Trains

I wasn't sure what to expect when I decided to take the train to Cordoba. At about $15 for a '1st Class' ticket the price was right so on a Monday evening I headed to Estación Retiro, Buenos Aires' largest train station. The train was full and we left right on time heading north past the train yards full of rusting locomotives, the shanty town beside the tracks, and then the well off suburbs of north Buenos Aires. Traveling by train you get a 'backyard' type view into how people live. With windows and doors open, you get glimpses of kitchens, back patios, workshops and tiny parks all alive with people ignoring the passing train. Some views stay with me - a fat kid with a grubby shirt leaning on the wall of a patio filled with tires, several pairs of feet resting on a table visible by the flicker of a tv, three teens on motorbikes patiently waiting for the train to pass. An hour later the visual sights began to fade into darkness of the night and smells took over my senses. First the pungent smell of a river in the city, then the sweet smell of empanadas coming from the train's food vendor. Not long after the smoke of garbage burning by the tracks mixed with the moist smell of rain on hot earth. Then the storm came. Now all I could focus on was the thunder almost drowned out by the loud clanking of the train on old tracks. The lightning was surreal over the pampas. The rain poured down and in.

Apart from the rough rash from the sweat plus vinyl seats combination and wet feet I felt somewhat refreshed the next morning. I soon found out why - the train had been stopped most of the night. I looked outside. We were moving slowly and there was water everywhere. Some people were frustrated, others looked uninterested - like if this happens all the time (maybe it does). The many kids around me were starting to get restless. There was a steady stream of thermos laden passengers (heading for the dining car to get hot water for their mate) passing back and forth. The flooding receded, we picked up speed passing through Rosario and Villa Maria. Just before Cordoba I suddenly noticed that I was the only person with my window open in my car. The old man across the aisle whispered that I close it. As I slammed down the metal grill I saw the kids hurling rocks. At 4PM we arrived in Cordoba's Estación Mitre, 20 hours after leaving Buenos Aires. The trip took exactly double the time the bus takes, but was worth the experience for so many reasons.