Chasing the Train
Chasing the Train
“Mom, why can’t we just go to Disneyland?” my seven-year-old daughter asked.
I checked the taxi’s speedometer. We were pushing 150 kilometers, and the speed limit, if there was such as thing along the Peruvian back roads, was probably eighty.
We were chasing the train to Machu Picchu, flying past snow-capped Andean mountains and fluttering chickens. Our driver, Alfredo, overtook everything in his path on the narrow two-lane road. At each blind curve he laid on the horn, blasting our way through the arid valley. On either side of us, mountains rose and seemingly touched the sky. We whizzed by people, llamas, and stray dogs. Pity the slow-moving animal.
We had awoken before dawn and were to meet Anna, our travel guide, in the hotel lobby at 5:30. She would give us our tickets and take us to the Cusco station. The train left promptly at six, she had said the night before, and we could not be late. Sleepy tourists milled about the small lobby, waiting for guides to whisk them away. Soon we were the only ones left. We watched the sun rise and cast eerie gray shadows on the cobblestone streets.
At 5:50, I hailed a taxi. In Spanish, I explained our urgency. Alfredo nimbly navigated his ancient American-made sedan through the quaint streets and escorted us into the densely packed station. We could not find Anna. Alfredo spoke with the ticket seller. The train was full, she said, there were no seats left. She remembered that Anna had purchased tickets yesterday but she would not let us on. We stood on the platform and watched the train leave.
Rosaria, another guide, approached us. She was Anna’s friend, and would take us to her house. Perhaps Anna had overslept. She suggested we catch the train at Poroy.
Rosaria sat in the front, and we piled into the backseat. At Anna’s house, a small cinder-block building with a grassy postage-stamp-sized front yard, Rosaria learned that Anna’s daughter had electrocuted herself and burnt her arm. Both were at the hospital. Rosaria grabbed our train tickets from Anna’s kitchen table.
We dashed off, with Alfredo’s foot heavy on the gas and Rosaria clutching the tickets. They discussed our plight, talking so fast I couldn’t follow. Their tone brimmed with emotion, and they waved their arms frantically. I almost yelled at Alfredo to keep both hands on the wheel when we barely missed two donkeys standing in the middle of the road. But I kept my mouth shut, believing that a backseat driver wouldn’t be appreciated. This was when my daughter questioned my choice of vacation venues.
The train made two stops before traveling through the roadless mountains to Aguas Calientes, the town at the base of Machu Picchu. They weren’t sure we would make Poroy and decided to take us to the second stop. Alfredo thought he might be able to make up time when the train slowed to negotiate several switch-backs.
At Urubamba, Rosario said she needed to return to Cusco. Leaving the car, she handed me the tickets and admonished Alfredo to hurry. Hell bent for leather, he flew his beat-up car along the road, the speedometer sailing past 160. I shut my eyes as a woman and her young daughter, dressed in brightly woven traditional clothing, chased a herd of llamas and alpacas across the road.
The station was outside of Ollantaytambo, on the Urubamba River. When we reached the village, Alfredo slowed. He wiped sweat from his brow as he picked his way through the crowded streets.
The train idled at the station. Large trees dotted the river bank, like a ribbon of green in an otherwise brown landscape. A conductor, dressed in a dark blue uniform and cap, stood on the train’s stairs. The platform was empty. Alfredo grabbed our luggage and practically threw it as us, urging us to Corre, corre — run, run! The train’s whistle blew, and the conductor waved at us to hurry. I wanted to hug Alfredo, exchange addresses, so we could stay in touch, but I only had time to slap $50 into his palm. I wasn’t even sure that was the correct price, as neither he nor Rosaria had mentioned fare.
As my daughter and I ran toward the waving conductor, I shouted to her, “You know how the ride ends in Disneyland. Here, we’re not so sure.”
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