The Train to Córdoba

This is a rewritten entry from February 3rd, 2009.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I decided to take the train to Córdoba. At about $15 for Primera class the price was right so I bought a ticket for next Monday’s departure from Estación Retiro, Buenos Aires' largest train station. My uncle was skeptical. He said he’d rather fly. But I’d been watching the trains go by for the past couple of weeks from up high in his Recoleta apartment. From his place looking out towards the Rio de la Plata you could see a fascinating progression of linear bands of land use. Directly below were the eleven narrow lanes of Avenida del Libertador and a large underused park full of sculptures. Next were a string of busy soccer fields and the wide rail corridor. Beyond the rusting locomotives lay a large informal settlement occupying the leftover strip between the train tracks and an elevated highway. Finally in the distance lay the majestic buildings and tall cranes of the port of Buenos Aires.

The train was full on that Monday evening. We left right on time heading north past the stacked dwellings of the villa miseria beside the tracks, moving through the well-off neighbourhoods of Palermo and Belgrano and then through progressively more disorganized suburbs. Traveling by train gives you a 'backyard' type view into how people live. With buildings and houses butting right up to the edge of the tracks, and windows open due to the summer heat, you get glimpses of kitchens, workshops and patios full of people seemingly oblivious to the passing trains. Some views stay with me - a fat kid with a grubby shirt leaning against the wall of a patio filled with old tires, several pairs of feet resting up on a table visible by the flickering light of a television, or three teens on motorbikes patiently waiting under a streetlamp for the train to pass.

As the evening faded into darkness the sights that had so captivated me diminished and smells took over my senses. First the pungent odour of a river in the city, then the salty smell of empanadas coming from the train's passing food vendor. Soon the smoke of garbage being burned near the tracks mixed with the moist smell of rain on hot dry earth. By the time the storm hit we had left behind the lights and smells of B.A. and were moving alongside what seemed like dark fields and empty dirt roads. Now all I could focus on was the sound of the thunder that almost drowned out the loud clanking of train cars over old track. The lightning was surreal over the pampas. The rain poured down and in.

I woke with the early morning light and felt somewhat refreshed apart from wet feet and a rash from the sweaty vinyl seats. I soon found out why I had slept - the train had been stopped most of the night. Looking outside, I saw we were moving slowly and there was water everywhere. Some people were frustrated, others looked uninterested – as though 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 along the aisle headed towards the dining car to get hot water for their mate tea.

As the flooding receded we picked up speed heading past soggy fields and into the outskirts of Rosario. From the elevated vantage point of the train you could see into the precarious settlements that had encroached right to the edge of the tracks. Nobody was around and some patios and rooms were under more than a foot of water. Outside the city the ditches had turned into streams and in the city underpasses looked like flooded pools.

The train was stopped at Estación Norte in Rosario for what must have been hours. I caught glimpses of the headlines from passing newspaper vendors; ‘Trágica Tormenta’ and ‘Quatro muertos en Rosario’. In the cabin, rumours were quickly spreading. Somebody said the train was leaving soon. Others said the conductor had told them we might get to Córdoba by tomorrow. Another disagreed, adding that the tracks had been washed out. Eventually we inched our way out of the station in reverse. I felt disoriented by the movement of the train while facing backwards. Combined with the contradictory rumours and the seemingly infinite landscape of the pampas, I was convinced we were heading back towards Buenos Aires.

The day grew hot and humid. The monotony of endless fields and cattle provided little visual stimulation. Not until hours later, when the train stopped in the town of Villa Maria, was I sure that we were heading in the right direction. Just before Cordoba I noticed that I was the only person in the car with the window shutters open. 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 4 in the afternoon we arrived at Cordoba's Estación Mitre. The trip had taken double the time it was scheduled, yet I had experienced sights, smells and sounds that I never would have on the bus.

There is something different about train travel in how we experience and understand the environments we pass through. The inherent rigidity of track infrastructure creates predictable experiences in which no choices of route, speed or stops are available. Yet a total dependence on single-use infrastructure forces passengers to react to unforeseen problems created by unreliable equipment, freight train schedules or surprise weather systems. There is a feeling of helplessness in the passenger who has little control over the details or outcome of his or her trip.

The views from the elevated position of a train car show how buildings, both large and designed or small and informal, react differently towards a rail corridor compared to a street or highway. Some big uses build next to tracks to connect with industrial freight transport where as others construct towering blank walls to keep out sound. Aware of the inability of customers to stop, businesses turn their backs onto the tracks, using those spaces for storage, dumping refuse or allowing the encroachment of other unintended uses. Small-scale uses take advantage of undesirable land near tracks to build informal homes or encroach into rights-of-way that are not fully occupied by tracks to create extra bedrooms or outdoor living spaces.

Train travel also permits an alternate view of the different zones of rural and urban landscapes. A more or less constant speed of travel with few stops or disruptions allows one to comprehend the relative scale of different land uses. It enables a visual understanding of the spatial relationships between the small highly valued downtown cores, the expansive semi-urban peripheries of most North and South American cities, and the vast hinterland of countries like Argentina or Canada.

Archive: Impact

November 20, 2008 - March 10, 2009

Plastic water bottles purchased: 52

Number of bicycles rented: 6

Distance traveled by airplane: 25371 km

Distance traveled by train: 700 km

Santiago

My return to Canada was wonderful but short-lived. I spent a month working in Toronto and I had passed just 10 beautiful days in Vancouver and then found myself back on a Chile-bound airplane. That morning, as I ate my soggy eggs in a plastic container and looked out over the infinite sea of clouds blanketing the pacific I thought about what it means to personally spew 2 1/2 tons of carbon on 'earth day'.

I am back due to the passing away of my grandfather. All the family is here together and the good memories of his life have balanced the sad moments. Landing in Santiago this time was different. Such strong memories of my trip and of him came rushing back. Memories that seem like they had faded so quickly as I slid back into my Canadian routine and lifestyle. But I will never forget the smells that greet you in Santiago as you step out of the airport. Its like a smokey sweet blend of smog, warm dry air and the stale Mapocho river. When I got to the 13th floor of the apartment building I realized I had not remembered how bad the smog gets here in the fall. Literally: where did the cordillera go?

There is no computer or internet in this apartment so yesterday I tried to find a wireless connection I could link to on my laptop. After about 25 networks asking for passwords (lots of tall apartment buildings in this area of the city) I found one that works in a 1m cubed zone close to the window by my grandmother's desk. After standing near the window holding the computer on my knee for a while I figured out that I can use it on the desk then just hold the thing above my head near the window every time I press 'send' or switch pages. It makes me laugh to think what the neighbours in the next building think I'm up to.

I went to the supermarket a couple days ago to stock up on food with Alicia. Apart from almost freaking out trying to enter a multi lane roundabout where endless streams of cars were flying by, everything was fine until we got to the juice isle. An action that has brought a smile to my face so many times before became so hard to do. As I slowly placed the box of Watt's apricot nectar in the cart it really hit me. The man who created all this is no longer here, and even though the company was sold years ago seeing that carton always brings back those stories he told me so many times of how it all started.

Altiplano Boliviano

Estas fotos son de un viaje de 4 dias en el sur oeste de bolivia en febrero.

100 % llama wool baby!

Cordillera Sud Lipez

Llamas y volcán

Aguas calientes en un salar

Geysers Sol de Mañana (~4900m)

Flamingos en la laguna Colorada

Arbol de Piedra en el desierto de Siloli

Laguna Honda

Salinity inspector (at a 'salt hotel')

Salar de Uyuni

mate y coca (larger than life)

Tabacal

Due to a relative that works there Andrea and I got a deluxe guided tour of TABACAL, a large scale sugar cane plantation and refinery in the province of Salta in Northern Argentina, right on the border with Bolivia. The refinery was started in 1920 and was recently bought by a large USA based company with agricultural interests all over the world.

Sugar cane in February has not reached full height. It was not very sweet when I broke a cane and licked the juices. Harvest season is from May to November.

It was only possible to grasp the immensity of 25000 hectares of sugar cane from the air. The company pilot (as he text messaged on his phone) casually toured us around the enormous property that completely surrounds the company workers town of Yriogen and the city of Oran.

The sugar refinery and alcohol distillation plant on the left. On the right is the houses for the managers and upper positions of the company.

Since we visited out of harvest season, the refinery is not working and much of it is under repairs or maintenance. The sugar cane is now almost entirely harvested by mechanical combines. The company is now eliminating the once common practice of burning the dry leaves of the cane before harvest to reduce weight (this matters when you process a quarter million tons of cane). This photo shows where the cane is unloaded by the trucks. It is then splintered and goes by conveyor belts to the refinery.

These are the crushers (machine is missing more rollers under repairs). The sugar cane juice is extrated and piped away. The leftover fiber is burned to make electricity for the factory, town and city.

The juice is heated in these tanks to evaporate the water. Chemicals are added to stabilize, preserve and purify. A huge tangle of pipes, tanks and machines end up at the crystalization tanks where the sugar is dried with hot air.

Sugar is packed by hand and by machine into different size packages. Many jobs in the factoy remain hand labour because of the pressure the labour unions put to keep jobs.

Loading trucks means beginning to disassemble the `building` of sugar from the top.

Town of Tabacal has its own church and all the buildings are matching architecture from the 30`s.

Valles Calchaquies

In the back of a pickup truck - there are no buses between Angastaco and Molinos. Andi's forced smile is due to the very windy road.

Quebrada de las Conchas, Cafayate

Cachi

Las Pailas with Nevado de Cachi

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.

Buenos Aires

Here are a few highlights of the many fascinating buildings, plazas and landmarks of this city. As interesting as they may be on their own, the best part about this city are the things you find by accident - the beautiful buildings hidden around every corner reminding you of what this city once was...

Downtown B.A. looking towards Plaza de Mayo

Plaza de Mayo

The main square of Buenos Aires celebrates it´s independence from Spain on May 25, 1810. The temporary fence has been in place to control protests since about 2001 when the country was hit with a serious economic crisis.

San Telmo is a neighbourhood where wealthy residents built homes in a colonial style. After a serious epidemic most moved to higher land in Buenos Aires´northern area and San Telmo mansions were converted into tenements by the thousands of immigrants arriving from Europe.


Recoleta Cementary - the most prestigious place to be buried

El Ateneo Bookstore - previously a cinema

Microcentro street scene. Corner building designed by Antoní Bonet in 1939.

Banco de Londres by Clorindo Testa, 1960

Puerto Madero was the old port district now converted into high end shops, restaurants and condos. The bridge is by Calatrava.

'Floralis Genérica' by architect Eduardo Catalano. The sculpture opens and closes based the light of the sun.


Riding Buenos Aires' Metro (SUBTE) can be a truly cultural experience. It was the first in South America when it opened in 1913 and sometimes it feels as if not all that much has changed. Riding the A line involves manually opening the doors of the vintage wood interior trains, enjoying the beautiful tiled murals in all stations and stopping at newspaper stands that sell books by Borges or Sábato alongside Playboy and the tabloids. That said, the trains are very slow, crowded and hot and the hallways are narrow and with my height you've got to watch out.

I have had the privilege to experience this spectacular city from an apartment with a view in Recoleta. Looking out towards the Rio de la Plata you see a fascinating linear progression of land uses. Directly below is Avenida del Libertador (an 11 lane avenue) with a park on the other side, then a string or soccer fields, next a large rail corridor, then an informal settlement of several thousands (villa miseria in spanish), then a elevated highway and finally the huge port of Buenos Aires. It is a captivating sight in the mornings. Now I am off to the Retiro station to catch the overnight train to Cordoba to meet my beautiful Andrea!

Peculiarities of the Good Airs

The romantic and sophisticated Buenos Aires is what draws the crowds of tourists, yet I find myself (in a somewhat cynical state of mind) passing up the luxurious european architecture and countless offers of tango shows. Given the precarious state of dial up connection at my uncles apartment I will not add any photos and instead will share a few comments on what I find strange aspects of life here.

BUS CHANGE:
Every single time I have walked by the Retiro train station there is a line up of several hundred people infront of a government kisok named MONEDAS (coins). Buses here only accept coins and I have learned from experience that yes it is that difficult to find change. I have found myself taking taxis not because there are no buses but because I have lots of bills, no coins and ´nobody has change´.

GUIA ´T´ DE BOLSILLO:
Having for the most part failed at figuring out the Santiago bus system, I decided to purchase the bus route guide for Buenos Aires: Guia T pocket edition. Its organization of information is quite peculiar. It does not contain (neither does the whole city as far as I know) a single route map. It has maps of the city divided into 36 zones each with 24 sub quadrents and it lists the corresponding bus numbers that pass through each quadrent. To find a bus you determine your start zone (lets say Map 10 A-6) and your desired destination (Map 17 C-5) and then compare the two lists of bus numbers and hope there is a match. If not, good luck!

FUERA BOTNIA, SI A LA VIDA:
On the way back from the Gualeguaychú carnaval (a couple hundred km north of B.A.) we visited a bridge with a view of a Uruguayan cellulose plant that has become very famous. This international border crossing between Argentina and Uruguay has been road blocked for 2 years. Local citizen groups and environmental activists have closed the highway demanding that the huge foreign owned factory on the bank of the Rio Uruguay be closed down. All international traffic and trade must use the next crossing several hundred km upstream.

I also wanted to send a big thanks to all my incredibly generous family and friends that have made sure that I have not had to open my wallet for a hotel room since December 5th!

El Sur

The past few weeks have been spent relaxing and eating with family at the beach, the farm or in the mountains. Always thinking ahead, I swung by Chile´s version of Canadian Tire to pick up an $18 tent before heading up into the Cordillera to spend New Years with the family in Valle Rio Puelo.

Cancura, Grandmother´s farm.

El Salto, Llanada Grande, Valle Puelo

When the whole family left, I hired a guide, Juan ´Mentira´ Martinez for a cabalgata (horse trek) through some beautiful mountain valleys. What I didn´t expect was such a cultural experience. Juan used to live in this valley so every farm we passed (about 2 per day) we would stop in for a couple rounds of mate amargo. At one friend´s house we were given a sack with a dead goat inside. Menu for the next 4 days: Asado al palo de chivo con pan.

Lago Vidal Gormaz

Juan left me in the magnificent Junta del Rio Cochamo (one of South America´s up and coming rock climbing spots) where I camped out with some chilean backpackers for 5 days.

Cerro Arcoiris with Martin. Yes I´m wearing 2 pairs of glasses.

Santiago

View from Cerro Santa Lucia

I will not attempt to summarize, just share a few experiences. Many family and friends of very different professional and political backgrounds showed me around the city, offering contrasting opinions on why things are the way they are.

Monasterio Benedictino, Martin Correa & Gabriel Guarda, 1950´s

Edificio Posgrado, Universidad Adolfo Ibañez, Peñalolen

The Santiago transit system is slowly putting itselft back together after a catastrophic failure due to a poorly planned and politically motivated modernization scheme called Transantiago. I´ll only add that it is a very popular conversation topic. On a metro I saw this ad:

It sums up well one of the many tensions that exist in this city. La Dehesa (pictured below) looks like most American suburbs, except the fences are twice as high and electric. As a good friend of my father put it: Santiago se esta comiendo los cerros. Now I must admit that I write these words just a few weeks after having enjoyed multiple asados at my uncle´s house in los altos de Lo Curro, zipping to a from downtown on la Costanera Norte (the new private highway buried beside Santiago´s defining Rio Mapocho).


There is much more to say of course and while Santiago has its negatives, its downtown is wonderfully vibrant, the parks are beautiful and mountains are so close.

101 años despues

Well it´s not quite the same voyage, but it is 101 years later.


I have learned an interesting piece of my family history while visiting an uncle in Santiago that I would like to share. Walterio Meyer Rusca left Switzerland in 1907 (at age 25) for Chile to work an 8 month contract as a railway survey engineer. He boarded a steamboat in Genova and arrived 3 weeks later in Buenos Aires. From there he went by train to Mendoza, and by small gauge train up into the Andes. He crossed the mountains by horse carriage and continued to the pacific ocean by train. A boat from the port of Valparaiso took him to the north where he worked. The following year Walterio returned to Chile again to work in the South and this time decided to stay.

Cruzando Paso de Juncal

Cuesta de los Buitres

Los ayudantes

Walterio wrote a diary of his travels and work and took many photographs which he would send home to his parents. His Diario de vida 1907-1909 Chile will be published next year in Spanish and German and will include letters and over 100 photos.