Trevelin and Esquel – Part 4: “La Trochita” – The real little engine that could!
7 October 2006
(La Trochita Photos)

It is endearingly known as “La Trochita” by the Argentineans, but thanks to the travel writer Paul Theroux, some of you will know it as “The Old Patagonian Express”. “The Old Patagonian Express” recounts Theroux’s train journey that started on a Boston subway train with the rush hour crowds and ended at Esquel’s dusty, desolate railway station. This odyssey was undertaken in the mid-late 1970’s when North and South American railways were very much on the decline. Today, sadly, many of these services have long since disappeared, and, at a guess, you would be lucky to complete a third of this trip by train.

The very final leg of Theroux’s trip was from Ingeniero Jacobacci, a deserted junction on the east-west main line linking Viedma on Argentina’s Atlantic coast to Bariloche in the Andes (a passenger service still operates on this line, check http://www.trenpatagonico-sa.com.ar/index.htm). Ingeniero Jacobacci is the beginning of a 402km narrow gauge branch line to Esquel in the south. With a journey time of about 14 hours, the services that worked this line would not be classified as express.

A good historical description of the line can be found here (http://www.latrochita.org.ar/TrochiIngles/historia.htm). But, I will give you a ‘brief’ summary. In the first decade 20th century the Argentine government was keen to develop and exploit the resources of the Andean valleys of Patagonia. The only way envisioned of uniting these distant territories and bring their riches to market was by rail. A number of foreign engineers came to Argentina to survey the area, and proposed various schemes and routes. However, World War I, which severely affected the national economy, halted such plans. Though, ironically, the rail transport technology employed on the battle fields of Europe, known as the Decauville railways, provided the inspiration and, ultimately material for what became this infamous 402km branch line. And so with renewed vigour, a route was found, the 0.75m gauge was chosen (for reasons of economy) and rolling stock was ordered. This ambitious project began in 1921-22. The first train pulled into in Esquel in mid 1945 to much fanfare.

The name “La Trochita” is the diminutive form of the Spanish word “trocha” meaning gauge (ie. the distance between the rails of a railway line). The Argentineans often speak in diminutives, for example: “cafecito” – small coffee/espresso, “cucharita” – small spoon/tea spoon etc. Today, perhaps to ensure that there is no confusion, both the name “La Trochita” and the Spanish translation of the title of Theroux’s book are used.

To make a long story sort, road improvements led to a decline in railway traffic during the 1970’s and 80’s. Then in 1992 a decision was made that the line was to be closed. This came at a time when the government of Carlos Menem was selling off everything it could of the state’s assets. The privatisation binge extended to the national railways and was the death nail for most railway services. But, La Trochita would not go without a fight. Seeing the tourism potential of the little railway, the Provinces of Rio Negro and Chubut, through which the line runs, managed to save it.

Today, thanks to a dedicated crew of craftsmen and technicians, La Trochita is thriving. The line’s main workshops are located in the very small town of El Maiten, the halfway point of the line. To keep the trains running, parts are either cannibalised from the 900 or so original pieces of rolling stock or are made by hand.

Needless to say, I had been looking forward to this particular excursion for a very long time. I should mention that before arriving to Esquel, I was unable to get accurate information as to the trains’ status. Is it running? What is the timetable? How far does it go? Everyone told me something different, and frustratingly, the timetable on their http://www.latrochita.org.ar/) was out of date (and still is at the time of writing). Given the way things work here, I should have been used to this by now. But, finally I was here, ticket in hand, standing by the small, tin engine shed, watching as engine 105 took on water.


It could not have been a more perfect day for slow ramble through the windswept Andean foothills. I had arrived well in advance of our 1400hrs departure. This was time enough to take far too many photographs and observe the preparations for our 1 hour 10 minute trip to Nahuel Pan (all of 19km from Esquel). I will let you work out the average speed! I had wanted to do the nine hour trip all the way to El Maiten. Sadly, this service only runs during the peak season. April through October is considered the low season. In spite of this, every seat in our little six car train (four passenger cars, dining car and a guards van – caboose) had been sold. I was fortunate enough to have been allocated a single seat in first class – the only way to travel (shown below – click here to see what second class is like!).

Pulling out of Esquel I would have imagined that the novelty of La Trochita would have long since worn off for the local populous. But, almost everyone we passed, young and old, stopped, smiled and waved. When we crossed Ruta 40 (the main north-south road), people got out of their cars, many clinging to infants and toddlers, to watch this curiosity. And all of us, young and old, bouncing on our well sprung first class seats, would wave back enthusiastically.

Once we were well away from Esquel and the highway (all two lanes of it), it felt as if we were truly in the “middle no where”. No signs of humanity to be seen. And yet here we all were passing through this classic Patagonian scenery in this creaky wooden contraption. I tried to relish every moment, every sensation, all too aware that it would not last long. This was something quite special, and glancing around at the expressions of my fellow passengers, I sensed many were feeling the same. This was not just another tourist attraction; at least it did not feel like one. There was no fanfare or hype. It all seemed too simple for that. There was no gloss, glamour or gift shop. But, there was no need for any. Everything had been lovingly preserved and there is little that feels fake or contrived.

Nahuel Pan is not much more than a series of log cabins. However, it is home to one of the few remaining Mapuche communities in Argentina. We had about 20 minutes to explore before heading back to back to Esquel. I spent most of that time at the tiny museum that told the story of this particular community and of Mapuche history. I know I have overused adjectives like windswept, remote, desolate, dry and dusty. But, this is what Argentinean Patagonia is like. The wind never stops blowing with a “hold on to your hat” strength. It was quite incredible. Still not quite used to it, I asked one of the inhabitants if the wind always blew this hard. The reply started with a giggle. “Yes, always.”

We arrived back in Esquel at about 1700hrs and I was sad to get of off this little train. I wished that we could have gone just a bit further. As everyone went their separate ways, mostly on to tour buses, I lingered around. Now the local kids got their chance for a ride on La Trochita, even if was for only for a few meters as it made its final manoeuvres for the day. I watched as the engine went to work breaking up the six car set. There were two sheds, and neither was long enough to fit the entire train. So there was some good, old fashioned “shunting” required in order to complete this task. The kids then went back to their game of football as engine 105 made its way back to the shed where I had first gazed upon it.

Trevelin and Esquel – Part 3: The Welsh in Argentina
(Trevelin Photos / Gaiman Photos)

It was a slow start with all my aches and pains from my adventures on the Patagonian ski slopes. After all the physical activity I have done on this trip, I was surprised how sore I was. It probably comes down to using muscles that have not been exercised for a long time. On my walk to the bathroom, still not fully awake and not wearing my glasses, I stubbed my little toe on this foot high section of tree trunk. I had been cursing it for always being in the way since I had had arrived. I suppose this was its revenge. With everything else, I spent the next few days limping around.

That morning over breakfast I was chatting with Bibi, my hostess, learned that she had some Welsh ancestors. She had actually studied the Welsh language here in Argentina and spent a few months in Wales taking an advanced course. My Welsh goes as far as saying “lechyd da” which means something like “cheers.” Bibi is fluent, though I am not sure how she practises as the language seems to be barely surviving in Argentina (despite what my guide book says about hearing Welsh in streets). Though, perhaps Bibi is a living example of a younger generation that is keen to preserve its heritage. (NB. Many of you will know that the Welsh language is alive and well in Wales.)

“Wait a moment…but…how…what is this about Welsh in Argentina?” you might be asking. The British government during the 19th century was not at all keen on the idea of the Welsh using their own language and had an inferior legal status compared with English. Hence, in 1865 the ship Mimosa arrived in small gulf on Patagonia’s Atlantic coast with 153 Welsh men, women and children aboard. Their aim was to establish a Welsh colony as far away as possible from English control. After considering various locations in various parts of the globe they chose Patagonia, specifically for its isolation. The Argentineans welcomed the Welsh contingent by giving them 100 square miles of land along the Rio Chubut. On the shores of this gulf they created their first settlement, which they named Puerto Madryn.

This seemed like an idea situation until they realised that this new world of theirs was not like the lush green valleys of their homeland as it had been enthusiastically sold to them. The area was suitably remote and desolate, but was also a semi-desert with little drinking water or food. After suffering through drought and famine, they knew that they would not survive if they stayed on the coast. They made their way inland and founded their first permanent colony, Gaiman, on the banks of the Rio Chubut in 1874. Some continued on, going further west, eventually reaching the Andes. And this is where a small group of the colonists, led by John Evans, established Trevelin in 1889. The grave of John Evans’ horse, Malacara, is one of Trevelin’s principal attractions. It is said that Malacara saved his master from an ambush.

The early years were extremely rough for the settlers, but the Welsh were responsible for the initial settlement of the Province of Chubut, founding towns like Puerto Madryn, Rawson (provincial capital), Trelew, Gaiman and Trevelin. The Welsh had good relations with the local Tehuelche tribes, who had helped the settlers through some of their initial food shortages. It was about this period that the Argentinean government was systematically eradicating the indigenous peoples of Patagonia. It was also thanks to the Welsh designed irrigation systems that enabled the settlement of this region.

Today Gaiman is very much on the Patagonian tourist trail, mainly due to its close proximity to Puerto Madryn. Though, Trevelin is not far behind despite being 600km due west. Many century old, solid, red brick houses, chapels and mills remain. And I always found it amusing when I came across intersections of streets with names like San Martin and John Murray Thomas. Both towns have their share of tea houses serving the traditional “Té Gales” (Welsh Tea), consisting of a sampling of cakes, pies and scones as well as all the tea you can drink. Dinner is not necessary after this sweet feast!

Trevelin and Esquel – Part 2: Hitting the slopes of La Hoya
5 October 2006
(La Hoya Photos)

Trevelin is also a good base for visiting Esquel. Although, I did take advantage of the serenity on offer, I did make two trips to Esquel. Situated about 13km outside of Esquel is the little ski centre of La Hoya, and guess what…they still had good snow! This was slightly surprising because when I stood in downtown Esquel and surveyed the surrounding mountains, I saw no snow. I had heard from several sources that La Hoya was a good and “relatively” inexpensive place to take some ski lessons. Unlike Bariloche and its ski centre, there is no public transport between Esquel and La Hoya. You can either take a taxi or one of the twice daily minivan services. I hired all my ski gear at a place called Rossi Ski Rental in Esquel (skis, poles, boots, pants, ski mask and gloves) for AR$75 (US$25). This seemed a little expensive to me (cheap backpacker!), but the gear was pretty good and they had size 49 boots (about 14 US).

For AR$13 (US$4.50) a van collected us (me and a mother and son from Buenos Aires) from Rossi’s to the base of the ski centre. After several hairpin bends and some dodgy passing by our driver were dropped off at the car park at 13:15 and instructed to be back here by 17:30. The place is so tucked away that it was no wonder that I could not see it from town. I opted for the AR$24 (US$8) half day pass and took the ski lift up to the snow.

I had had a go at skiing once in my life, when my father took me up to Mohawk Mountain up in Connecticut when I was about 11. I have to admit that I did not enjoy the experience, and so came to conclusion that it was not for me. The question which ran through my mind was, “Would I take to it now, after 18 years?” When I got to the top of the lift I was able to verify that the snow was certainly not lacking. The main structure on the mountain served as the cafeteria, with suitably inflated prices, a little bar and the office of the “escuela de ski”. I booked my 2pm lesson with Mariano (I was told that there was no need to book in advance as things were quiet). For AR$50 (under US$17) I got a one hour private lesson. Not a bad deal! I found a cosy corner with a welcoming fire and a comfortable, white sofa and ate my sandwich.

Mariano did not speak much English, which was fine with me. I needed all the Spanish practice that I could get. I followed along just fine. Mariano was an excellent teacher, and after an hour I was zigzagging down the short beginners slope with some confidence. After the lesson I continued to perfect my technique – turning, slowing down, stopping, keeping the knees bent, staying relaxed and flexible. I must have gone up and down 20 times. I had this fear of not being able to stop at the bottom and going off the mountain. So took my zigzags like an abuelo (granddad) at first. Being fiercely cautious as I am, I did not fall. Meanwhile, a fearless group of five year olds were having a class and really showing me up, racing past.

The beginner’s slope had a rope tow. That is how shallow of a run it was. The rope tow seemed to cause some a great amount of difficulty, leaving casualties right and left. I could not understand what the problem was. How uncoordinated are these people!

I wanted to have another lesson, but it was not to be. The next day, Nestor Kirchner, the Argentinean president was coming to Esquel, and so coming back did not make sense. As it turned out, I was so stiff and sore the following morning that I was really not up for it. Firmly clinging on to the rope tow also practically killed my left arm. But, the taste I got from my afternoon at La Hoya left me wanting more. I have to thank the British couple I met in the hostel in Santiago who had also learned to ski at La Hoya and had recommended it.

Esquel and Trevelin, Chubut - Part 1
4-8 October 2006
(Trevelin Photos)

Many of the Argentinean provinces are named after rivers. The Rio Chubut flows from the Andes, across the relatively unpopulated province to the Atlantic. But, there is something I like about the name Chubut. Just saying it is oddly satisfying. It is pronounced something like “chew-boot”. The word derives from the Tehuelche (the indigenous tribes of Patagonia) “chupat”, meaning transparent. Apparently, chupat was deemed to close to the Spanish verb “chupar” which in Spanish American slang means to booze and so the name was changed to Chubut on the grounds of decency.

Esquel (NB. a “u” following a “q” is not pronounced as it is in English - Esquel is pronounced like “eskel”) is the principal town of western Chubut and sits in the dusty and dry Andean foothills. It is about 150km south of El Bolsón, about a 2 1/2hr bus ride. However, Esquel was not to be my final stop on this leg, the small town of Trevelin, 22km southwest, was. To be honest, I did not find Esquel all that attractive. But, for me, it did have one significant draw, one which brings people from all over the world – “La Trochita”, or more commonly known as “The Old Patagonian Express” thanks to Paul Theroux. So, before continuing on to Trevelin, I walked the two blocks from the modern bus terminal to the primitive and abandoned looking train station. Though, this is exactly how I imagined it to look like after recently reading about Paul Theroux’s great train odyssey. To my surprise the ticket office was open and I made a reservation for Saturday afternoon’s excursion. I will write more about La Trochita later.

I had read about a very nice sounding HI hostel and Trevelin and so it seemed like a good place to base myself for a few days. Despite being only 22km, the bus ride takes at least 40 minutes. Taking this bus at 6pm on a weekday with a large backpack is not ideal, but it can be done (to the slight annoyance to your fellow passengers). I did not have map of Trevelin and therefore I had no idea where to get off. Not long after entering the town we passed a small square where I caught a glimpse of what I thought was the tourist information office. I scrambled off of the bus with my packs before it went on too far to who knew where.

Trevelin is actually a Welsh word meaning town (tre) with a mill (velin). Eh? Welsh? In this most remote part of the world? This story of the Welsh in Patagonia is very interesting, and I will recount some of it a little later on. I thought that I would not find a more relaxed place than El Bolsón. Well, I found one – Trevelin! With only 9,500 inhabitants, this is not a surprise. The focal point of the town is its leafy square where I did in fact find the little tourist office. They furnished me with on of the most useful brochures that I have come across. A nicely laid out “A3” sized sheet folded in half giving four pages with maps, sights and a list of services. For such small place, I was suitably impressed and thought this was worth mentioning.

The streets radiate from the square at 45 degrees. And as it turned out, Casaverde (http://www.casaverdehostel.com.ar/), my hostel, was a few blocks from the square along one of these streets. The Casaverde is very picturesquely located on a small rise over looking the town and does have some great mountain views. The log style house was built by Charlie and Bibiana (Bibi) in the early 1990’s. It was quite unlike any hostel I have stayed in. I felt more like a guest in a private home. Charlie and Bibi made me feel completely at home. The hostel has one six bed dorm room with a decent ensuite bathroom and a coupe of double and triple rooms. The open plan kitchen/dining room/living room is very cosy. Or you can relax in one of the deck chairs on the front lawn. If you are looking for somewhere quite, somewhere to relax for a few days, you could not find a better place.

It takes all of half a day to explore Trevelin and visit its two museums: the Museo Histórico Regional and the Museo Cartref Taid (Welsh for grandfather’s house). Sadly I missed out on the latter, which tells the story of John Daniel Evans, one of the first Welsh colonists to settle in the area. On the same site is the tomb of Evans’ horse, “Malacara”, who apparently saved his life during an ambush by a local indigenous tribe. There are also two Welsh tea houses, which serve the famous cake-laden “Té Gales” (Welsh Tea). And about 25km northwest is the Parque Nacional Los Alerces, which attracts hoards during the summer months. The nearest Chilean border crossing is only 35km to the west.