capsule, what would you want peo-
ple – or alien beings – a million years
from now to know about us? That
we were loving, or warmongering,
or dopes strung out on viral videos?
How could you begin to represent
these times, as lived by nearly eight
billion people?
Assuming the capsule was found,
what materials could be employed
that might last that long? And how
could you lead future beings to the
capsule itself, assuming our planet
might be buried under ice or sand
by then?
It’s this vision of an earth one mil-
lion years from now that changed
Martin Kunze’s life forever. About ten
years ago, he read a book called The
World Without Us, by Alan Weisman,
a thought experiment in how quickly
things on our planet will deteriorate
once humans have been eradicated.
Weisman imagines neighbourhoods
becoming overgrown and houses
mouldering, until eventually there’s
nothing but incoherent ruins. Most
importantly, the book points out that
ceramics stand the greatest chance of
living on as they already have from
previous ancient civilisations.
Martin was struck by an epipha-
ny. He was a ceramicist in the small
alpine town of Gmunden, Austria,
cranking out funky vases and plates
for tourists. And he’d been thinking
about how the written records of
our civilisation increasingly reside
in the cloud.hen Martin
Kunze was 13,
he went on
holiday with
his parents
to Spain. At a
Mediterranean beach, he did what
kids sometimes do out of curiosity
and boredom: he started digging a
hole in the sand. There was a plastic
bottle his parents had brought with
them, and on a childish lark, Mar-
tin jotted his name, number, and ad-
dress on a piece of newspaper with
a message: If you find this, please
contact me.
“I put this into the bottle, and put
it into the ground, hoping that some
beautiful girl would find it in the
next year,” Martin says.
Decades passed. Then, four years
ago, more than 30 years after Martin
had buried the bottle, a retiree from
the area contacted Martin’s par-
ents, who were still at the scribbled
address, saying he’d found the bottle.
For Martin Kunze, a 50-year-old
father of five kids who is building
an enormous time capsule meant to
survive for thousands of years, it was
affirming. He had imagined a beauti-
ful girl, and the pensioner from Spain
had imagined someone on the other
end of the message, too. What was
each looking for?
“Some communication through
time,” says Martin, “some kind of
contact.”
If you were to build your own time
READER’S DIGEST
PHOTOS: ANTONY LYONS62 august 2019