Welcome to a travelogue edition of The Mexpatriate.
The travel writing genre was always one of my favorites to read—Durrell, Theroux, West, Kapuscinski, Herodotus. But there is one lesser known and outlandish travel writer who holds a special place in my heart.
Richard Halliburton’s brief 20th-century life (he was lost at sea at age 39, attempting to sail a Chinese junk across the Pacific) held a wealth of roguish adventures that seem far removed from today’s shrinking digital world. His often scandalous tales included climbing Popocatépetl, diving in the Gran Cenote and exploring the virgin island of Cozumel in “New Worlds to Conquer” (1929), a book that lit a fire in a young soul in Minnesota who would one day live his own adventure in Mexico. His name was George Burroughs Blake, and he was my grandfather.
It’s probably not surprising that the first stories I ever wrote about Mexico were published on a travel website called Bootsnall.com. I was 15 years old and submitted a travelogue about my family’s adventures in San Miguel de Allende, documenting the earliest days of my relationship with the town I call home.
Today’s newsletter is the first of two parts of a travelogue about my April 2024 trip to the Islas Marías, a former penal colony that President López Obrador shut down in 2019 and inaugurated as a tourist destination in 2022. I know my grandfather enjoyed hearing about this trip, though I wish we’d had more time to talk about my adventures.
He passed away last year at age 96, having lived a long, full and well-traveled life.
Here’s the rest of the story, Grandad.
In loving memory of George Burroughs Blake (Jan. 14, 1927 - Jul. 16, 2024)
On apocalypse
“Pero, ¿qué son las Islas Marías? ¿Quién sabe nada de ellas? Las Islas Marías son, a lo más, una idea, un concepto, nunca un lugar situado en el tiempo y en el espacio. Acaso alguna playa de arena hirviendo, blanca, sin color, donde el sol bebe tierra.”
José Revueltas (Los muros de agua)
“They say it’s a sign of the end of the world.”
My taxi driver from the Mazatlán bus station had a lot to say about the Great North American total solar eclipse.
It was April 5, 2024 and the city was at capacity, with tourists filling every available room and spilling out over restaurants, shops and plazas. The bustling resort had been dubbed one of the best viewing spots in the eclipse’s path of totality on April 8.
“And you know, there was that earthquake in New York…could be another sign. Makes you wonder, no?”
Veering from the speculative to the practical as we bounced over cobblestones, he told me he was worried about what to do with his dog during the eclipse.
“What do you think will happen?” I asked, perplexed.
“Well, I’ve heard that they can get agitated…and what if he looks at the sun?”
I pictured a small, unkempt poodle mix barking to be let out as the moon’s shadow darkened the sun.
“Más vale. I’ll keep him inside, just in case.”
The speed of most modern travel is surreal—piercing clouds and time zones, crossing borders and changing languages within hours. However, my journey from central Mexico to the Islas Marías archipelago located about 112 kilometers off the Pacific coast felt much longer than the distance marked on a map.