Isaiah 43:1-3, 7, 10-13

But now, this is what the LORD says— he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior... Bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the ends of the earth—everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.... “You are my witnesses,” declares the LORD, “and my servant whom I have chosen, so that you may know and believe me and understand that I am he. Before me no god was formed, nor will there be one after me. I, even I, am the LORD, and apart from me there is no savior. I have revealed and saved and proclaimed—I, and not some foreign god among you. You are my witnesses,” declares the LORD, “that I am God. Yes, and from ancient days I am he. No one can deliver out of my hand. When I act, who can reverse it?”
Isaiah 43:1-3, 7, 10-13

Monday, February 13, 2006

Tarata


Last weekend, our host family dad took us on an outing to a little town called Tarata, about 45 minutes away from Cochabamba. It was our first taste of the countryside around Cochabamba, and a myriad of images struck me as we traveled in a crowded micro (little bus): tall, slender eucalyptus trees; usually arid rolling hills turned green by the rain; small adobe villages; Quechua women in their full pleated skirts, braided hair, and broad-brimmed straw hats; babies tied on their backs in brightly colored mantas. Tarata itself is a historic colonial town that received its name from the multitude of tara trees found there. The fruit of the tara tree is used to cure leather. Tarata is best known for being the home of mad president Melgarejo in the 1800’s. It also has an ancient neoclassical church, and a Franciscan convent. We walked the narrow cobbled streets, visited the churches, and ate fried chorizo (pork sausage) at a little café.
Posted by at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)