It is now Tuesday and I sit on our hostel balcony overlooking the waterfalls. The keyboard feels gritty from volcanic ash. Banos is at the foot of the Tungurahua volcano.
Judy, Jess and Ashley are on a rafting trip. I would have loved to go, but I know what my cardiologist would say at the thought of being thrown into the cold river. “No problem,” they tell us. “It is only Class III and Class IV rapids. If it rains, then we won’t do some of the rapids because they would be Class V.”
It is now mid-afternoon and they have just returned from the rafting. “How was it?” I ask Judy. “I think it will be the last time I go rafting,” she answers. They were all thrown out of the raft into the raging river.
Being swallowed by the rapids.
Judy’s leg is cut and bruised from hitting a rock and she limps from a sore foot. One girl in the raft twisted her knee as she was thrown out. Jess and Ashley are fine. Sounds like I made a good decision to stay back in Banos.
Late Tuesday afternoon, Judy and I take a walk to watch bungee jumping from a bridge over a deep canyon.
We hike to the bottom of the canyon, lie down on the grass watching people free-fall from the top of the bridge until the bungee cord breaks their fall. We watch our step as we cross the raging river on an old bridge with many of the wooden planks missing.
As the sun begins to set, the skies clear. We hike up a road on the other side of the canyon and to our amazement see large billows of ash thrust into the sky over Banos.
The setting sun sets the pillars of ash aglow as though they are on fire. One billowing cloud of black ash after another erupts from the Tungurahua volcano as we sit watching.
Every time we hear a siren, we wonder if we should be evacuating, but locals continue to pass by as though there is nothing to worry about.
We eat dinner, return to our hostel, put our trust in God and go to bed.
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