Otzi is kept in a specially built freezer at exactly -6 Celsius. A long line of people was slowly passing by a small window that looked in on his ice-chamber to get a glimpse of his body. The whole mood of the scene reminded me of Ho Chi Minh’s tomb in Vietnam. A hushed, reverent curiosity permeated the place. People leaned into the thick glass, lingering as long as possible before the line grew restless behind them. We had a big camera and a purpose, and after months of pleading we were told we would be allowed to go inside the hallowed inner chambers to film. We would film the mummy as the medical team, entrusted with his meticulous preservation, did their monthly examination. First we were prepped. Like surgeons, we put on sanitized slippers, masks and robes. We were told that the mummy would be removed from his freezer and wheeled into the sealed examination room adjacent to the ice-chamber. This elaborate set up must have cost millions to build. To avoid any decomposition, he would be out of the freezer for no more than 30 minutes. No big lights, stands, or tripods. Only the cameraman and director were allowed inside the cramped, cold examination room. The pressure was on. We had one chance to get our shots of the mummy up close. Today they were doing ‘maintenance’, which involved spraying him down with a fine mist of sterile water to counter the dehydration of being kept in his frozen state. As his body was wheeled out of the walk-in freezer, a chill went up my spine. But I was sweating. The pathologist, Dr. Egarter-Vigl, is the most meticulous of men, in the way surgeons often are. He’s the kind of guy whose time is scheduled down to the minute. He, and only he, decides who is worthy of an audience with the Iceman. While the cameraman filmed, I held a long fluorescent bulb that I worked over the body like a light saber. The effect created a moody backlight that illuminated the mist and shriveled contours of the Iceman’s body. I kept thinking, ‘Whatever you do, don’t drop the light.’ In exacting but heartfelt words, Dr. Egarter-Vigl described the Iceman as an ambassador of the Copper Age; the only flesh and blood that survives to tell us what life was like when Europeans were making the big leap out of the Stone Age on the path towards modern civilization. The details scientists have gleaned from his remains are remarkable – down to the last meal Otzi ate, which they extracted from his intestines. Every feature and organ of the man was there –yes, even his family jewels, from which came the DNA linking nearly half of Europe as a blood relative. The only thing missing was his left buttock, which was unceremoniously shredded by a jack hammer as a police investigator tried to pry the body from the ice. (At first they thought he was a local homicide.) But it was the Iceman’s eyes sunk back in their sockets that were truly freaky. As I stared into the Iceman’s face, the Neolithic Age suddenly became human in the way mere bones or artifacts could never convey. Who are you? Who did you piss off to make them hunt you down and shoot you in the back? Why did your killer leave you there on the mountain, without any apparent attempt to bury your remains? What’s with those fifty tattoos of symmetrical lines and crosses cut into your body? And that’s when it happened - as I was subconsciously interviewing the mummy, the cameraman moved behind me to get another angle. As I turned to let him squeeze by, I accidentally brushed by the Iceman’s legs and made contact. I felt Otzi’s foot push against my body, and I thought oh, oh, there goes the toe. I was afraid to look. But no sound of ancient flesh hitting the concrete floor followed. As I moved away, the Iceman’s foot just sprang back like a piece of beef jerky. He wasn’t brittle at all. He was 5,000 years of tough, cured, leathered meat. Our 30 minutes was up. It was time for the good doctor to wheel him back into the freezer before Otzi started to thaw. . He kindly asked if we needed one last shot, and I thought now’s the time to ask, ‘Can I just wiggle a toe before he goes back?’ But somehow it didn’t seem professional. I felt privileged to have been so close. And I think that’s what it is about mummies. Nothing brings us so near to who we are, and where we came from, than real human flesh.