Pompeii

There was a moment when I could almost see the original inhabitants of Pompeii: fetching water from the fountain, crossing the street by the stepping stones to keep their feet dry, and clearing the street when a chariot would fly by, the wheels grinding deeper ridges into the street.

Colourful clothing rustles as people go about their days. People in the bar debate politics and the qualities of the politicians whose ads are painted on the walls. Servants rush past, preparing for elaborate all-day and all-night dinner parties that required occasional vomiting in order to eat every course, as required by the manners of the time. Everyone gossips about the gladiators, the rock stars of the day.

Like it wasn't almost two millennia ago.

Blink, and it's gone.

I could have spent days in Pompeii, just looking at the ancient buildings and the frescoes that are still brilliant after nearly two millennium. In the doorway of one house, there's a mosaic of a dog on the floor.

They saw it coming. They saw the end coming, and they hid from it in their houses, barring their doors and shuttering their windows. They didn't realize that the gas would seep in through the key hole and the space between the shutters. Our guide described it as "death by ignorance"; there was time to get away, but they didn't know how to save themselves.

That sounds very scary right now.