I had thirty minutes in Pompeii in the rain.
Ninety had been allotted for the lost city, and even that felt like a theft. Our group paused for a biology and photo break.
The frescoes were stunning.
But I had something else in mind.
“The amphitheater,” I asked our guide. “Is that on the tour?”
He laughed and shook his head.
“Pink Floyd, right? You’re one of those guys.”
“I am,” I said. “Fanatical.”
“No, my friend. Not on our tour.”
Crestfallen.
In 1972, Pink Floyd filmed Live at Pompeii in the ancient Roman amphitheater — no audience, just four young musicians surrounded by stone that had already endured two thousand years.
A few local kids wandered in, curious. That was it.
History listening to something new.
An anti-Woodstock.
Performing for the past, not for thousands of screaming fans.
Our tour had been remarkable — the Forum, the baths, streets still grooved by cart wheels, plaster casts of those who never made it out. But no amphitheater.
Most people don’t realize how large Pompeii is. The exca…
