I got high on the Train to the Clouds.
El Tren a las Nubes is, after all, the world’s fourth-highest operating railway line. It’s also the most popular tourist attraction in Salta, Argentina.
Constructed in the early 1900s in response to the discovery of precious minerals, the railway winds its way north through thinning atmosphere, across 13 steel train trestles, through 21 tunnels, over 31 bridges, and climbs up some 1,200 twisting curves before reaching an altitude of 15,000 feet at Abra Corillos, near the Chilean border. The train returns to Salta some 15 hours after departure, making it perhaps the world’s longest-lasting day trip to hypoxia.
The train chugged away from the station on narrow-gauge tracks that made the faded cars seem oddly toylike. As the first shafts of sunshine lit the wooden shacks on the outskirts of town, I opened the window, stuck my head out, and let the cool wind brush against my face.
Coveted window seat
Through a tour operator, I had secured a coveted window seat. I watched the broad, dusty plain stretch out to the horizon. The dark hues of dawn turned beige, brown and rust as the sun climbed higher and higher. The sky took on the look of faded denim. Judging by the desert landscape, we could have been chugging away from Albuquerque, heading for Phoenix or Reno.
At various points during the journey, I gazed at the bluest of blue skies, purple mountains, reddish-brown hills, thorny cacti standing like so many sentinels in a wilderness that stretches all the way to Bolivia.
From the lowland tobacco country and across a vast Mars-like landscape, the train moved northward. We passed through Quebrada del Toro, a giant V-shaped gap carved though the mountains by an ancient river. We zigzagged up el Alisal, gaining altitude at an accelerated clip. At los Rulos (the Curls), the train corkscrewed uphill like a dog chasing its own tail in slow motion.
Coca leaves for sale
The most spectacular moment came as we approached la Polvorilla viaduct. I had already consumed three cups of coca tea, which had been sold for a dollar each by a train attendant. Plastic packets of coca leaves were on sale as well. I stuck a leafy wad between my cheek and gum the way Walt Garrison used to do in the old TV commercials for Skoal tobacco.
The coca leaf, from which cocaine is yielded, is sold legally throughout Argentina as well as in Bolivia and Peru, where the plant is harvested in abundance. Traditionalists chew it. Ladies brew it. Inca warriors were known to munch on it before going into battle. Locals claim that coca leaves help offset the effects of altitude sickness. Which, of course, is why I was chewing the stuff.
200 feet above desert
When la Polvorilla viaduct swung into full view, I became nervous. An enormous web of steel girders rose 200 feet above the desert canyon floor. The girders supported a massive railway bridge that stretched across the rocky chasm for more than 200 yards.
As the high-plains air grew thinner, I nearly jumped out of my skin when the soundtrack to “Chariots of Fire” burst from the overhead speakers. The music was part of the Train to the Clouds audio experience.
Dozens of passengers reached in unison for their camcorders and leaned out the windows on one side of the train. The sudden redistribution of weight gave cause for alarm. I imagined the train tilting over la Polvorilla viaduct and crashing to the canyon floor in a fiery explosion. Consequently, I could not bring myself to look out the window until after the train crossed the trestle.
Difficult to breathe
Hours later, the Train to the Clouds ground to a halt at the turnaround point more than 2 miles above sea level. Along with the other passengers, I stepped from the train car and onto a cracked, barren plain that fanned out to forever. Snow-dusted mountains teetered on the horizon and propped up an ice-blue sky. The temperature had dropped to maybe 45 degrees, which made the thin swirling air even more difficult to breathe.
Here in the middle of a harsh desolate nowhere, as far from a triple-shot grande mocha latte as one can possibly get, a small group of indigenous villagers had gathered to sell trinkets to passengers. Young boys held out adorable baby llamas that blinked innocently and melted your heart. The baby llamas could be touched and photographed for a price. Young girls, some of whom were unwilling to look buyers in the eye, thrust woven bracelets high above their heads. Adults offered ponchos and gaucho sombreros, which tourists gobbled up.
I stumbled around in a semi-hypoxic daze, sucking at the too-thin air. “You want coca,” said a local teenage boy, proffering a packet of medicinal green leaves. I shook my head, realizing that coca leaves don’t offset the effects of high altitude, after all. They only take you higher.
Elliott Hester is the best-selling author of “Plane Insanity” and the recently published “Adventures of a Continental Drifter.” Contact Elliott at megoglobal@hotmail.com or visit elliotthester.com.
