Clipperton Island, an atoll in the eastern Pacific Ocean, off the coast of Mexico, out in the middle of nowhere, named after a pirate.
When I was around 12 or 13 I purchased a Rand McNally map of the world and taped it to the wall next to my bed. I would lay there and look at the map for hours, wanting even then to be away from everyone else, and trying to find that perfect place where I could live as a hermit. Clipperton was one of the places that fascinated me, because it was so far from everything else.
It's a terrible place, Clipperton; no water on the island, except what you bring, or what rainfall you can catch. The lagoon in the center of the atoll is closed to the sea and undrinkable brackish water. There is no human population there; the wildlife consists mainly of seabirds, rats, and land crabs. The island is in the path of eastern Pacific hurricanes. Occasionally tuna boats from Mexico stop there, and in such a remote place, who could trust his fellow human?
I crossed it off the list of places to live a long time ago; too harsh a life, too dangerous.
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