hard currency - they are also a matter of pride. Russia has enormous expertise in space - particularly in space stations - that to give it up to many would be unthinkable.

We were driven by bus to what was grandly referred to as the press viewing site. They clearly weren't taking any risks with the western media - not only were we all confused over the whereabouts of the rocket, it later transpired we were standing on top of an SS20 nuclear missile silo.

But we did get to see the rocket, albeit from six kilometres away. There are good reasons for this, firstly safety. Proton rockets are as reliable as any Russian rocket, that is to say, very reliable but there is always the chance that one could explode. Secondly I don't think they wanted the media mixing with the VIPs who were a little closer. We had to be content with our missile silo.

Although Russian rockets may look like something out of a 1950s sci-fi annual, the R7, which launched Sputnik and Yuri Gagarin, is still putting cosmonauts into orbit. The Proton was originally designed for the aborted Soviet moon landings but is now used for unmanned launches. And it was the Proton we could see floodlit in the distance, well through binoculars at least.

Technology in action

At this point there was a demonstration of the amazing power of modern technology - my mobile phone went off. It there was ever an example of mankind's progress, it wasn't the rocket a few kilometres away but the fact that I could talk to a colleague in London on an ordinary mobile phone from the middle of the Kazakhstan Steppe.

At exactly 11.40am a sheet of flame shot from the bottom of the rocket, smoke engulfed the launchpad and several hundred tonnes of spacecraft lifted away from the ground. It's not the size of the rocket or the sight of it heading into the grey sky that's the most memorable thing - but the noise, one long continuous explosion.

I'd travelled 5,000 kilometres over two days to witness this. Forty seconds later it had disappeared from view.