Kaliurang volcanologist

Watching lava spill out of a volcano was arresting. I was arrested. Even from 6 miles away, its 2000 Fahrenheit glow knocked the wind out of me. A burning river tumbled down the mountainside, splashing orange bright beads like ocean spray along the way. The color deepened to red as it snaked down the mountain. I saw eight such fountains while I was there. It’s a serious thing, lava. That’s what I learned. As one of the flows turned toward us, I felt vulnerable as a blade of grass in a brush fire. Though I knew it probably wouldn’t make it even half the distance, I shuddered.
There were hundreds of people there, sitting on blankets at the entrance to a golf course in the middle of the night. A whole busload of Ibus showed up while we were there. Nearly expected a bingo game to break out. I’ve got some tape of the guys talking about the lava before we went up to see it. At the end of the audio, you can hear them convincing me to go. That’s all it takes, I suppose, to bring a sacrifice to the edge of a volcano.