Wallace Gilpatrick traveled from California near the turn of the 20th century to to explore the great country of Mexico via car, train, stagecoach, train, boat and foot – including a visit to Lake Chapala.
The Man Who Likes Mexico, the book Gilpatrick wrote about his adventures was published in 1911, and we’re reprinting (in two parts) the section of the book in which he visits Guadalajara and Chapala.
We have preserved the author's quaint writing style and even various errors in his writing to present the authentic text. Now, on to the delightful chapter about our corner of Mexico. It is entitled:
Visit to Lake Chapala: A Race for Dinner, A Pleasant Swimming Pool, Indian Fishermen, "El Presidio," A Ride on a Mexican Coach, Trite Truths About Silao, Sights Worth Seeing in Guanajuato: Savage Dogs: A Method of Warfare: The Cross on the Mountain: A Man's a Man for a' That
HE REMAINED for nearly a month in Guadalajara, and the longer I stayed the easier it became to stay on. It is a city of infinite charm; its life is modern yet leisurely; its people are cultured, vivacious, gay even, as compared with those in some of the more conservative cities, yet preserving always the poise and composure that are national characteristics. My fellow-boarders in Mexico City had given me letters of introduction to relatives and friends in Guadalajara, and these had been a passport to a delightful circle. I was welcomed with frank kindness into the homes of my friends, where in some instances I was addressed by my Christian name, this being the most flattering sign of favor in a Mexican home. I had long adopted the mode of addressing my female friends by their Christian names, it being the social custom for gentlemen to so address the ladies of their acquaintance, whether elderly or young. But it was in Guadalajara this was first reciprocated, and hearing my name thus for the first time in many months I experienced a thrill of pleasure, for I knew it was a tribute to my friendship with a son or a brother.
A delightful feature of social life in Guadalajara were the afternoons at the home and studios of the Mexican painter, Felix Bernardelli, where women and men of artistic, literary and musical pursuits met for music, poetry and gossip. There were many pleasant suppers and musical evenings at the homes of friends, and again I felt the elusive yet dominating thrall that is Mexico's, and beneath whose sway weeks glide into months and easily into years. The traveler however feels it a duty to travel; yet in leaving Guadalajara, I was disconsolate. Even now, at thought of this lovely city, the desire arises to apostrophize her; yet I can think of nothing that is worthy save that name of praise and endearment, "Guadalajara, Pearl of the West!"
My acquaintances had besought me not to leave the State of Jalisco without paying a visit to Lake Chapala, which lies on the boundary adjacent to Michoacan, and is the favorite watering-place of all that region. I accordingly set out for Atequiza, which is the railway station nearest the lake. At Atequiza, which is reached in an hour, you have your choice of a saddle horse or a seat in the stage. The owner of the horses told me he could give me one with a pace like "the rocking of a canoe on the lake." I am convinced now that he referred to the lake on a squally day, but in my guilelessness I thought he meant when it was pacific. The stage-driver declared that while he had to wait for the Irapuato train, he could give the saddle horse an hour's start and then beat it into Chapala. This prospect of a race decided me in favor of the saddle horse. A gaunt looking caballo was led forth, and my luggage was loaded on to a second with little black-eyed Santiago up behind as mozo and guide. Santiago said he was eleven years old, but he afterwards remembered that he was only "walking toward nine." He said one forgets now and again, and I admitted this was true especially when one has reached his mature age. I told Santiago that if we beat the stage there was a real in it for him, and he thereupon informed me that there was a fine spur in one of the saddle-bags.
There are about a dozen gates to be opened on the road to Chapala, at the rate of a centavo a gate, which is cheap as gates go. They separate the various ranchos. All would have been well, if in crossing one of these ranchos I had not met the head vaquero (herdsman). He was an interesting gentleman in silver-trimmed, black trousers, slit up the side, high russet boots and a magnificent sombrero. He opened conversation by complimenting my horse. I said yes, he was "good food for buzzards." I then praised his horse, which was really a fine one. We were jogging along conversing when suddenly I heard yelling in the rear, and there right upon us was the stage. The driver was bawling, "Andale!" and the peon beside him was throwing rocks at the eight little mules, as they tore along. The driver shouted, "Adios" and I dug my spurs into that wretched caballo feeling that I was beaten. The caballo saw things in another light. He could loaf so long as no one tried to pass him; but the thought of taking dust from eight plebeian mules was more than his proud Arab spirit could endure. He began to forge ahead with the speed of a locomotive, and the coach was left far in the rear where it belonged. The caballo had decided to let me see what he could do and he kept it up. In a jiffy we reached the top of the hill. Before us lay the lake, with the mountains beyond and the little town of Chapala lying close to the margin. It made me think of Lake Patzcuaro; but you are beside the latter before you know it, traveling by rail, while Chapala you see from afar and have all the delights of anticipation in approaching it. So we galloped down to the lake with the fresh wind in our faces, and I was on my way to dinner when that boastful cochero drew up his eight-mule team before the hotel.
Come back tomorrow for more of Gilpatrick’s visit to Chapala. Begins at the hotel and continues to the Chapala stage headed to Guanajuato pulled by an eight-mule-team. Our thanks to the folks at the Old and Sold Antiques Digest site for keeping this out of print book, published in 1911 available to all of us – on the internet
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