For anyone aspiring to run a penal colony, it's all about location, location, location. It needs to be far away from anything, but the good ones provide plenty of hard labor activity to the inmates. For Argentina, it was Ushuaia- the southernmost city in the world. Originally the penal colony was bound for the Falkland Islands, but due to a gruesome murder of a cruel and newly appointed governor by troop mutineers, plans were delayed and eventually changed to Ushuaia.
Cuddled in a valley spreading into the Tierra del Fuego National Park on the border with Chile, construction began on a narrow gauge railroad in 1902 to support erection of prison buildings, though prisoners had been living there since 1884. From 1902-1947 the railway transported convicts, employees, food and countless tons of rock, lumber, and sand, sealing its mark into the landscape forever. In 1947, the prison closed. In 1949 an earthquake ruined the path and the railroad eventually closed in 1952. Having recognized a niche for growing tourism, the southernmost train in the world reopened in 1994 with flair: a bigger track gauge (for stability), international steam engines (for sexiness), champagne and dinner service (for attracting proper clientele.)
El Tren del Fin del Mundo: the enterprise has done well. Today the train station houses a cafe, museum, and wide screen views of their extremely organized workshop. There's a keyboard player/singer, while the conductor-clad employees cheer on the crowd to "Name that [Argentine tango] Song" for a chance to win prizes while they wait in line. Mark won himself a post card when he correctly identified "Don't Cry For Me Argentina."
When the train rolled out of the station, Deets realized how anti-climactic an train departure could be: where he expected a hair whipping velocity, he realized he could run faster than the train at top speed. Sticking my head out the window where I expected to breathe crisp mountain air, I inhaled train soot. Mark just laughed at our indignance. For the next two hours we would take in the landscape in a teeny cabin and listen to a crackly, educational audio recording sounding like a down-market David Attenborough. We visited the Macarena Waterfall and cruised over the Pipo River sluggishly passing by hikers, who stared at us as much as we stared at them. We chugged past thousands of gray, corpse-like tree stumps in the peat bog, evidence of an intense yet necessary past. And a few horses.
I felt a little envious when the train petered to its halfway stop and the majority of the passengers hopped off to catch their tour busses. The rest of us waited for the engine to move to the back of the train. Surprisingly, the kids were absolutely fascinated watching the workers re-secure the engine with its coupling hook. I'm pretty sure it was their favorite part of the train trip. Back we went over the river, through the bog and past the waterfall- perhaps it was a bit slow going in places, but nevertheless: it was gorgeous- and the southernmost train in the world. How cool is that?
Cuddled in a valley spreading into the Tierra del Fuego National Park on the border with Chile, construction began on a narrow gauge railroad in 1902 to support erection of prison buildings, though prisoners had been living there since 1884. From 1902-1947 the railway transported convicts, employees, food and countless tons of rock, lumber, and sand, sealing its mark into the landscape forever. In 1947, the prison closed. In 1949 an earthquake ruined the path and the railroad eventually closed in 1952. Having recognized a niche for growing tourism, the southernmost train in the world reopened in 1994 with flair: a bigger track gauge (for stability), international steam engines (for sexiness), champagne and dinner service (for attracting proper clientele.)
El Tren del Fin del Mundo: the enterprise has done well. Today the train station houses a cafe, museum, and wide screen views of their extremely organized workshop. There's a keyboard player/singer, while the conductor-clad employees cheer on the crowd to "Name that [Argentine tango] Song" for a chance to win prizes while they wait in line. Mark won himself a post card when he correctly identified "Don't Cry For Me Argentina."
When the train rolled out of the station, Deets realized how anti-climactic an train departure could be: where he expected a hair whipping velocity, he realized he could run faster than the train at top speed. Sticking my head out the window where I expected to breathe crisp mountain air, I inhaled train soot. Mark just laughed at our indignance. For the next two hours we would take in the landscape in a teeny cabin and listen to a crackly, educational audio recording sounding like a down-market David Attenborough. We visited the Macarena Waterfall and cruised over the Pipo River sluggishly passing by hikers, who stared at us as much as we stared at them. We chugged past thousands of gray, corpse-like tree stumps in the peat bog, evidence of an intense yet necessary past. And a few horses.
I felt a little envious when the train petered to its halfway stop and the majority of the passengers hopped off to catch their tour busses. The rest of us waited for the engine to move to the back of the train. Surprisingly, the kids were absolutely fascinated watching the workers re-secure the engine with its coupling hook. I'm pretty sure it was their favorite part of the train trip. Back we went over the river, through the bog and past the waterfall- perhaps it was a bit slow going in places, but nevertheless: it was gorgeous- and the southernmost train in the world. How cool is that?
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| Down at the station |
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| Macarena Waterfall |
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| Tree cemetery |
