fantasy island

Every tourist destination has at least one site where residents groan when visitors suggest a stop.


For Pátzcuaro, it is the lake island of Janitzio.


But it was not just another tourist site to me.  My first glimpse of the island was in one of those So-You-Think-You-Want-To-Move-To-Mexico books I started reading about five years ago.


I was sitting in the hot tub when the book fell open to a photograph of the interior of a boat approaching a dome-shaped island with a large statute perched at its peak.  Janitzio. 


I have always been entranced by islands.  That photograph was a clear siren call to me.  I knew that one day I would live there.


I should also tell you I tend to get my siren calls a bit turned around.  I misled myself as clearly as a reader of a Russian bride catalog.  I thought the island was off the Pacific coast of Mexico -- an error I quickly discovered as I read the text.  But first impressions often remain.


Even though it is not in the ocean, it is one of Lake Pátzcuaro's major islands.


In the not-so-distant past, it was the center of the lake's white fish industry.  No longer.  White fish, overfishing, and pollution were not a good mix.  At least, for the white fish.  And for the island residents whose lives depended on them.


These fellows now pull out their butterfly nets only for the tourists -- and then request tips.  And that is how the island makes its way in the world.  From day trip tourists willing to part with a few pesos in exchange for an island visit.

On Thursday morning, I was one of those tourists.  I decided it was time for me to face another of my Mexican dreams.  The trip to the island takes about a half hour.  With the goal in sight the entire way.

 

And a tourist trip it is.  Complete with the usual loud trio of musicians and vendors of photo books and combestibles.


The primary reason tourists come to the island is to climb the statue memorializing one of Mexico's heroes of the Independence movement.  (Because he was a local boy, the people in Michoacán believe he was the movement.)


To get to the base of the statue, a visitor needs to navigate the height of the island  -- up a series of narrow, steep stairs that would be familiar to any village in Andalucia.

The statue is in the heroic Socialist realism style we have met several times before.  A style that enchanted artists (and some politicians) in the first half of the last century.


In this case, though, the conical style is not merely form.  It actually assists the statue's content -- or lack of content.


The statue is hollow with narrow, steep stairs allowing visitors to climb to the top of Morelos's upraised clenched fist to peek out onto an astonishing view of the lake.  Along the way, murals tell the tale of the hero's life -- and death.


The art helps distract visitors from the fact that the climb is about 120 feet above the crest of the island.  There is only one way up and down, and the quarters get a bit cramped.  Sufferers of either acrophobia or claustrophobia will probably want to give the climb a pass.

 

From all I heard from local expatriates, I was surprised to discover a well-designed and maintained plaza around the base of the monument.  Peaceful enough to find a perfect spot at one of the local cafes to sit and read.


And perhaps just the place for an outsider to spend the day and enjoy the simple pleasures of island life.  Small island life.

 

On my way back to the launch, I stopped at the island's church.  I neglected to discover the saint to whom the church is dedicated.  But I know it is a man -- because there is only one bell tower.  And his effigy tops the altar.


The best word for the church is welcoming.  It was one of the best-lit places of worship I have encountered in Mexico.  And the women, whose duty it was on that day to clean and maintain the place, were not the usual Puritan-faced guardians I have encountered elsewhere.  They were laughing, gossiping, smiling.  And enthusiastically acknowledged my nod.

 

The reflection of the light proved to be a photography problem.  I had difficulty trying to avoid glare.  But whoever the church is dedicated to, he has a definite Mexican look.  The campesino apostle.


My visit to the island was too short to get a full impression.  After all, I only saw what most tourists would see.


I do know it is not the horrible place some expatriates have described.  And it is most likely not the island of my dreams.


But it will be worth another visit.  One of these days.