We climbed 16 flights of stairs in an abandoned apartment building — the iron railings long ago pilfered — until we reached the roof and peered over the ghost town of Pripyat, the once-hailed Soviet “futuristic city” where Chernobyl nuclear plant workers and their families lived. Thirty-three years after the Chernobyl nuclear reactor explosion, Pripyat’s broad boulevards are crowded with overgrown trees. Its once-gleaming buildings are dark and brooding — windows gone, interiors looted, hallways littered with crumbling books. It was twilight, and from our rooftop perch, the only light we could see came from the silver dome encasing the Chernobyl reactor. Someone in our group blasted music from an iPhone, and suddenly a dozen Americans broke out dancing. We were among the only humans in this deserted city. “What else do you do at the end of the world?” someone yelled.