After my intensive archaeology course a few weeks ago, I thought I was all archaeologied out. But Ancient Salamis proved me wrong. Situated just outside of Famagusta and overlooking the sea, the magnitude of Salamis creeps up on you as you wander from one impressive ruin to the next.

Goobie’s highlight was the subterranean toilets, next to the cafe.

How could the Temple of Zeus compete with neon-pink hand wash? And the view from the top of the Roman theatre was nothing compared to the view from outside the toilet window of Mummy washing her hands below. I tried to pique his interest in the theatre’s acoustics:

‘Why don’t you try standing in the middle and singing Ed Sheeran? See how it sounds.’

‘NO!’

I was surprised, seeing as he sings Ed Sheeran everywhere else. Including in the subterranean toilets. Instead, he sat on a big stone in the middle of a muddy puddle and watched his flip flop sail away to the other side.

We had more luck at the Roman Villa. Goobie really enjoyed exploring all the different rooms and climbing on the ruins. I could tell because he was using his Professor Voice.

‘Mummy, see this here?’ he said, pointing at a bath. ‘This is actually a bed.’

There were clues everywhere of what the place may have looked like. Little slabs of marble here, a mosaic sticking out of a wall there. Partly tiled floors, ancient plumbing, endless rooms. The imagination filled in the rest. Bath or bed.

We rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a massive black whip snake. My best snake sighting yet. It took one look at us and legged it into hole. And here Matt and I have different versions of reality. Terrified snake running for the nearest hole is reassuring. Obviously. They won’t attack if they can help it. Matt saw the snake disappearing into a hole and started noticing all the other holes around him. And all the possible snakes in them, ready to eat him.

‘Let’s go,’ he said. And legged it.

By the time we got to the gymnasium and baths complex we’d been at Salamis for a couple of hours. It was boiling and Goobie was getting tired fast. What a bummer we’d left this to the end. It was my favourite part and I didn’t want to rush. The baths were magnificent, with massive arched alcoves, some still with mosaics on them. There was an underground room we went in and a tunnel. One room still had its curved stone roof.

‘Wow, it’s just so . . . old!’

Not the brightest observation. The point is that I associate ancient ruins with low stone walls and indecipherable blocks of stone. But take those massive, heavy, weathered blocks of stone and see them in a recognisable structure, with ceilings, mosaics and plumbing. People bathed here, they looked at the same mosaic I’m now looking at, walked on the same tiled floor. Thousands of years ago. And that’s when it hits you. This place doesn’t just look ancient. It feels ancient.

We came out of the baths and into the gymnasium with its impressive pillars and headless statues. This was the piece-de-resistance. The image on all the tourist brochures. And yet I will remember it for a different reason.

‘Mummy, these flies are going to be my pets.’

Goobie was oblivious to his surroundings. His entire focus was on the two flies attached to the scab on his knee.

‘Look, they are having a ride on my knee!’

Yes they were. And I didn’t like to think what they were doing there. Laying eggs?

‘I won’t pat them or stroke them because that might squash them. But I can give them a cuddle.’

Touching. But do I allow a maggot-fest to develop on Goobie’s knee or do I shoo away his new friends? I bet the Romans never had to face these dilemmas.

‘Mummy, we’ve got four cats at home but we haven’t got any pets here, so we can have two flies.’

3000 years of history had brought us to this point.  Ancient Salamis had witnessed Romans, earthquakes, Arab raids, emperors. And now, a little boy asking his Mummy for a pet fly.