Reviews for The old Patagonian express

The average rating for The old Patagonian express based on 2 reviews is 4.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2017-05-14 00:00:00 Michelle Horve Apart from the occasional quick dash on the Metro, I haven't had much of a train life, as never really needed them. I do however recall the nostalgic memory of my first ever train ride aged about five, sitting on board just prior to departure I was excited and couldn't keep still, waiting for something extraordinary to happen, but the most euphoria I got was when the train shot through a tunnel for all of 30 seconds, other than that I gazed out yonder at the passing English countryside, munching on a bag of sweets wondering what all the fuss was about. Reading Paul Theroux's epic rail journey from a snowy Boston all the way down to the vast emptiness of the Patagonian plateau has certainly opened my eyes as to what's possible, it was a great pleasure, but not without pitfalls. Writing in his introduction he says that some people view a travel book as a type of novel, and that others who have turned little trips into huge odysseys where self-dramatization or invention is inevitable, but Paul sets out to not to take a long journey as an inspiration to write, but simply write about the journey whilst he's on it. After completion I view this in two ways, when describing the changing landscape, his thoughts on the countries he passes, and his experiences of being on the trains, it definitely has the feel of a dairy or journal, however, when meeting people or having conversations you can't help read it like a novel, apart from that is when he gets to hang out with Jorge Luis Borges in Buenos Aires. Starting on the Boston subway on a freezing cold day, Theroux sets off on his adventure, after stopping in Chicago he heads south through Mississippi, Texas and before you know it we are in Mexico, this all happens within the first 50 pages or so, so the bulk of reading is set mostly in central and south America. And it's here where the problems start, the heat for one thing plays a part in Theroux's restlessness and irritation and his writing changes from the calm before. It's safe to say he didn't think much of Guatemala, El Salvador or Nicaragua, and is constantly referring to the small towns as filthy rat holes, full of huge muddy puddles, crumbling buildings, foul smells, bug infested hotel rooms and squalid huts used as ticket stations, this becomes repetitive and annoying, but he can only go by what he sees with his own eyes, never does Theroux turn something into which it is not. He just wasn't prepared for the culture shock, and fully realizing just how bad some places are. But back on the train and heading into Costa Rica he was looking forward to what is described as one of the most beautiful rail routes in the world, from the capital in the mountains, through deep valleys on the north east, to the tropical coast, which because of it's rich jungle, Columbus named Costa Rica when touched on his forth voyage in 1502. Whist traveling alone, he never gets the chance to be lonely, striking up chat with locals, talking of religion, politics and how one makes a living, there are also fellow travelers who always try to out do each other on where there have been. Theroux would watch an ill-tempered football match between El Salvador and Mexico, badly cut his hand and spend most of the time worrying about infection, get altitude sickness that ruined his journey through the Peruvian Andes and Machu Picchu, this had passengers sucking oxygen out of balloons as a way to ease the suffering, and bizarrely get a grand tour of a mortuary after he befriends a funeral director close to the Panama Canal, his quest was certainly not a dull one. There are moments of humor also, he would chat to a group of drunks about how it seems the whole of central America in under military dictatorship, and pass through Colombia on the eve of an election making comments about the drugs trade. On a more serious note the children that Theroux encounters are well below the poverty line, like when he finds three young boys sleeping rough in a doorway, barely-clothed, using each other for warmth, one with a deathly cough. Whilst just down the road there are huge condo's, and tourists busily spending, how can people just be left to rot?, where a country is more concerned for visitors than their own people. I thought the rich/poor divide was bad enough in other parts of the world. Undoubtedly the finest moment in the book comes in Argentina, and has nothing to do with trains, Theroux would meet up with Jorge Luis Borges in his Buenos Aires apartment, browse through his monumental collection of books (supposedly the biggest owned by any South American at the time) go out for dinner at a fine restaurant after eating poorly for weeks, walk him back home and indulge in book talk. Borges, who was blind by now, even gets Paul to read him Poe and Kipling, no different from how a parent would read to a child at bedtime, this was really moving, and a great touch as we head towards the end. Once Theroux reaches Patagonia in all it's nothingness, he would reflect back on the past few months, and have a little laugh when thinking back to that day when he left a freezing Boston, with people on the subway, who were only just heading off to work.

Review # 2 was written on 2018-06-20 00:00:00 Deborah Duphily 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.