Làm thử Đề thi thử tốt nghiệp THPT · Tiếng Anh · Đề 111

Green Streets is calling on every household (1) ____ join our autumn recycling drive. From 1 September, blue bins will be placed at the end of each street (2) ____ paper, glass and plastic. Residents are asked to rinse containers thoroughly, (3) ____ leftover food can contaminate an entire load of recyclable material. The campaign also offers a small reward: any street (4) ____ collects more than 200 kilograms of material will receive a tree-planting voucher. Volunteers, most of (5) ____ are secondary school students, will weigh and record the collected material every Friday. Please do not mix plastic bags (6) ____ general rubbish; soft plastics belong in a separate bin.

Green Streets is calling on every household (1) ____ join our autumn recycling drive. From 1 September, blue bins will be placed at the end of each street (2) ____ paper, glass and plastic. Residents are asked to rinse containers thoroughly, (3) ____ leftover food can contaminate an entire load of recyclable material. The campaign also offers a small reward: any street (4) ____ collects more than 200 kilograms of material will receive a tree-planting voucher. Volunteers, most of (5) ____ are secondary school students, will weigh and record the collected material every Friday. Please do not mix plastic bags (6) ____ general rubbish; soft plastics belong in a separate bin.

Green Streets is calling on every household (1) ____ join our autumn recycling drive. From 1 September, blue bins will be placed at the end of each street (2) ____ paper, glass and plastic. Residents are asked to rinse containers thoroughly, (3) ____ leftover food can contaminate an entire load of recyclable material. The campaign also offers a small reward: any street (4) ____ collects more than 200 kilograms of material will receive a tree-planting voucher. Volunteers, most of (5) ____ are secondary school students, will weigh and record the collected material every Friday. Please do not mix plastic bags (6) ____ general rubbish; soft plastics belong in a separate bin.

Green Streets is calling on every household (1) ____ join our autumn recycling drive. From 1 September, blue bins will be placed at the end of each street (2) ____ paper, glass and plastic. Residents are asked to rinse containers thoroughly, (3) ____ leftover food can contaminate an entire load of recyclable material. The campaign also offers a small reward: any street (4) ____ collects more than 200 kilograms of material will receive a tree-planting voucher. Volunteers, most of (5) ____ are secondary school students, will weigh and record the collected material every Friday. Please do not mix plastic bags (6) ____ general rubbish; soft plastics belong in a separate bin.

Green Streets is calling on every household (1) ____ join our autumn recycling drive. From 1 September, blue bins will be placed at the end of each street (2) ____ paper, glass and plastic. Residents are asked to rinse containers thoroughly, (3) ____ leftover food can contaminate an entire load of recyclable material. The campaign also offers a small reward: any street (4) ____ collects more than 200 kilograms of material will receive a tree-planting voucher. Volunteers, most of (5) ____ are secondary school students, will weigh and record the collected material every Friday. Please do not mix plastic bags (6) ____ general rubbish; soft plastics belong in a separate bin.

Green Streets is calling on every household (1) ____ join our autumn recycling drive. From 1 September, blue bins will be placed at the end of each street (2) ____ paper, glass and plastic. Residents are asked to rinse containers thoroughly, (3) ____ leftover food can contaminate an entire load of recyclable material. The campaign also offers a small reward: any street (4) ____ collects more than 200 kilograms of material will receive a tree-planting voucher. Volunteers, most of (5) ____ are secondary school students, will weigh and record the collected material every Friday. Please do not mix plastic bags (6) ____ general rubbish; soft plastics belong in a separate bin.

Riverside Sports Club is looking (7) ____ new members for the 2025-2026 season. We welcome players of every level, from complete beginners to those who have competed (8) ____ regional tournaments. Training sessions run every Tuesday and Thursday evening, and members may take (9) ____ whichever sport suits their schedule best: football, badminton or swimming. Anyone (10) ____ wishes to try a free session should email the coordinator before Friday. New members often (11) ____ more confident after just one trial session, so a mentor checks in with each of them personally. Membership fees fund equipment and pool hire, so please pay (12) ____ the second training session at the latest.

Riverside Sports Club is looking (7) ____ new members for the 2025-2026 season. We welcome players of every level, from complete beginners to those who have competed (8) ____ regional tournaments. Training sessions run every Tuesday and Thursday evening, and members may take (9) ____ whichever sport suits their schedule best: football, badminton or swimming. Anyone (10) ____ wishes to try a free session should email the coordinator before Friday. New members often (11) ____ more confident after just one trial session, so a mentor checks in with each of them personally. Membership fees fund equipment and pool hire, so please pay (12) ____ the second training session at the latest.

Riverside Sports Club is looking (7) ____ new members for the 2025-2026 season. We welcome players of every level, from complete beginners to those who have competed (8) ____ regional tournaments. Training sessions run every Tuesday and Thursday evening, and members may take (9) ____ whichever sport suits their schedule best: football, badminton or swimming. Anyone (10) ____ wishes to try a free session should email the coordinator before Friday. New members often (11) ____ more confident after just one trial session, so a mentor checks in with each of them personally. Membership fees fund equipment and pool hire, so please pay (12) ____ the second training session at the latest.

Riverside Sports Club is looking (7) ____ new members for the 2025-2026 season. We welcome players of every level, from complete beginners to those who have competed (8) ____ regional tournaments. Training sessions run every Tuesday and Thursday evening, and members may take (9) ____ whichever sport suits their schedule best: football, badminton or swimming. Anyone (10) ____ wishes to try a free session should email the coordinator before Friday. New members often (11) ____ more confident after just one trial session, so a mentor checks in with each of them personally. Membership fees fund equipment and pool hire, so please pay (12) ____ the second training session at the latest.

Riverside Sports Club is looking (7) ____ new members for the 2025-2026 season. We welcome players of every level, from complete beginners to those who have competed (8) ____ regional tournaments. Training sessions run every Tuesday and Thursday evening, and members may take (9) ____ whichever sport suits their schedule best: football, badminton or swimming. Anyone (10) ____ wishes to try a free session should email the coordinator before Friday. New members often (11) ____ more confident after just one trial session, so a mentor checks in with each of them personally. Membership fees fund equipment and pool hire, so please pay (12) ____ the second training session at the latest.

Riverside Sports Club is looking (7) ____ new members for the 2025-2026 season. We welcome players of every level, from complete beginners to those who have competed (8) ____ regional tournaments. Training sessions run every Tuesday and Thursday evening, and members may take (9) ____ whichever sport suits their schedule best: football, badminton or swimming. Anyone (10) ____ wishes to try a free session should email the coordinator before Friday. New members often (11) ____ more confident after just one trial session, so a mentor checks in with each of them personally. Membership fees fund equipment and pool hire, so please pay (12) ____ the second training session at the latest.

Question 15. a. As a result, public transport became overcrowded and housing prices rose sharply.
b. Twenty years ago, the town outside the capital was little more than a few rice fields and quiet lanes.
c. Local authorities have since begun building new metro lines to ease the pressure.
d. Then, within a single decade, factories and apartment blocks began replacing the fields one by one.
e. Thousands of workers moved in, drawn by the promise of steady jobs.

Question 17. a. For newcomers, small gestures such as greeting neighbours in their own language can make a real difference.
b. In many cities today, people from dozens of different backgrounds live side by side.
c. This diversity, however, does not always translate into genuine understanding between communities.
d. Community centres have therefore started running free language exchange evenings to bridge that gap.

In cities where flats are getting smaller and free time is getting shorter, a growing number of residents are turning to something surprisingly old-fashioned: the local sports club. Long before big commercial gyms became common, community clubs offered a place where neighbours who had never spoken to each other could share a court, a field or a swimming lane. Today, as more people move into high-rise buildings and lose the casual contact once found on village streets, these clubs are quietly filling the gap. Membership fees are usually modest, and many clubs run entirely on the effort of volunteer coaches and committee members.

Take the Lotus Badminton Club, founded twelve years ago by a retired teacher and four of her neighbours. What began as a weekly game on a single rented court has grown into an organisation with more than three hundred members, ranging from primary school pupils to retirees in their seventies. The club's president insists that its real achievement is not the trophies its junior teams have won, but the friendships that form between members who would otherwise never meet. Parents who once drove their children to practice and waited alone in the car now sit together in the stands, swap phone numbers, and end up organising weekend outings that have nothing to do with badminton at all. New members are matched with a more experienced player during their first month, a system the club calls 'buddy training', so that nobody feels lost among strangers.

Running a club like this is rarely easy. Court rental costs have risen every year, and most clubs depend on a handful of sponsors, usually small local businesses, to cover the difference between membership fees and actual expenses. Some clubs have had to move to less convenient locations when a sponsor withdrew or a building was sold for redevelopment. A few have closed altogether, unable to find a coach willing to work for little or no pay. Even so, most club leaders describe the financial strain as manageable compared with the reward of keeping their community together, and several clubs have begun applying for small grants from the city sports department to secure their future.

Researchers who study urban life point out that clubs like these do something a commercial gym rarely does: they turn strangers into a genuine support network. A member who missed several weeks of training because of illness is more likely to receive a visit or a phone call from a teammate than from anyone at a chain gym. For city planners looking for cheap, effective ways to strengthen a neighbourhood, encouraging a few dedicated volunteers to start a small club may matter more than building another shiny sports centre.

In cities where flats are getting smaller and free time is getting shorter, a growing number of residents are turning to something surprisingly old-fashioned: the local sports club. Long before big commercial gyms became common, community clubs offered a place where neighbours who had never spoken to each other could share a court, a field or a swimming lane. Today, as more people move into high-rise buildings and lose the casual contact once found on village streets, these clubs are quietly filling the gap. Membership fees are usually modest, and many clubs run entirely on the effort of volunteer coaches and committee members.

Take the Lotus Badminton Club, founded twelve years ago by a retired teacher and four of her neighbours. What began as a weekly game on a single rented court has grown into an organisation with more than three hundred members, ranging from primary school pupils to retirees in their seventies. The club's president insists that its real achievement is not the trophies its junior teams have won, but the friendships that form between members who would otherwise never meet. Parents who once drove their children to practice and waited alone in the car now sit together in the stands, swap phone numbers, and end up organising weekend outings that have nothing to do with badminton at all. New members are matched with a more experienced player during their first month, a system the club calls 'buddy training', so that nobody feels lost among strangers.

Running a club like this is rarely easy. Court rental costs have risen every year, and most clubs depend on a handful of sponsors, usually small local businesses, to cover the difference between membership fees and actual expenses. Some clubs have had to move to less convenient locations when a sponsor withdrew or a building was sold for redevelopment. A few have closed altogether, unable to find a coach willing to work for little or no pay. Even so, most club leaders describe the financial strain as manageable compared with the reward of keeping their community together, and several clubs have begun applying for small grants from the city sports department to secure their future.

Researchers who study urban life point out that clubs like these do something a commercial gym rarely does: they turn strangers into a genuine support network. A member who missed several weeks of training because of illness is more likely to receive a visit or a phone call from a teammate than from anyone at a chain gym. For city planners looking for cheap, effective ways to strengthen a neighbourhood, encouraging a few dedicated volunteers to start a small club may matter more than building another shiny sports centre.

In cities where flats are getting smaller and free time is getting shorter, a growing number of residents are turning to something surprisingly old-fashioned: the local sports club. Long before big commercial gyms became common, community clubs offered a place where neighbours who had never spoken to each other could share a court, a field or a swimming lane. Today, as more people move into high-rise buildings and lose the casual contact once found on village streets, these clubs are quietly filling the gap. Membership fees are usually modest, and many clubs run entirely on the effort of volunteer coaches and committee members.

Take the Lotus Badminton Club, founded twelve years ago by a retired teacher and four of her neighbours. What began as a weekly game on a single rented court has grown into an organisation with more than three hundred members, ranging from primary school pupils to retirees in their seventies. The club's president insists that its real achievement is not the trophies its junior teams have won, but the friendships that form between members who would otherwise never meet. Parents who once drove their children to practice and waited alone in the car now sit together in the stands, swap phone numbers, and end up organising weekend outings that have nothing to do with badminton at all. New members are matched with a more experienced player during their first month, a system the club calls 'buddy training', so that nobody feels lost among strangers.

Running a club like this is rarely easy. Court rental costs have risen every year, and most clubs depend on a handful of sponsors, usually small local businesses, to cover the difference between membership fees and actual expenses. Some clubs have had to move to less convenient locations when a sponsor withdrew or a building was sold for redevelopment. A few have closed altogether, unable to find a coach willing to work for little or no pay. Even so, most club leaders describe the financial strain as manageable compared with the reward of keeping their community together, and several clubs have begun applying for small grants from the city sports department to secure their future.

Researchers who study urban life point out that clubs like these do something a commercial gym rarely does: they turn strangers into a genuine support network. A member who missed several weeks of training because of illness is more likely to receive a visit or a phone call from a teammate than from anyone at a chain gym. For city planners looking for cheap, effective ways to strengthen a neighbourhood, encouraging a few dedicated volunteers to start a small club may matter more than building another shiny sports centre.

In cities where flats are getting smaller and free time is getting shorter, a growing number of residents are turning to something surprisingly old-fashioned: the local sports club. Long before big commercial gyms became common, community clubs offered a place where neighbours who had never spoken to each other could share a court, a field or a swimming lane. Today, as more people move into high-rise buildings and lose the casual contact once found on village streets, these clubs are quietly filling the gap. Membership fees are usually modest, and many clubs run entirely on the effort of volunteer coaches and committee members.

Take the Lotus Badminton Club, founded twelve years ago by a retired teacher and four of her neighbours. What began as a weekly game on a single rented court has grown into an organisation with more than three hundred members, ranging from primary school pupils to retirees in their seventies. The club's president insists that its real achievement is not the trophies its junior teams have won, but the friendships that form between members who would otherwise never meet. Parents who once drove their children to practice and waited alone in the car now sit together in the stands, swap phone numbers, and end up organising weekend outings that have nothing to do with badminton at all. New members are matched with a more experienced player during their first month, a system the club calls 'buddy training', so that nobody feels lost among strangers.

Running a club like this is rarely easy. Court rental costs have risen every year, and most clubs depend on a handful of sponsors, usually small local businesses, to cover the difference between membership fees and actual expenses. Some clubs have had to move to less convenient locations when a sponsor withdrew or a building was sold for redevelopment. A few have closed altogether, unable to find a coach willing to work for little or no pay. Even so, most club leaders describe the financial strain as manageable compared with the reward of keeping their community together, and several clubs have begun applying for small grants from the city sports department to secure their future.

Researchers who study urban life point out that clubs like these do something a commercial gym rarely does: they turn strangers into a genuine support network. A member who missed several weeks of training because of illness is more likely to receive a visit or a phone call from a teammate than from anyone at a chain gym. For city planners looking for cheap, effective ways to strengthen a neighbourhood, encouraging a few dedicated volunteers to start a small club may matter more than building another shiny sports centre.

In cities where flats are getting smaller and free time is getting shorter, a growing number of residents are turning to something surprisingly old-fashioned: the local sports club. Long before big commercial gyms became common, community clubs offered a place where neighbours who had never spoken to each other could share a court, a field or a swimming lane. Today, as more people move into high-rise buildings and lose the casual contact once found on village streets, these clubs are quietly filling the gap. Membership fees are usually modest, and many clubs run entirely on the effort of volunteer coaches and committee members.

Take the Lotus Badminton Club, founded twelve years ago by a retired teacher and four of her neighbours. What began as a weekly game on a single rented court has grown into an organisation with more than three hundred members, ranging from primary school pupils to retirees in their seventies. The club's president insists that its real achievement is not the trophies its junior teams have won, but the friendships that form between members who would otherwise never meet. Parents who once drove their children to practice and waited alone in the car now sit together in the stands, swap phone numbers, and end up organising weekend outings that have nothing to do with badminton at all. New members are matched with a more experienced player during their first month, a system the club calls 'buddy training', so that nobody feels lost among strangers.

Running a club like this is rarely easy. Court rental costs have risen every year, and most clubs depend on a handful of sponsors, usually small local businesses, to cover the difference between membership fees and actual expenses. Some clubs have had to move to less convenient locations when a sponsor withdrew or a building was sold for redevelopment. A few have closed altogether, unable to find a coach willing to work for little or no pay. Even so, most club leaders describe the financial strain as manageable compared with the reward of keeping their community together, and several clubs have begun applying for small grants from the city sports department to secure their future.

Researchers who study urban life point out that clubs like these do something a commercial gym rarely does: they turn strangers into a genuine support network. A member who missed several weeks of training because of illness is more likely to receive a visit or a phone call from a teammate than from anyone at a chain gym. For city planners looking for cheap, effective ways to strengthen a neighbourhood, encouraging a few dedicated volunteers to start a small club may matter more than building another shiny sports centre.

In cities where flats are getting smaller and free time is getting shorter, a growing number of residents are turning to something surprisingly old-fashioned: the local sports club. Long before big commercial gyms became common, community clubs offered a place where neighbours who had never spoken to each other could share a court, a field or a swimming lane. Today, as more people move into high-rise buildings and lose the casual contact once found on village streets, these clubs are quietly filling the gap. Membership fees are usually modest, and many clubs run entirely on the effort of volunteer coaches and committee members.

Take the Lotus Badminton Club, founded twelve years ago by a retired teacher and four of her neighbours. What began as a weekly game on a single rented court has grown into an organisation with more than three hundred members, ranging from primary school pupils to retirees in their seventies. The club's president insists that its real achievement is not the trophies its junior teams have won, but the friendships that form between members who would otherwise never meet. Parents who once drove their children to practice and waited alone in the car now sit together in the stands, swap phone numbers, and end up organising weekend outings that have nothing to do with badminton at all. New members are matched with a more experienced player during their first month, a system the club calls 'buddy training', so that nobody feels lost among strangers.

Running a club like this is rarely easy. Court rental costs have risen every year, and most clubs depend on a handful of sponsors, usually small local businesses, to cover the difference between membership fees and actual expenses. Some clubs have had to move to less convenient locations when a sponsor withdrew or a building was sold for redevelopment. A few have closed altogether, unable to find a coach willing to work for little or no pay. Even so, most club leaders describe the financial strain as manageable compared with the reward of keeping their community together, and several clubs have begun applying for small grants from the city sports department to secure their future.

Researchers who study urban life point out that clubs like these do something a commercial gym rarely does: they turn strangers into a genuine support network. A member who missed several weeks of training because of illness is more likely to receive a visit or a phone call from a teammate than from anyone at a chain gym. For city planners looking for cheap, effective ways to strengthen a neighbourhood, encouraging a few dedicated volunteers to start a small club may matter more than building another shiny sports centre.

In cities where flats are getting smaller and free time is getting shorter, a growing number of residents are turning to something surprisingly old-fashioned: the local sports club. Long before big commercial gyms became common, community clubs offered a place where neighbours who had never spoken to each other could share a court, a field or a swimming lane. Today, as more people move into high-rise buildings and lose the casual contact once found on village streets, these clubs are quietly filling the gap. Membership fees are usually modest, and many clubs run entirely on the effort of volunteer coaches and committee members.

Take the Lotus Badminton Club, founded twelve years ago by a retired teacher and four of her neighbours. What began as a weekly game on a single rented court has grown into an organisation with more than three hundred members, ranging from primary school pupils to retirees in their seventies. The club's president insists that its real achievement is not the trophies its junior teams have won, but the friendships that form between members who would otherwise never meet. Parents who once drove their children to practice and waited alone in the car now sit together in the stands, swap phone numbers, and end up organising weekend outings that have nothing to do with badminton at all. New members are matched with a more experienced player during their first month, a system the club calls 'buddy training', so that nobody feels lost among strangers.

Running a club like this is rarely easy. Court rental costs have risen every year, and most clubs depend on a handful of sponsors, usually small local businesses, to cover the difference between membership fees and actual expenses. Some clubs have had to move to less convenient locations when a sponsor withdrew or a building was sold for redevelopment. A few have closed altogether, unable to find a coach willing to work for little or no pay. Even so, most club leaders describe the financial strain as manageable compared with the reward of keeping their community together, and several clubs have begun applying for small grants from the city sports department to secure their future.

Researchers who study urban life point out that clubs like these do something a commercial gym rarely does: they turn strangers into a genuine support network. A member who missed several weeks of training because of illness is more likely to receive a visit or a phone call from a teammate than from anyone at a chain gym. For city planners looking for cheap, effective ways to strengthen a neighbourhood, encouraging a few dedicated volunteers to start a small club may matter more than building another shiny sports centre.

In cities where flats are getting smaller and free time is getting shorter, a growing number of residents are turning to something surprisingly old-fashioned: the local sports club. Long before big commercial gyms became common, community clubs offered a place where neighbours who had never spoken to each other could share a court, a field or a swimming lane. Today, as more people move into high-rise buildings and lose the casual contact once found on village streets, these clubs are quietly filling the gap. Membership fees are usually modest, and many clubs run entirely on the effort of volunteer coaches and committee members.

Take the Lotus Badminton Club, founded twelve years ago by a retired teacher and four of her neighbours. What began as a weekly game on a single rented court has grown into an organisation with more than three hundred members, ranging from primary school pupils to retirees in their seventies. The club's president insists that its real achievement is not the trophies its junior teams have won, but the friendships that form between members who would otherwise never meet. Parents who once drove their children to practice and waited alone in the car now sit together in the stands, swap phone numbers, and end up organising weekend outings that have nothing to do with badminton at all. New members are matched with a more experienced player during their first month, a system the club calls 'buddy training', so that nobody feels lost among strangers.

Running a club like this is rarely easy. Court rental costs have risen every year, and most clubs depend on a handful of sponsors, usually small local businesses, to cover the difference between membership fees and actual expenses. Some clubs have had to move to less convenient locations when a sponsor withdrew or a building was sold for redevelopment. A few have closed altogether, unable to find a coach willing to work for little or no pay. Even so, most club leaders describe the financial strain as manageable compared with the reward of keeping their community together, and several clubs have begun applying for small grants from the city sports department to secure their future.

Researchers who study urban life point out that clubs like these do something a commercial gym rarely does: they turn strangers into a genuine support network. A member who missed several weeks of training because of illness is more likely to receive a visit or a phone call from a teammate than from anyone at a chain gym. For city planners looking for cheap, effective ways to strengthen a neighbourhood, encouraging a few dedicated volunteers to start a small club may matter more than building another shiny sports centre.

For most of the twentieth century, travelling beyond the atmosphere was the exclusive privilege of professional astronauts selected by national space agencies. That exclusivity is now being challenged. Several private companies have begun selling seats on short suborbital flights, and a handful of wealthy travellers have already paid to spend days aboard orbiting stations. What was once described purely as scientific exploration is increasingly being marketed as an extension of the luxury tourism industry.

[I] A single seat on a suborbital flight, one that reaches the edge of space for a few minutes before returning to Earth, can cost several hundred thousand dollars. [II] Orbital trips, which last days rather than minutes, are priced in the tens of millions. [III] Such figures place space tourism firmly beyond the reach of ordinary travellers for the foreseeable future. [IV] Safety, too, remains an unresolved question, since even the most experienced operators cannot yet point to decades of data the way commercial airlines can.

Environmental scientists have raised a separate concern. Each rocket launch releases exhaust directly into the upper atmosphere, a layer that has received far less attention than the lower atmosphere where commercial jets fly. Because so few launches currently take place, the overall impact remains small, but researchers warn that the picture could change quickly if launch frequency continues to rise as companies compete for a growing customer base. Some industry leaders respond that the environmental cost of a handful of rocket launches is negligible compared with the daily emissions of global commercial aviation, and that space tourism should not be singled out unfairly.

Governments have been slow to draft rules specifically for this industry. Existing aviation law was written with aircraft, not spacecraft, in mind, and it says little about who is liable if a paying passenger is injured during a flight that leaves the atmosphere entirely. A few countries have begun updating their regulations, requiring operators to prove a minimum safety record before selling tickets to the public, but international standards remain years away. Until such standards exist, most experts agree that early space tourists are, in effect, informed volunteers rather than ordinary paying customers.

For most of the twentieth century, travelling beyond the atmosphere was the exclusive privilege of professional astronauts selected by national space agencies. That exclusivity is now being challenged. Several private companies have begun selling seats on short suborbital flights, and a handful of wealthy travellers have already paid to spend days aboard orbiting stations. What was once described purely as scientific exploration is increasingly being marketed as an extension of the luxury tourism industry.

[I] A single seat on a suborbital flight, one that reaches the edge of space for a few minutes before returning to Earth, can cost several hundred thousand dollars. [II] Orbital trips, which last days rather than minutes, are priced in the tens of millions. [III] Such figures place space tourism firmly beyond the reach of ordinary travellers for the foreseeable future. [IV] Safety, too, remains an unresolved question, since even the most experienced operators cannot yet point to decades of data the way commercial airlines can.

Environmental scientists have raised a separate concern. Each rocket launch releases exhaust directly into the upper atmosphere, a layer that has received far less attention than the lower atmosphere where commercial jets fly. Because so few launches currently take place, the overall impact remains small, but researchers warn that the picture could change quickly if launch frequency continues to rise as companies compete for a growing customer base. Some industry leaders respond that the environmental cost of a handful of rocket launches is negligible compared with the daily emissions of global commercial aviation, and that space tourism should not be singled out unfairly.

Governments have been slow to draft rules specifically for this industry. Existing aviation law was written with aircraft, not spacecraft, in mind, and it says little about who is liable if a paying passenger is injured during a flight that leaves the atmosphere entirely. A few countries have begun updating their regulations, requiring operators to prove a minimum safety record before selling tickets to the public, but international standards remain years away. Until such standards exist, most experts agree that early space tourists are, in effect, informed volunteers rather than ordinary paying customers.

For most of the twentieth century, travelling beyond the atmosphere was the exclusive privilege of professional astronauts selected by national space agencies. That exclusivity is now being challenged. Several private companies have begun selling seats on short suborbital flights, and a handful of wealthy travellers have already paid to spend days aboard orbiting stations. What was once described purely as scientific exploration is increasingly being marketed as an extension of the luxury tourism industry.

[I] A single seat on a suborbital flight, one that reaches the edge of space for a few minutes before returning to Earth, can cost several hundred thousand dollars. [II] Orbital trips, which last days rather than minutes, are priced in the tens of millions. [III] Such figures place space tourism firmly beyond the reach of ordinary travellers for the foreseeable future. [IV] Safety, too, remains an unresolved question, since even the most experienced operators cannot yet point to decades of data the way commercial airlines can.

Environmental scientists have raised a separate concern. Each rocket launch releases exhaust directly into the upper atmosphere, a layer that has received far less attention than the lower atmosphere where commercial jets fly. Because so few launches currently take place, the overall impact remains small, but researchers warn that the picture could change quickly if launch frequency continues to rise as companies compete for a growing customer base. Some industry leaders respond that the environmental cost of a handful of rocket launches is negligible compared with the daily emissions of global commercial aviation, and that space tourism should not be singled out unfairly.

Governments have been slow to draft rules specifically for this industry. Existing aviation law was written with aircraft, not spacecraft, in mind, and it says little about who is liable if a paying passenger is injured during a flight that leaves the atmosphere entirely. A few countries have begun updating their regulations, requiring operators to prove a minimum safety record before selling tickets to the public, but international standards remain years away. Until such standards exist, most experts agree that early space tourists are, in effect, informed volunteers rather than ordinary paying customers.

For most of the twentieth century, travelling beyond the atmosphere was the exclusive privilege of professional astronauts selected by national space agencies. That exclusivity is now being challenged. Several private companies have begun selling seats on short suborbital flights, and a handful of wealthy travellers have already paid to spend days aboard orbiting stations. What was once described purely as scientific exploration is increasingly being marketed as an extension of the luxury tourism industry.

[I] A single seat on a suborbital flight, one that reaches the edge of space for a few minutes before returning to Earth, can cost several hundred thousand dollars. [II] Orbital trips, which last days rather than minutes, are priced in the tens of millions. [III] Such figures place space tourism firmly beyond the reach of ordinary travellers for the foreseeable future. [IV] Safety, too, remains an unresolved question, since even the most experienced operators cannot yet point to decades of data the way commercial airlines can.

Environmental scientists have raised a separate concern. Each rocket launch releases exhaust directly into the upper atmosphere, a layer that has received far less attention than the lower atmosphere where commercial jets fly. Because so few launches currently take place, the overall impact remains small, but researchers warn that the picture could change quickly if launch frequency continues to rise as companies compete for a growing customer base. Some industry leaders respond that the environmental cost of a handful of rocket launches is negligible compared with the daily emissions of global commercial aviation, and that space tourism should not be singled out unfairly.

Governments have been slow to draft rules specifically for this industry. Existing aviation law was written with aircraft, not spacecraft, in mind, and it says little about who is liable if a paying passenger is injured during a flight that leaves the atmosphere entirely. A few countries have begun updating their regulations, requiring operators to prove a minimum safety record before selling tickets to the public, but international standards remain years away. Until such standards exist, most experts agree that early space tourists are, in effect, informed volunteers rather than ordinary paying customers.

For most of the twentieth century, travelling beyond the atmosphere was the exclusive privilege of professional astronauts selected by national space agencies. That exclusivity is now being challenged. Several private companies have begun selling seats on short suborbital flights, and a handful of wealthy travellers have already paid to spend days aboard orbiting stations. What was once described purely as scientific exploration is increasingly being marketed as an extension of the luxury tourism industry.

[I] A single seat on a suborbital flight, one that reaches the edge of space for a few minutes before returning to Earth, can cost several hundred thousand dollars. [II] Orbital trips, which last days rather than minutes, are priced in the tens of millions. [III] Such figures place space tourism firmly beyond the reach of ordinary travellers for the foreseeable future. [IV] Safety, too, remains an unresolved question, since even the most experienced operators cannot yet point to decades of data the way commercial airlines can.

Environmental scientists have raised a separate concern. Each rocket launch releases exhaust directly into the upper atmosphere, a layer that has received far less attention than the lower atmosphere where commercial jets fly. Because so few launches currently take place, the overall impact remains small, but researchers warn that the picture could change quickly if launch frequency continues to rise as companies compete for a growing customer base. Some industry leaders respond that the environmental cost of a handful of rocket launches is negligible compared with the daily emissions of global commercial aviation, and that space tourism should not be singled out unfairly.

Governments have been slow to draft rules specifically for this industry. Existing aviation law was written with aircraft, not spacecraft, in mind, and it says little about who is liable if a paying passenger is injured during a flight that leaves the atmosphere entirely. A few countries have begun updating their regulations, requiring operators to prove a minimum safety record before selling tickets to the public, but international standards remain years away. Until such standards exist, most experts agree that early space tourists are, in effect, informed volunteers rather than ordinary paying customers.

For most of the twentieth century, travelling beyond the atmosphere was the exclusive privilege of professional astronauts selected by national space agencies. That exclusivity is now being challenged. Several private companies have begun selling seats on short suborbital flights, and a handful of wealthy travellers have already paid to spend days aboard orbiting stations. What was once described purely as scientific exploration is increasingly being marketed as an extension of the luxury tourism industry.

[I] A single seat on a suborbital flight, one that reaches the edge of space for a few minutes before returning to Earth, can cost several hundred thousand dollars. [II] Orbital trips, which last days rather than minutes, are priced in the tens of millions. [III] Such figures place space tourism firmly beyond the reach of ordinary travellers for the foreseeable future. [IV] Safety, too, remains an unresolved question, since even the most experienced operators cannot yet point to decades of data the way commercial airlines can.

Environmental scientists have raised a separate concern. Each rocket launch releases exhaust directly into the upper atmosphere, a layer that has received far less attention than the lower atmosphere where commercial jets fly. Because so few launches currently take place, the overall impact remains small, but researchers warn that the picture could change quickly if launch frequency continues to rise as companies compete for a growing customer base. Some industry leaders respond that the environmental cost of a handful of rocket launches is negligible compared with the daily emissions of global commercial aviation, and that space tourism should not be singled out unfairly.

Governments have been slow to draft rules specifically for this industry. Existing aviation law was written with aircraft, not spacecraft, in mind, and it says little about who is liable if a paying passenger is injured during a flight that leaves the atmosphere entirely. A few countries have begun updating their regulations, requiring operators to prove a minimum safety record before selling tickets to the public, but international standards remain years away. Until such standards exist, most experts agree that early space tourists are, in effect, informed volunteers rather than ordinary paying customers.

For most of the twentieth century, travelling beyond the atmosphere was the exclusive privilege of professional astronauts selected by national space agencies. That exclusivity is now being challenged. Several private companies have begun selling seats on short suborbital flights, and a handful of wealthy travellers have already paid to spend days aboard orbiting stations. What was once described purely as scientific exploration is increasingly being marketed as an extension of the luxury tourism industry.

[I] A single seat on a suborbital flight, one that reaches the edge of space for a few minutes before returning to Earth, can cost several hundred thousand dollars. [II] Orbital trips, which last days rather than minutes, are priced in the tens of millions. [III] Such figures place space tourism firmly beyond the reach of ordinary travellers for the foreseeable future. [IV] Safety, too, remains an unresolved question, since even the most experienced operators cannot yet point to decades of data the way commercial airlines can.

Environmental scientists have raised a separate concern. Each rocket launch releases exhaust directly into the upper atmosphere, a layer that has received far less attention than the lower atmosphere where commercial jets fly. Because so few launches currently take place, the overall impact remains small, but researchers warn that the picture could change quickly if launch frequency continues to rise as companies compete for a growing customer base. Some industry leaders respond that the environmental cost of a handful of rocket launches is negligible compared with the daily emissions of global commercial aviation, and that space tourism should not be singled out unfairly.

Governments have been slow to draft rules specifically for this industry. Existing aviation law was written with aircraft, not spacecraft, in mind, and it says little about who is liable if a paying passenger is injured during a flight that leaves the atmosphere entirely. A few countries have begun updating their regulations, requiring operators to prove a minimum safety record before selling tickets to the public, but international standards remain years away. Until such standards exist, most experts agree that early space tourists are, in effect, informed volunteers rather than ordinary paying customers.

For most of the twentieth century, travelling beyond the atmosphere was the exclusive privilege of professional astronauts selected by national space agencies. That exclusivity is now being challenged. Several private companies have begun selling seats on short suborbital flights, and a handful of wealthy travellers have already paid to spend days aboard orbiting stations. What was once described purely as scientific exploration is increasingly being marketed as an extension of the luxury tourism industry.

[I] A single seat on a suborbital flight, one that reaches the edge of space for a few minutes before returning to Earth, can cost several hundred thousand dollars. [II] Orbital trips, which last days rather than minutes, are priced in the tens of millions. [III] Such figures place space tourism firmly beyond the reach of ordinary travellers for the foreseeable future. [IV] Safety, too, remains an unresolved question, since even the most experienced operators cannot yet point to decades of data the way commercial airlines can.

Environmental scientists have raised a separate concern. Each rocket launch releases exhaust directly into the upper atmosphere, a layer that has received far less attention than the lower atmosphere where commercial jets fly. Because so few launches currently take place, the overall impact remains small, but researchers warn that the picture could change quickly if launch frequency continues to rise as companies compete for a growing customer base. Some industry leaders respond that the environmental cost of a handful of rocket launches is negligible compared with the daily emissions of global commercial aviation, and that space tourism should not be singled out unfairly.

Governments have been slow to draft rules specifically for this industry. Existing aviation law was written with aircraft, not spacecraft, in mind, and it says little about who is liable if a paying passenger is injured during a flight that leaves the atmosphere entirely. A few countries have begun updating their regulations, requiring operators to prove a minimum safety record before selling tickets to the public, but international standards remain years away. Until such standards exist, most experts agree that early space tourists are, in effect, informed volunteers rather than ordinary paying customers.

For most of the twentieth century, travelling beyond the atmosphere was the exclusive privilege of professional astronauts selected by national space agencies. That exclusivity is now being challenged. Several private companies have begun selling seats on short suborbital flights, and a handful of wealthy travellers have already paid to spend days aboard orbiting stations. What was once described purely as scientific exploration is increasingly being marketed as an extension of the luxury tourism industry.

[I] A single seat on a suborbital flight, one that reaches the edge of space for a few minutes before returning to Earth, can cost several hundred thousand dollars. [II] Orbital trips, which last days rather than minutes, are priced in the tens of millions. [III] Such figures place space tourism firmly beyond the reach of ordinary travellers for the foreseeable future. [IV] Safety, too, remains an unresolved question, since even the most experienced operators cannot yet point to decades of data the way commercial airlines can.

Environmental scientists have raised a separate concern. Each rocket launch releases exhaust directly into the upper atmosphere, a layer that has received far less attention than the lower atmosphere where commercial jets fly. Because so few launches currently take place, the overall impact remains small, but researchers warn that the picture could change quickly if launch frequency continues to rise as companies compete for a growing customer base. Some industry leaders respond that the environmental cost of a handful of rocket launches is negligible compared with the daily emissions of global commercial aviation, and that space tourism should not be singled out unfairly.

Governments have been slow to draft rules specifically for this industry. Existing aviation law was written with aircraft, not spacecraft, in mind, and it says little about who is liable if a paying passenger is injured during a flight that leaves the atmosphere entirely. A few countries have begun updating their regulations, requiring operators to prove a minimum safety record before selling tickets to the public, but international standards remain years away. Until such standards exist, most experts agree that early space tourists are, in effect, informed volunteers rather than ordinary paying customers.

For most of the twentieth century, travelling beyond the atmosphere was the exclusive privilege of professional astronauts selected by national space agencies. That exclusivity is now being challenged. Several private companies have begun selling seats on short suborbital flights, and a handful of wealthy travellers have already paid to spend days aboard orbiting stations. What was once described purely as scientific exploration is increasingly being marketed as an extension of the luxury tourism industry.

[I] A single seat on a suborbital flight, one that reaches the edge of space for a few minutes before returning to Earth, can cost several hundred thousand dollars. [II] Orbital trips, which last days rather than minutes, are priced in the tens of millions. [III] Such figures place space tourism firmly beyond the reach of ordinary travellers for the foreseeable future. [IV] Safety, too, remains an unresolved question, since even the most experienced operators cannot yet point to decades of data the way commercial airlines can.

Environmental scientists have raised a separate concern. Each rocket launch releases exhaust directly into the upper atmosphere, a layer that has received far less attention than the lower atmosphere where commercial jets fly. Because so few launches currently take place, the overall impact remains small, but researchers warn that the picture could change quickly if launch frequency continues to rise as companies compete for a growing customer base. Some industry leaders respond that the environmental cost of a handful of rocket launches is negligible compared with the daily emissions of global commercial aviation, and that space tourism should not be singled out unfairly.

Governments have been slow to draft rules specifically for this industry. Existing aviation law was written with aircraft, not spacecraft, in mind, and it says little about who is liable if a paying passenger is injured during a flight that leaves the atmosphere entirely. A few countries have begun updating their regulations, requiring operators to prove a minimum safety record before selling tickets to the public, but international standards remain years away. Until such standards exist, most experts agree that early space tourists are, in effect, informed volunteers rather than ordinary paying customers.