All of today was spent on a train headed into the mountains northwest of Salta. We left at 7 a.m., and returned after midnight. In between was some of the greatest desert/mountain scenery imaginable.
I woke up after three hours’ sleep, turning on TV to create enough noise to keep me awake. Unfortunately, Field of Dreams is on and its near the end. This really gets to me, as I start thinking about Mom, just as Kevin Costner gets to see his long-deceased dad. Not off to the best start.
As I walk the 11 blocks to the station at 6 a.m., I see dozens of people walking the other way, leaving the bars and clubs. Once again I’m possessed with smug self-satisfaction, tempered by the fact that I would certainly have been in bed another four hours if I had my way. Oddly, the city’s train station is next to the area with all the bars. The station waiting area is already full of people appearing to have a great deal more energy than me. Outside near the doors, a small army of various candy, sausage, and crafts vendors try to sell to the waiting passengers, and beggars just ask for money. The requisite group of Japanese tourists (or as Bill Parcells would put it, “Jap tourists...no disrespect”) and their three tour guides are busy snapping photos of themselves and the station. I’m absolutely dying to drop a “Hey, Wang, it’s a parking lot!” on them, but sadly, no one would get the joke. I had trouble actually getting on the train. Everyone else had a ticket they purchased from a vendor, but I guess I was the only one who bought it over the Internet. So I wasn’t on all their lists. I also didn’t print my receipt because I’ve been on the road and haven’t had access to a printer. And, despite being a pure tourist trap, only one or two people connected to the train actually speak English, so that made it fairly difficult the whole day. So while there was a running commentary on the ride outward, I didn’t understand a word. A lady staffer would come to me every now and then and explain in broken English some highlight we were observing.
The train operation itself seemed fairly efficient for this sort of thing. The train appears to be a 1940s or 1950s vintage passenger train, with four passenger cars, a dining car, and an engine. You’re assigned to a particular seat (in my case an aisle seat so I was looking out over someone’s head the entire time). They serve a pretty horrible breakfast and lunch as part of the very steep ticket price (US$140), but charge for other things like water and cokes, as well as for dinner. There’s a lot of staff, including two people assigned to each car explaining the sights passing by, various other attendants, security (of course) and management types. When the train left and entered the station (and for about an hour on each side), they required us to shut the blinds on the windows for security reasons. Later its explained to me that people near the outskirts of town have been known to throw rocks and worse at passenger trains and buses. Two pick up trucks with security followed the train most of the way on roads running alongside the rails, stopping traffic at each crossing so we wouldn’t have to stop. I was seated next to a woman from New Zealand named Ally, who was living in Cordoba for two years to help her son take care of his two small children. She was taking a car trip with two friends, sort of a retiree Thelma and Louise (Grandma style) adventure. One of her friends is a former judge, whom I wound up sitting next to for about 2/3 of the trip. We visited for awhile about New Zealand, then about her experiences living in Argentina. She confirmed a lot of the things I’ve related previously, adding mainly that the Argentines are very welcoming, emotional, and passionate people. Things may not run on time, but they have a really great appreciation for life.
The photos I took best show the terrain and views on the trip. Among the highlights were the desert colors near sunset, various wild llama herds, a salt flats, a cemetery where some of the original workers are buried, and the Viaducto La Polverillo at 4,200 meters elevation (where we got out for a bit). Another highlight was the little village of San Antonio de los Cobras where the train stopped for about 30 minutes. We were greeted by a crowd of Indians selling crafts, baked goods, and other small items. The scenery is mostly high desert, although in the area near Salta there’s more trees than in later stages, where seguro cactus essentially gives way to scrub. The train ascends to over 4,000 meters, which is about 2 ½ miles above sea level, or about 3,000 feet higher than Santa Fe. The line apparently is unique in not using “rack and pinion” devices, so at two points, the train has to make “switchbacks” to make it up (or down) an elevation. The day was spectacular—clear blue sky the whole day. They advertise this as the highest train in the world, although apparently the Chinese have installed one at 6,000 meters. Leave it to the Chinese-outdoing everyone with their vast slave labor and copyright pirating lifestyles. At around the 3,000 meter level, I started getting really sleepy, which it dawned on me was the altitude effect (or having had about six hours sleep during the last 48, not sure which). Right around that time, everyone broke out the coca leaves. That’s right, coca leaves, as in what cocaine is made from. Maria Angelica, the retired judge, explained that in this raw form, they help with altitude sickness. What’s next, crack for stomach aches? Heroin for allergies? But when in Rome…I tried the leaves but to no apparent effect (other than the joy of having leaves in my mouth for a couple of hours, like a beaver building a dam).
As I said, we got in after midnight, and I had to leave the hotel at 7:30 to catch my flight, but still had to pack when I returned to the room. Not much sleep again tonight.
All in all it was a great day for a train ride. An overpriced, touristy train ride in Spanish where they barely let you on the train and try to dope you up with Bolivian Marching Powder.
Next-traveling to San Carlos de Bariloche
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