On my way back home from the office, I saw a few people running up the hill. I though to myself, "See? The people of Urubamba DO run. Dang, they're fast too. I should ask them to join my running club." And then I paused for a moment to take in my surroundings and I noticed that everyone was running up the hill. Old women, children, people carrying a bunch of stuff... Not only were they running, they were sprinting. And some of them were crying. A woman was screaming, "Chicon se va a caer!" (Chicon--the pueblo on the hill-- is going to fall!). All the sudden I was in the middle of this apocalypse panic. I saw a few other volunteers on the street and I asked them what was going on and they said the river had flooded and Chicon might be about to landslide down the mountain. All of us got called back to the office where we sat... and waited for the world to end (which seemed ironic becuase it was a blue-sky sunny day outside).

After a while, things calmed down a bit but they still wanted all of us to stay close. Chicon never fell, and the water receded a little (although there were still a bunch of houses destroyed). We went back to our families to tell them we were safe and that we'd be staying at the Casa Properu, bought some stuff to make dinner, and all slept in the bunk house.