The old Patagonian express Book

This book tells the story of Paul Theroux's journey from his home in Boston, Massachusetts to the foot of South America, in 1978. He travelled almost exclusively by train - many different trains - and took it him about two months to reach his final destination, at Esquel. From the snow of North America, through the heat of Central and South America and finally the barren desert of Patagonia I found myself held spellbound throughout.

Theroux clearly completed exhaustive research beforehand and had figured out a route that took him through Chicago and down to Laredo, Texas where he crossed the border into Mexico. From there took he took in much of Central America (though he skipped troubled Nicaragua) before travelling through Columbia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia and finally Argentina. And though the route itself was pre-planned, it's clear that in this pre-internet age the ability to accurately access train timetables and therefore schedule travel with any degree of precision was extremely limited. And anyway, trains often ran late or were halted en route - sometimes for significant periods of time.

He initially positioned himself as an inquisitive but mildly truculent traveller, but as the journey progressed he seemed to relax into the pace of it and provided, increasingly, glimpses of not only his humour but also his intelligence and his powers of observation. In fact, though he clearly enjoyed the role of solitary traveller, he clearly went out of his way to talk to as many locals as he could along the way. His accounts of some of these conversations were illuminating and very often hilarious. It helped that he speaks Spanish (thus, possibly, his chosen route avoiding Portuguese speaking Brazil) and sometimes he'd listen in to chatting locals who were unaware that he could understand their jibes directed at 'gringos' in general and, sometimes, at him in person. But most people he met were friendly and they very often went out of their way to be helpful.

I've heard Theroux previously state that to be able to travel and truly see a country it is necessary to avoid the luxury of the rich tourist and also to take your time. He successfully achieves both here and yet it's clear that the journey was, at times, tediously boring and that he stayed in some pretty poor - and sometimes rat or cockroach infested - accommodation. But his accounts of the colourful characters he met and his meticulous and brilliantly crafted passages capturing his reflections on the places passed along the way and visited are not to be missed. I found his time spent visiting the Panama Canal Zone (an unincorporated territory of the US until shortly after the author's visit) to be particularly engaging. When he met the local mortician, who also happened to sing with in barber shop quartet, he observed in his voice: a melodious croon, a singer's modulation and a morticians concerned coo.

I listened to this book on audio, read superbly by Norman Dietz who was brilliantly able to mimic a range of accents that (to me) seemed to bring a degree of local colour to the conversations. This was demonstrated best of all when Theroux met with author Jorge Louis Borges in Buenos Aires. The section detailing these meetings was a true joy and had me laughing out loud constantly. Pure magic!

I read (and listen to books read by others) in order to feed my mind and to be entertained. This book achieved both aims. Theroux is a brilliant travelling companion, a well read and deeply interesting man in his own right and a natural storyteller to boot. What more can anyone ask for. I loved this book and I'm certainly going to accompany this man on another of his journeys very soon.