back to Erzulie Coquillon's Page

Nariz del Diablo
by Erzulie Coquillon - Editor@mytravelbug.org : Traveling in Ecuador
In general I have found public transportation in Ecuador to be quite an experience. Intra-city buses whiz through city streets at seemingly unchecked speeds, slowing only slightly to snag passengers up from the sidewalks wherever and whenever they should appear. Inter-city buses add to the fun of winding, often guardrail-less mountain roads where buses, trucks, and compact cars alike regularly play chicken, passing one another at will. Tiny white shrines that dot the roadsides bear silent witness to the danger of the game. I have, however, gotten used to this caution-to-the-mountain-wind style of transport in the weeks I have been here, and thus the chance to take a ride on the famed Nariz del Diablo (Nose of the Devil) train was, in my opinion, not to be missed.

SWITCHBACK TRAIN
The Nariz del Diablo is a portion of what is known as the Ferrocarril Transandino (Trans-Andean Railroad), begun near Guayaquil in 1899 and which arrived at its destination, Quito, in 1908 amid its share of fanfare. Expansion of the railroad continued on and off until 1965 when it connected all the way to Cuenca, in southwestern Ecuador. At the time of the railways’ proposal in the 1890s it was touted as the “most difficult railway in the world.” The most acutely difficult portion of this railway was the area that has come to be known as the Nariz del Diablo. Before reaching the town of Alausi the railway faces the nearly perpendicular face of a mountain. To overcome this obstacle the train zig-zags along the path dug from the mountainside, backing up and driving caboose first at intervals in order to reach the necessary height at Alausi (7655 ft above sea level). The mountain was not to be so scarred without a fight, however, and many lives were lost in the painstaking construction.

Today, trolley-loads of tourists gleefully take the 8 to 10 hours required to ride the short portion of the Trans-Andean Railroad from Riobamba to Sibambe that creaks its way down the Nariz del Diablo, either as a part of a package tour or just to say they have done it.

AN UNUSUAL SEAT
Unbeknownst to me until the night before my voyage, part of the thrill of the ride is the opportunity to enjoy the journey far from the relative comforts of the wooden boxcars, atop the cold metal roof of the train car. For the privilege of riding in such discomfort one must not only shell out a whopping (by Ecuadorian standards) $11 fare, but also arrive at the station in Riobamba by 6am, one hour before the train’s departure, in order to secure oneself a prime seat—or rather, space—on the roof.

So that is how it all began for me, standing shivering in the dark of a mountain morning, dressed in my typical tourist outfit of khaki pant-to-short zip-away pants and polypro shirts and surrounded only by similarly-attired tourists waiting for the arrival of the train. Once it pulled triumphantly into the station, I also discovered that one must scramble, push or be pushed, and take care to ascend the boxcar in such a way as not to be kicked in the face by the European or American tourist ascending before one. It is too late for me, but I offer myself up as a cautionary tale. The reward at the top is a lovely view of the snowy, pink-tinged dawn and viewing of the peak of the towering Mt. Chimborazo in the distance. Naturally it was another hour of waiting for the actual departure time.

OVER THE HILLS
In its entirety the Trans-Andean Railroad traverses paramo, cloud forest, and coastal jungle, and even the small portion passing the Nariz del Diablo encounters distinct landscape. The first hour or so begins in dry, dusty, yellow-and-brown cornfields and towns, while the middle hours pass through muddy, watery areas of black soil and green crops. Indigena farmers stand out against this countryside as bright spots of red, blue, or purple, as they sow, till, and reap their crops by hand. Then, before ascending toward the mountain, the route passes through a unique stretch of deserted rolling hillsides of grey sand dunes held together by waving tufts of yellow grasses and extraordinarily thick, verdant pines. Afterward, as the train reaches Alausi, this scenery gives way to paramo and dusty rock, as it climbs higher and higher up the mountainside.

All along, as the train rumbles slowly along through the changing countryside, it and its passengers are greeted by farmers and children, and chased by overly confident stray dogs. At first I found this charming, the thrice weekly ritual of school children run to windows and eagerly wave at the colourful menagerie of tourists strewn across the red wooden trains. It pleased me that they seemed to take this as a break in the monotony of a school or home day, the passing of strangers and the hollow hoot of the train’s horn.

REFLECTIONS
I do not pretend to know for certain what the people we passed really thought, but I began to wonder about my original assumptions of what we must seem like aboard the roof of our train to nowhere, as my fellow passengers proceeded to buy heaps of lollipops from the young boys who climb aboard buses and trains to sell cookies, candies, and other such luxury foods in order to feed themselves a minimum in a day. I became preoccupied with this thought, as my fellow passengers began—with the best of intentions, I imagine— to throw extra lollipops and other tooth-decaying treats to the dirt-smudged children below them.

How funny it was, I thought, that we could pay so much for the discomfort of an exposed and uneven tin roof, the usual domain of baggage and birds, simply because discomfort and danger are novel, and thus somehow thrilling despite their careful packaging. That we would desire to spend 8 hours on a trip that takes 2 by bus, just to say we’ve dangled our feet over the edge of an Andean mountain ravine and held out not within, but above the ancient train car. The more I thought about it, the sillier I felt sitting there, trapped on top of the box car or standing alongside it when we derailed on a small wooden bridge, and were put back on track not by a sophisticated machine, but a few carefully placed wooden blocks and a bit of improvisation. Once I added to that the realization of how many people must have been injured or killed in the making of what is now just a tourist diversion I began to lose my taste for the treat of the ride.

For many tourists, the Nariz del Diablo train ride serves as an entertaining and unusual way to travel from a few days of hiking up Chimborazo near Riobamba on to the lovely city of Cuenca, which is four hours south of Alausi by bus. For me, however, it served a less tangible purpose. It showed me my inability to escape my tourist-eye perspective on my experiences and made me wonder what it was exactly that I hoped to get out of the experience, and why. It made me think about individual perspectives on challenges and pleasure as well, and how the experience of tourism can change in a developing country. I realized, as most travellers to the developing world eventually do, that it can be a precarious place that we as tourists occupy. For me the Nariz del Diablo was, most certainly, an experience; one that led to a realization found balanced high upon a precipice of the Andes.