When I visited Pompeii it was bucketing down, and the ancient gutters overran, and the streets were inundated, water flowing in streams over the broad cobbles. And so, out of pure necessity I used the stepping stones, which worked as well as they had done for centurions and slaves two-thousand years prior.
Our experience of history is usually akin to that of a time-traveller confined to his capsule; at best we are spectators - outsiders, viewing the past through a perspex screen. And yet, when I crossed the road in Pompeii, treading carefully on each raised block as the water rushed by on either side, I felt that I could as well be taking goods to the market, or finding my way home from the bar, the taste of coarse wine lingering on my lips - a living being, part of a living city. No longer was I looking upon a canvas, rather, I had painted myself into the scene. It is rare that one gets the chance to experience history in this way and it was something that left a great impression on me, more so than all the mosaics and the plaster figures combined.
