My first tourist port of call is Esquel, two and a half hours south of El Bolson. I´m there for the express purpose of riding La Trochita, The Old Patagonian Express. If I´m understanding Spanish correctly (which I may not be), it´s a steam train from 1922. I love old tyme travel, especially from the 20´s. It´s so bulky, inconvenient and stylish and I love when people sacrifice comfort for elegance (something I have not been able to do on this trip, much to my chagrin).
The train is scheduled to leave at 10am and I arrive at the station at 8:45 to buy my ticket and beat the crowd. Not a problem as I´m the first person there and the station isn´t even open yet. There are a couple of janitors inside who see me trying to open the door and let me in to wait inside. I manage to tell them in Spanish that I want to buy a ticket for the 10 o´clock train and they say (I think) that the ticket office doesn´t open until 9. Now I feel like an idiot just waiting there. I start reading In Patagonia, a travel memoir by Bruce Chatwin. It´s neat because I´m currently in the same area that he´s writing about traveling through in 1977 (year of my birth).
9:00 rolls around and I buy my ticket- first customer of the day. I ask for a window seat, but I think I say it wrong because the ticket boy looks confused and then says something that I don´t understand. I just say ok- he looks nice and I trust he´s got my best interest in mind.
About 5 minutes later, the doors fly open and a group of like 50 boisterous senior citizens walk through the doors and start taking pictures of everything. I think ¨What have I gotten myself into? This is going to be terrible.¨ Clearly, the Old Patagonian Express is a tourist trap and not the old fashioned, elegant voyage I was hoping for, despite getting dressed for the occasion in my best outfit and sombrero. I don´t know how to ask for my money back and I don´t feel like trying, but at this point, I´m not holding out much hope for the day.
The train pulls into the station and the tourists run outside and start walking all over the tracks to get pictures of the train. It´s cute and tiny and has the classic train silhouette, like the playing piece from Monopoly.
People start boarding in swarms, but I´m having trouble reading my ticket. The seating assignment is handwritten and my ticket says I´m in car P01. I see car 2021, 2064... and finally in the back I see car 901. I figure it´s the one so I climb the wooden stairs and find my seat. The ticket boy may be dyslexic, but he´s done me well. I´m seated in a single window seat. The car is more sedate, away from the raucous tour group. The inside of the car is all wooden and rickety and I´m sitting next to the wood burning stove.
We pull out of Esquel and I pop the janky window open. They don´t seem to have the same sense of danger and liability that we have in the US, so I stick my head out the window and dodge the passing rocks and trees. The landscape is unreal- deserty plains spotted with horses and cattle and sandy mountains in the distance. It´s absolutely beautiful. I put on my ipod, listen to John Fahey and suddenly I´m glad that I´m riding the Old Patagonian Express.
