The way the dirt collects in Carlos Keen between the old train lines has a subtly compelling quality. Previously a terminal station with a lengthy platform and constant arrivals and departures, it is now a location where tomatoes gently mature in the Argentine heat. Trains don’t arrive anymore. Rather, day-trippers drive in to dine, explore, and take a breath.
Railway communities that used to revolve on freight schedules are moving toward a different rhythm throughout the province of Buenos Aires. More than just a token gesture, the conversion of abandoned lines into fruitful farms is an incredibly successful act of ecological and cultural reclamation.
Anklelus, which was first established as a single eatery next to the old station, has grown into something far more ambitious. The setting has completely changed, but the tablecloths are still as clean as they were when it first opened twelve years ago. What was once a starting point is now a destination, and the food served with purpose is locally sourced.
These towns have gradually reinvented themselves by utilizing their old infrastructure and deeply ingrained customs. Herb gardens have replaced dusty platforms. Once resonating with foot traffic, brick station houses now house educational workshops and communal kitchens. For young people who had few pillars following the collapse of the railway, it is especially helpful.
In addition to being practical missteps, the mid-20th century train shutdown caused emotional upheavals. Highways and trucks were given preference in the State’s endeavor to restructure transportation infrastructure, which drastically decreased not only the distance traveled by railroads but also the businesses that were based on them. There was reminiscence where there had been motion.
| Key Detail | Description |
|---|---|
| Initiative | Conversion of abandoned railway land into productive urban farms |
| Lead Location | Buenos Aires, Argentina |
| Social Focus | Local food systems, education, community regeneration |
| Historical Background | Rail closures since mid-20th century dismantled towns, identity, and transit links |
| Transformation Goals | Revitalize post-industrial land, promote food sovereignty, reconnect urban communities |
| Cultural Impact | Restores the railway community ethos, fosters slow food and sustainable agriculture |
Communities started to rethink the relics via innovative partnerships. It took time for the change to occur. Protests, occupations, talks, and ultimately planting were all part of it. It entailed redefining the function of areas that previously denoted decline.
Children gathered near a rebuilt signal post in Uribelarrea on a sunny morning to use it as a marker for a scavenger hunt. Like a baton, one boy swung a carrot. His sister laughed as she reprimanded him. The brief but memorable moment was evidence that something extraordinarily adaptable had established itself. Crop rows are only one aspect of a farm. One growing season at a time, a narrative is being written.
I recall seeing a local chef at La Casona use his hands to rhythmically peel squash for ravioli. “These are reminders, not just recipes,” he stated. I kept thinking about that statement. The dishes were rich, with layers of pepper and honey, but what really made them emotional was where they were served—in dining rooms that had formerly waited for a train that never arrived, and kitchens constructed out of salvaged beams.
The effort made by Buenos Aires to develop its rail lines has come to represent what happens when cities make a commitment to rapprochement with their history, the environment, and their citizens. The initiative’s use of public space has proven to be especially creative. Instead of converting everything into parking lots or commercial real estate, it placed a higher priority on biodiversity, shared knowledge, and slow food.
It was not a simple logistical task. Legal disputes regarding land caused delays in several areas. In others, reaching an agreement on cooperative models or gaining access to water took years. However, the outcomes are silent but assured. Produce is increasingly labeled in markets with handwritten names rather than logos. For example, “beans grown next to the water tower” or “lettuce from the girls at Station 12” could be written on a chalkboard.
More than 40 hectares of abandoned railway property have been converted to agricultural areas since the start of the larger city-backed project. That’s an ecosystem, not simply square feet. These areas are neither sterile nor decorative. They’re still alive. The pollinators are back. Alongside iron bolts that were formerly used for train repair, students learn about composting. Even the signage has changed; plant kinds, not schedules, are now marked by wooden posts.
Buenos Aires has produced something that is incredibly local and purpose-driven by fusing culinary tourism with small-scale farming. People come here to eat leisurely, sip on their drinks, and keep in mind that growth isn’t always about creating new things. Reimagining what you already have is sometimes the key.
These towns have regained their prestige. They stayed grounded, literally, rather than following trends. Where neighborhoods were formerly separated by steel, they are now brought together by rows of beans and spinach. The act of recovering rhythm from destruction, that silent reversal, is as poignant as it is useful.
What started out as a need has evolved into motivation. Latin American cities are subtly examining Buenos Aires’ model. They want to know what tales their deserted hallways might tell if they were planted rather than paved.
