It has been a long time since I was last here. August 2004 during the practical part of my YWAM Discipleship course I came here to Entre Rios, a small town in the middle of a long winding journey between two cities of Bolivia. That was with a team of people, and we helped the local mission in any way we could. This included evangelism, working with the church, children, and visiting distant churches and people living in the mountains, walking over 12 hours at times to reach them. I have come in response to a promise I made to return, and because I believe that God has called me to return during this time.
A man in typical Bolivian dress sits outside the town hotel.
Frozen In Time
Today is my second day here. The town appears to have been frozen still in time. Everything is still the same. The old guy with a missing leg still sits outside his home serving cold drinks to people passing by. The roads and houses even down to the signs and writing are all just as I remember them from last time. In the mission are all the same faces, and the building has not altered in any way. Even the motorbike lying against the wall remains there, unfixed.
The recently finished town plaza.
There have been a couple of changes though. The plaza, still under repair when I was here, is now fixed and looking pretty. There are a couple of American girls working here, the first foreign faces that I have seen here outside of the mission. And the most significant change is that there is now Internet. It is slow, cuts in and out, and can be frustrating at times, but it exists.
Fruit and vegetables for sale direct from the farmer.
Somehow I feel right at home here. A slow pace of life, everybody knowing each other, limited selections of goods, limited communications, fresh air, beautiful mountains, and a relaxed atmosphere are all part of life here. I love dropping into a local restaurant and ordering from the selection of chicken leg or chicken wing for something to eat. I love seeing the same people over and over. Watching the paranoid man peek out of his old door and slam it again as I walk past. Watching the ladies in their Bolivian dress prepare their goods to sell. It feels like home. But it isn't.
A boy holds his pig, recently untied from the roof of the bus he was travelling in.
A young girl playing in the doorway of her home.
Towing an unwilling bull through town.
A side street leading down to the main route to Tarija.
One of the busiest streets in the entire town.
This old bus carries people out to the outlying settlements and towns in the mountains.