Colombia: Tourist Train from Bogota to Zipaquira

Bogota, Colombia
March 14, 2015

Whenever a train ride presents itself, I grab the opportunity—especially when it's a historic train with a classic engine and vintage coaches.

I have precious memories of times with my dad when I was a child. He worked for the D & H Railroad. He didn't have enough seniority in those days to stay in Plattsburgh, so he'd often drive to train stations up to an hour away. Sometimes, during the summer, he'd take me to work with him. I'd wander the train yard, explore the trains that were sitting on tracks, play in the warehouse or just sit in his office.

Often, at the end of the day when a train came through on its way to Plattsburgh, he'd put me on board. He knew all the men who worked the trains, so safety wasn't an issue. Sometimes I'd ride the engine, or sit in a coach seat. Once I remember riding in the caboose.

When the train arrived in Plattsburgh, my mother was always waiting for me.

That was more than fifty years ago, but the memory of those days is still clear and vivid.

Today, however, there aren't as many passenger trains in the US, and it's not likely someone like my dad would be allowed to put his child on board. So many regulations that exist now, didn't exist then.

Thus it was that early on the morning of March 14^th, I met Sandra once again and we headed to Bogotá's historic, 19^th Century Train station and boarded the “Tren Historico” that would bring us from the capital to Zipaquirá, 50 kilometers to the north.

I knew that the day would be memorable, but more importantly I knew it would be a day spent with the spirit of my father. I knew the day would be a good one.

And I wasn't disappointed!

I was very excited. What train enthusiast wouldn't be. The train had a classic 1930's engine and vintage coaches from the 1950's and 1960's. These were the trains of my youth. Immediately, I could see that the trains had been lovingly restored. The windows opened the way I remembered—snaps on the bottom of each side that slid up. The only thing missing were the holes in the toilets that let waste fall out onto the tracks. Not a good idea then and certainly not a good idea now.

The train moved slowly out of the city—no more than 30 km an hour. We slowly slipped out of the center and into suburbs. Homeless people had set up shelters of wood and plastic near the tracks. It was a disturbing contrast—those who had were sitting in the luxury of this classic train, and those who didn't have were watching us pass by.

There was band on board that played music typical to Colombia—papayera. It sounded pretty Mexican to me, but was unique to this country. They'd play several selections then move on to another car. I was surprised to hear them sing “La Mañanitas.” I thought that birthday song was specific just to Mexico.

The train moved on towards Zipaquirá—a small city famous for its cathedral excavated within the heart of an old salt mine. We passed fields full of cows, goats, sheep and the occasional llama, a reminder that I was in South America. We also passed countless fields of potatoes—a major crop in this part of world.

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By 11:00 we'd arrived and boarded a bus that would bring us to the mines. Three hours later we would meet the train in the town of Cajicá where we'd re-board and return to Bogotá.

The mines had been heavily exploited by the Muiscas—the Pre-Colombian people who lived in the area before the Spanish Conquest. Even though it has been well-excavated, there are still vast reserves within the mines.

It was during the early 1930's that miners first built a small sanctuary within its vast interior as a place for their daily prayers asking protection to the saints before their work day had started. In 1950 construction began on a bigger project that became known as the Salt Cathedral. It's one of Colombia’s great treasures and is dedicated to Our Lady of the Rosary, the patron saint of miners.

From the entrance, it takes about 30 minutes to walk the 600 feet below street level to the actual church. Along the way, miners had carved out the 14 stations of the cross. Some of the crosses are carved out of marble, others out of salt. Some are carved directly into the wall, Along the way strains of Ave Maria can be heard. Colombia is very Catholic!

It's really quite moving.

When we emerged back into the sunshine, we caught a bus that brought us to the small town of Cajicá. The trained had repositioned itself and we had time to stroll through the town, take photos, and have a reasonably leisurely lunch. More meat. More rice. More yucca. More fried plantains. I mean, really...where do these people get their vegetables? I was rapidly moving into vegetable withdrawal and wanted nothing more than a salad.

After lunch, we wandered back up the street towards the center where we'd seen a pastry shop. Not that we needed anything, but earlier I'd seen this guava pudding concoction that looked very appealing.

And very appealing it was indeed. It was a rich guava cream, covered in the richest meringue I've ever eaten. I was actually sorry to finish the dessert and a return visit to Cajicá is on my list of the top five things to do when I return to Colombia! It was really one of the most memorable desserts in my life.

At 4:00 p.m. we re-boarded the train for the return trip to the capital. The same band entertained us. Sandra fell asleep. Poor thing. She'd been on the go for almost a week and I knew she was in sleep deprivation. I was still excited, but a little sad as well. This wonderful trip was coming to an end.

There are not many passenger trains in Central or South American anymore. The few there are tend to me tourist-related like the one we were on. We were a long way from the day when the American writer, Paul Theroux, left his apartment in Boston in the mid 1970's, walked to South Station, boarded the Lake Shore Limited to Chicago, changed trains and headed for Laredo, Texas where he crossed into Mexico and rode from there all the way to Ushuaia, Argentina.

Theroux's journey brought him through multiple countries, all on a train. When he was done, he wrote one of travel literature's great classics—The Old Patagonian Express. I really must reread it.

It had been an astounding day. While I shared my seat with Sandra, there was actually a third person in our group in the form of the spirit of my dad. How could I ride a train like this and not have him with me? It had been two trips, really—the physical 50 km. trip to Zipaquirá and Cajicá, and it had also been a metaphorical trip—a trip back to my past, back to the days when I went to work with my father, back to my boyhood.

Such a precious day!