Monthly Newsletter - February 2009

Latin America was a very different place when, almost thirty-five years ago, Paul Theroux set out on his legendary train journey, following the lines from Boston until he reached the end of the line in Argentina’s windswept region of Patagonia. At the time of Theroux’s voyage large parts of Latin America were in the grip of military dictatorship, internal conflict was rife and much of the continent remained untouched and inaccessible to the traveler.

These days of course, things are very different. Democracy is widespread, stability has allowed economic progress and tourism has played a role in improving incomes and creating jobs. And yet three and a half decades later, as I retraced Theroux’s footsteps along a section of his route, many of his famously astute and colorful observations rang true; perhaps demonstrating the timeless character of this intriguing part of the world.

Theroux provided some useful inspiration for my girlfriend and me, as we planned our journey from Nicaragua to Peru during last year’s miserably wet British “summer.” This was our first visit to the region and, aside from its world famous features; the stunning landscapes, astonishing natural diversity and a vibrant variety of cultures, we had little idea of what to expect. What lay under this vast continent’s skin? What made it tick? For such an assessment, a meticulous dissection of this tangled and fascinating place, The Old Patagonian Express, Theroux’s second major travel novel, was the ideal travel companion.

Not that our journey had much in common with his. For a start, very few of those old railway routes still exist; ripped up and sold as scrap during the process of breakneck economic liberalization that has swept through Latin America since Theroux made his journey. Secondly, he was no normal holidaymaker in search of comfort and relaxation. Theroux set out on a deliberately arduous journey, avoiding all the normal luxuries of travel and opting instead to join the very poorest as they rode clapped-out antique trains across vast distances.

He avoided war-torn Nicaragua like the plague, we spent four weeks there. He zipped through Costa Rica straight to San Jose and Limon, we spent many happy days exploring the cloud forests of Santa Elena and soaking up the glorious Costa Rica weather on the beaches of the Nicoya Peninsula and Puerto Viejo. In Ecuador we took the hair raising Nariz del Diabolo (Devil’s Nose) train riding on the carriage roof as we skirted terrifying, bottomless gorges, while Theroux flew direct to Guayaquil. Arriving in Peru, we took a grueling 25 hour bus ride straight to Lima, he took a more leisurely route towards Machu Picchu.

But despite all the differences, Theroux was a valuable guide to our constant stream of new people and places. His eye for detail, his ability to articulate the visual environment we were passing through, his impressive grasp of social and historical contexts; they all served as our personal, expert guide to the countries we were visiting.

In one instance, struck by the tranquility of Costa Rica in comparison to its chaotic neighbors, he not only preempted our observations, but added an entirely new perspective with a typically trenchant flourish: “If San Salvador and Guatemala City were hosed down, all the shacks cleared and the people re-housed in tidy bungalows, the buildings painted, the stray dogs collared and fed, the children given shoes, the refuse picked up in the parks, the soldiers pensioned off – there is no army in Costa Rica – and all the political prisoners released, those cities would, I think, begin to look a little like San Jose.” And after this single sentence we began to notice the difference everywhere: the glazed windows, the well-stocked shops, even people’s cats and dogs looked healthier in Costa Rica.

Much later on, baffled by the bloody and brutal depictions of Christ on the cross in virtually every church we visited, it was Theroux who explained the reasons for such exaggeration. “It’s possible that the churches here have bloodier Christs than anything you’d see in the United States. But life is bloodier here, isn’t it? In order to believe that Christ suffered you have to know that he suffered more than you. How is it possible to suffer more than [the Peruvian] Indians? They’ve seen all sorts of pain…” Speculating on these grand themes of religion and poverty with his trademark laconic authority was like having a professor accompanying us on our trip. This running commentary kept us conscious of our surroundings, whether we agreed with his assessments or not.

But more so than his percipience and wit, Theroux’s real literary value comes from the personal connections he makes with countless people along the way. Fellow travelers, locals, individuals from all walks of life, they all come under his microscope. And what a microscope it is; a terrifying ability to judge his subjects to the depths of their characters, an occasional tinge of misanthropy but an eagerness to engage with everyone he meets, solely for the purpose of discovering and re-telling their stories. It is this relaying of individual tales, some bizarre, some mundane, that made The Old Patagonian Express so readable and so revealing for our own journey.

And in turn, following Theroux’s lead, we made our way along this small portion of his epic route, witnessing a continent that despite having changed beyond recognition since his journey all those years ago has retained its captivating appeal, and continues to entrance the visiting traveler.

By
Matthew Barker

If you have any questions regarding his article, please write to him at: mattb@costaricaforless.com

PAST NEWSLETTERS:

• Newsletter January 2009
• Newsletter December 2008
• Newsletter November 2008
• Newsletter October 2008
• Newsletter September 2008
• Newsletter August 2008
• Newsletter July 2008
• Newsletter June 2008
• Newsletter May 2008
• Newsletter April 2008
• Newsletter February 2008
• Newsletter January 2008