I've always had a perverse interest in how humans simply abandon things. We're definitely the only species that covet objects and then abandon them as soon as our internal calculus judges them to be no longer valuable. I'm not talking about no longer wanting your old plates or bicycle, rather the fact that we construct massive edifices and then leave them to rust.
A few years ago this was hammered home to me on a trip to the Yukon. Here's an old mine near Whitehorse:
Later we were hiking the Chilkoot Trail and when we hit Canyon City we found the detritus of a civilization that lasted at most two years:
As we continued on to Dawson, we came across a set of dredges that are now landlocked. They were built on-site in a pond and literally moved a creek with them as they crunched through the mud looking for gold. The creek is long gone and the dredges (there are two) sit as a testament to, amongst other things, what humans will do for a dollar:
To me, the Yukon was the most personal and poignant example of both how relentless and feckless humans can be.
That is until tonight, when I heard of Hashima Island, off the coast of Japan.
This place almost defies description. Starting in 1890, a small island was built up to contain exactly two things: a coal mine and a city that existed solely to serve it. By the 1950's, it was the most densely populated place on earth (over 10x as dense as Tokyo). And then in 1973, the coal ran out and it was abandoned in weeks. It's still there, rusting away and waiting to fall into the sea:
It sounds-and looks-unbelievable but it really exists. For more, check out this and this. Also, watch this video: