The Old Patagonian Express : Esquel : Sat 8th Feb

Esquel is a town with a few surprises. A prison, for one. Some charming hills and mountains creeping in at the edges. A rather rough side of town that you would be shocked to find in a peaceful and attractive town like this.

It also is the home of the semi-legendary Old Patagonian Express (or Viejo Expreso Patagonica as it is known round here), a train committed to literary history in Paul Theroux's book named after the eponymous narrow-gauge train. I had forgotten it was housed here. Sarah, fortunately, had not.

The streets of Esquel are lined with chalet-esque abodes, wooden framed restaurants, and a surprising number of small gift shops. Not that we were buying, of course. There was also an outrageous lack of pubs here! Good job we had a fancy deli a few doors away from the hostel where we could collect bottles of fine El Bolsón beer at $28 each.

The train station is at the north east corner of the town, a mere 15 blocks away. We set out to explore and take the 2pm train to nowhere...

At the station the wind was blowing a gale. The climate, not just the environment, is much changed from the east coast. The wind is bitterly cold, hurtling down from the Andes and chilling your core, even as your skin is toasted by the hot sun overhead. The grey dust blows into your face, sunglasses are essential in this sort of place. Not quite as many dogs running free in this town, which is noticeable, but plenty of squawking birds to break the roar in your ears.

There are a couple of engines still in use. We were lucky to catch the return of the early train, and the disembarkation of an awful lot of old people, who wandered down the hill and into waiting coaches.

We crossed the tracks and ascending to the street of houses overlooking the Esquel train station. This is not a town of incredible excitement. We are out of season here too. Most people are in this part of the world for winter sports. In February the mountains are mostly snow-free and merely fine for hiking. One hill has a cross on the top, and most travellers use it as their distraction from the dry streets. In the museum at the train station we saw photos of the train in motion during the winter months. The difference is stark. This is a town that transforms itself twice a year.

The old stock train is in the foreground, the touristic passenger train in the rear.

At 2pm our train filled up and we took our numbered seats with a lot of old people. Our carriage had a guide who entertained them as we chugged along. The couple sitting opposite us spent most of the journey there and back in the cafe cart, as the carriages are very limited in size, and the man was the size of a very hungry Viking. It worked out for the best. The train is $250 return, which was about right for what it was.

The view of Esquel as you draw out of town.

The train doesn't go very fast, though it is capable of 60km/h on straight track. This section of track is not straight. It hardly matters, any faster and you would have risked the old people getting over excited. It did mean that I could take a lot of photos however.

At the Egg Bend you can lean out and take photos of the train in motion. The old people were a bit rowdy at this point.

If the Magnificent Seven were sheep, they would have looked like this.

The train draws into a 'town' to stop, so long as six wooden shacks in a row can be described as a town. Everyone gets off, goes to the first shack which sells 'famous' tortas fritas (fried bread puffs), famous as being described as 'essential' in Lonely Planet. Naturally they sell out of these quickly, even if they aren't actually very exciting (although $2 each). Then everyone looks at the little gift shop and buys a choripán, which is a sausage bap, except its very very salty. In the next shop is tea or coffee. In the next are scarves and other 'artesian' things. In the next are the toilets. Finally you have the 'artesian' market, where you can buy jam and sauce and jumpers and scarves and bracelets and wooden things and spoons and more bracelets and neck ties and liqueurs. Exactly the same as everywhere else. Every time you stand still two dogs run up, some mutt type thing and a three legged poodle. I tried to convince them I was saving them from heart disease but they didn't understand. In the end I gave them the dregs of my fatty, salty, greasy choripán. It vanished in seconds to the dog stomach void.

The excitement of this location is epic. Nahuel Pan is the name of this square of scrubland.

And so we head back again...

It was certainly worth the time, not least for the views and for buying into a little piece of history that we in the West actually know about down here. There's plenty to learn about this train network; why exactly it was narrow-gauge, where the engines came from (Belgium), and how they got here, and what the train was actually used for. The train is only relatively recently retired from active duty, not enough people needed to get from Esquel to El Maitén. Now its just for people like us. I hate feeling like a tourist, even when its exactly what I am.

Pasta Empanadas Pizzas? An Argentine version of the legendary 'PIZZA PASTA BURGERS' on the Lisburn Road?

Liked this too, a big plastic pot of oil spewing colour into the street.

What else was there to do but head back to the hostel, watch some sport and order a big pizza? It worked a treat. Here we had Sarah with the local dog (as per usual), and Simon from BA in the background. We were, as per usual, the last people to bed. Not in shot is Ryan from Philly, now Clearwater, who joined us for a few beers, nor the Israeli guys we met too.

PS : as you discover quickly down here, there are certain nationalities you meet time and again, and some very conspicuous by their absence. The British Isles are virtually unrepresented in the Southern Cone. You meet a few French, and Germans are quite prevalent. Aussies and Kiwis spring up from time to time, though not this far south, and not very often off the beaten track. Italians are utterly void, even though Argentina is virtually Italian by default. There are also no Portuguese or Spanish anywhere, which is funny when you think about it.

However the one nation who really embrace South America is Israel. Now that we have made our way onto 'the Israeli Trail' (as we have humorously named it), we meet them everywhere. In packs, or all alone, they all have only one goal : to avoid as many Israelis as possible. Each and every one of them has expressed this. Yet they head to exactly the same well-worn spots as the rest of their countrymen! They just can't escape their destiny.

One place that they refuse to go is Paraguay. None can give a sufficient explanation why. One girl said 'Its full of Muslims and they hate us' which I found quite surprising given that I didn't see any Islamic presence in Paraguay at all (certainly not an overt one, anyway). Other folk have been vaguer, with "They just don't like us there". I always reply with the story of the chap in the Western Union office in Encarnacion telling me about his time working in a kibbutz. They are always amused but unconvinced. I guess there are historical reasons to believe that some Latin American countries were more sympathetic to Nazi Germany than to the creation of the state of Israeli, but then surely they wouldn't go to Brazil either?

Either way, the Israelis are good company, and we learned about their love of horseradish powder during Passover! Weird!