There aren't many trains in South America, unlike Europe, and i'm a bit of an enthusiast, especially if they are steam. This however was not. An ancient rusting model run on diesel, but i was excited nevertheless. It seemed to stretch out forever, and when i got inside i was immediately transported back in time. This was of the variety we'd get on as kids when we traveled down to Invercargill to visit Granny. Cool and cute i thought. I did wonder about the perspex coverings over all the windows and thought perhaps it was to protect them from tree branches and stuff like that. We weren't long into the journey when i discovered and remembered all sorts of other train journeys in my travels. I forgot about the backyards, the out of the way tracks, the edges of things. It traveled through the poorest of the poor districts. Some kids waved, groups of young kids threw rocks, a young girl, maybe 12 or 13, dressed in pink tracksuit bottoms and a blue sweater stood with her hands on her hips and gave us all the finger. I felt ashamed about the way the world has been divided up. While i am in no way rich, by being on that train i had unthinkable amounts of freedom she didn't. The train rolled past kilometers of shanty towns put together with anything that was found and could keep the elements out. Loads of rubbish and plastic bottles were everywhere and smouldering fires of the cities detritus dotted around the yards of the houses. A lot of these people, the families, survive on being the recyclers and rubbish collectors for the towns. Their horses and wooden carts trot around the streets in amongst the cars and buses, collecting what the consumer has discarded. It was pretty bleak. In the middle distance a number of industrial size chimney stacks were belching some toxic looking and smelling smoke. I would have given the finger too.
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