May, 2000
Preface:
Thanks for looking at my Rapa Nui travelogue. Sit back and
relax
- it is some 42 pages long! This seemingly excessive detail is
present
so that future travellers to Rapa Nui will know exactly what to expect,
and also to give the 'armchair traveller' as much of a real taste of
what
my trip was like as possible. The sights, the sounds, the food,
the
weather, the people - all are described in detail for you.
There are over seventy pictures that accompany this travelogue. In order to make reading easier and to decrease your download time, I have implemented the illustrations thusly: nine little icons appear throughout the document. Click on each one to open a new window full of pictures related to whatever I am writing about in that part of the journal. You can let the pictures load in the new window while you continue to read in this one. In some browsers, a new window will open automatically. In other browsers, you will have to manually select the "New Window With This Link" option (or an equivalent option depending on how your browser words things). The first icon appears about 1/5 of the way through the document, just as we arrive on the island.
Also, please DO NOT print this document out! It will
be
on the web for the foreseeable future, so if you can't read it all in
one
sitting you can always come back to it. If everybody prints this
thing out, it will use thousands of tons of paper, and that's
bad! I am also a hopeless revisionist, and I hate old versions
floating around out there.
Iorana!
James Teitelbaum
June, 2000
Part One:
Why would anyone want to go to Easter Island?
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I am not really sure exactly when and where my fascination
with
Easter
Island (Rapa Nui) began. I cannot remember the first time I
became aware of the Moai
(the
giant stone statues that Rapa Nui is famous for), but certainly it was
in my childhood. Perhaps I saw images of them on television in
the
1970's, maybe on Leonard Nimoy's always informative and creepy In
Search
Of... program. Or, it could have been in a Ripley's
Believe It Or Not cartoon. Or maybe a library book full of
'mysterious
places'. It is even feasible that I was paying attention in
school
one day and was whisked into the South Pacific for a few moments before
going back to sleep. What I can say for sure is that these solemn
stone effigies that were first erected as long as 1400 years ago on a
tiny
island 2500 miles off of the coast of Chile have always held an
intangible
power over me, even from this great distance. So, over the course of years or decades, a few nuggets of information leaked into my brain bit by bit, and eventually a hearty stew of mesmerism was simmering. This eventually came to a boil, and sometime in the 1990s, I decided that I had to visit the island. Part Two: The Western world became aware of these activities in 1722, when a Dutch explorer named Jacob Van Roggeveen arrived on - guess what - Easter Sunday. And so began the loss of innocence for Rapa Nui. After 1000 years of building their Moai in peace, the West found them, and over the next 250 years, the Rapa Nui people were subjected to disease, slavery, Christianity, and other misfortunes. At one point, all of the Moai were toppled off of their Ahu, supposedly in a feud between their builders and a new society that had developed after European contact. Finally, after several nations had laid claim to the island, Rapa Nui was annexed by Chile in 1888, and remains a part of it to this day. In the 1950's, Thor Heyerdahl got lost looking for a Kon-Tiki Bar, and ended up at Rapa Nui. You can read all about that trip in his brilliant books Kon Tiki and Aku Aku. His efforts, as well those of William Mulloy, and of Katherine Rutlidge a few decades before them, have given us a complete historical portrait of Rapa Nui. Mulloy and Heyerdahl convinced the modern Rapa Nui people to resurrect about 40 of the toppled Moai (so far). This began a tourist industry, which was further aided when Mataveri airport was built, and a small prop plane started making a weekly trip to the island. |
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In the 1980's, the US government gave Chile about a million bucks to update the airstrip, so that the Space Shuttle can land there if an emergency occurs. The airstrip is now the final destination for a bi-weekly flight to and from Santiago, Chile on a modern jumbo jet which has replaced the old prop plane, and reduced travel time from Chile to only five hours.
And there you go. Or at least, there I went. It was still a difficult journey; Chicago to Miami, Miami to Santiago, Santiago to Easter Island. Fortunately, Rapa Nui is only one time zone behind Chicago, so there was no jet lag problem. I traveled 8000 miles to hang out on a 64-square-mile dot in the middle of nowhere.
And now... the trip, in nauseating detail.
Part Three:
The trip, in nauseating detail.
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I originally thought that I might go to Rapa Nui in March, because that is when I had heard the weather there was best. They also have a big festival, Tapati, in March. I started saving my pennies almost a year in advance. I was on a concert tour with Royal Crown Revue during October and November of 1999, and I decided to start planning the Rapa Nui trip in earnest when I got back from the tour. During January of 2000, I blocked out ten days in the middle of March, and started making my plans. I was wary of the fact that due to the bi-weekly LanChile flight into Mataveri airport (south of the island's only village, Hanga Roa), there might be more tourists than I had hoped. It had also occurred to me that since I had to fly through Santiago, Chile to get to Easter Island, I might as well spend a few days there too. I had never had any particular interest in visiting Chile, but the likelihood of me being in that part of the world again any time soon is pretty slim, and I could not ignore a chance to see as much as possible during this very expensive excursion. So I planned about four days on the island, and another four to see as much of Santiago as I could. This turned out to be pretty optimistic planning. I called LanChile in January to try to get my flights arranged. As it happens, February thru April were all booked solid. The flight from Miami to Santiago was no problem; they had one every night. The issue was getting over to the island from Santiago. The earliest flight I could get was for May 04. Without going into more unnecessary detail, let me briefly state that coming up with this date took me about 40 minutes, due largely to the ineptitude and indifference exhibited by the LanChile employee (Olga) on the other end of the (expensive) phone connection. I could get up on my usual soapbox regarding the terrifying rate at which customer service practices are slipping into offensive levels of mediocrity at every turn, but that's off topic, so I'll save it and use an expanded version of this example as a reference when I do write that particular rant. The flight to Miami was still left to be booked. I had plenty of time for that, so I kept an eye on airfares until I got a good deal. Surprisingly, American had the best fare. They're usually among the most expensive. Thusly reserved, all I had to do now was wait until Wednesday, May 03, 2000 rolled around. The tickets, incidentally, were $1453.00 each. This included round trip flights from Miami to Santiago, and from Santiago to Easter Island. It also included an $8 airport tax charged by the Easter Island airport, and all of the other associated taxes and fees that airlines charge. It did not include a $45 'reciprocity' fee charged to Americans, Canadians, and Australians by the Chilean government as retaliation for a similar tax apparently imposed on South American visitors to North America and Australia. The flight to Miami was another $189. I spent the first months of the new century doing as much research on the island as I could. I had already read quite a bit on the subject over the course of the past decade, but now it was time to cram. There is plenty to read, and by the time April 30 came and went, I was pretty well-informed. That night, I discovered an Easter Island 'club' on the internet site Yahoo. There were about 250 postings to the message board, filled with a wealth of up-to-the-moment tips for travelers to Isle de Pascua (yet another name for the island). Plowing through every one of these messages, I encountered postings from (and eventually contacted) two gals who made the trip a lot smoother. The first was Dr. Georgia Lee, Ph.D. She is a frequent poster to the message board, and the author of An Uncommon Guide to Easter Island, an invaluable resource for the traveler bound for the island. Recognizing that I needed to have her book, as well as a few others (like Speak Rapa Nui: The Language of Easter Island by Ana Betty Haoa and William Liller), I talked her into overnighting them to me. I got 'em on Tuesday, the 2nd, one day before my departure. The second helpful saint was Monica Perez, a resident of Santiago who had been to the island twice, and who was also an enthusiastic news group poster. She answered a lot of important questions for me, and we eventually met when I made it to Santiago. |
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Oh, and I keep saying "I" a lot, but I suppose I should mention
that
I was travelling with a companion called Dana.
I am not sure about the genesis of her own fascination for the islands,
you'll have to ask her yourself.
Wednesday, May 03, 2000
We departed at 10:30 in the morning, on Wednesday, May 3. We each had one bag, plus I had a backpack. The plan was to check the bags at the airport, but to keep the backpack with us at all times. We were going to be traveling a great distance, with many long flights and long layovers, and we needed to be prepared for anything. So the pack had food, water, toilet paper, power bars, vitamins, passports, tickets, cameras... everything that we might need to have with us all the time. The day was sunny and cool, but not cold, and as we walked the 1/4 block from my house (in Chicago) to the bus stop on the corner, there was the feeling of a great unknown adventure ahead of us. It was almost comical that we were about to travel some 8000 miles, and it all began at the bus stop on the corner!
The Western Ave. bus took us to Foster, and at the Jefferson Park stop we caught the Blue Line to O'Hare. All three transports came quickly. We checked our bags nervously. We would not see them again for 36 hours, two airlines, three flights, two long layovers, and 8000 miles. We had only ourselves and our black leatherette pack full of life's necessities.
The flight to Miami was uneventful, arriving at 5:44 PM, Miami time. American Airlines's budget flight meal consisted of grabbing a 'Bistro' lunch bag from a tray. We grabbed two each, and this turned out to be a very wise move. Airport food is notoriously expensive, and we would be spending a lot of time sitting around in airports. The extra snacks saved us quite a bit of money!
The only memorable part of the flight was that some really bright guy was traveling alone with his toddler, and they were sitting right behind us. The guy couldn't be bothered to take the kid to the bathroom at a time when he really, really, really needed to. Man, the stench was incredible. Sir, if you are reading this, please learn to have just a modicum of class in the future. Change the diapers in the loo, please.
The four hour layover was dull. A short attempt to go outside the airport and see a little of Miami lasted less than a minute. Two paperbacks, three magazines, and a crossword puzzle digest were heavy things to schlep around in the pack, but all of them were used extensively. The flight to Chile departed on time at 9:45 PM, and the plan was to sleep on the plane, which arrived at 6:10 AM the following morning. We were both too excited and nervous to sleep. Unable to view the scenery in the darkness outside, we watched Man on the Moon, ate a minuscule dinner, and I read half of The Wayward Bus by John Steinbeck while Dana easily conquered crossword after crossword. The jazz channel on the headphone muzak system actually had some good tracks: Modern Jazz Quartet and Charles Mingus were highlights.
Oddly, they didn't seat us together on this long flight. Dana was right in between two perverts in the row of three seats in the center of the plane, and I was next to a woman who was already hogging the arm rest and the window a few rows behind Dana. Waiting until it looked like everyone was aboard, we found two seats together in the very last row, but the fella who was sitting in the third seat of that row claimed that the two seats we had our eyes on were for the flight crew. I haven't ever heard of the flight crew sitting in passenger seats, and I therefore suspected that this enterprising liar wanted all three seats to himself so he could sleep laying across them. Looking at it from a socialistic point of view, Dana and I claiming these seats meant that 'the arm rest woman', the two perverts, and the two of us would all be more comfortable, but 'the lying man' would lose. Five to one. Sorry, dude! So unfortunately the fib master in the last row would have to give up his option to hog three seats to himself.
There was a very mean old lady in front of me, who was looking down her nose at Dana and I the whole flight. She kept turning around with her coiffured hairdo, expensive jewelry, and gaudy old-lady fashions to shoot daggers at us every excuse she got. So what's her problem? I don't know, we just ignored her grouchy old ass.
We pondered that the Chilean flight staff were all young and beautiful, with the girls in short skirts and high heels, and the guys in crisp shirts and suave hairstyles. In contrast, the politically correct domestic airlines would get sued for making hiring choices based purely on looks and youth. I guess I am of two minds on this: I certainly support someone's right to have job security after their youthful physical beauty begins to diminish. On the other hand, when the domestic airlines give their pre-flight safety speech and say "If there's anything we can do to make your flight more comfortable or enjoyable, please let us know", I want to raise my hand and say "Well, you can start by hiring LanChile's flight staff....". I mean, it did make the trip more enjoyable...
That said, there was some serious turbulence for a few minutes; at
one
point the plane rolled to the right by a good 20 degrees for a few
seconds.
People were not happy. So in my perfect world, we'll keep the
American
Airlines pilots, and use the LanChile flight attendants. If you
think
this attitude is sexist, well too bad for you! No one should be
ashamed
at enjoying the sight of an attractive memeber of the opposite sex, and
I did mention that the guys on the staff were as youthful and
attractive
(I guess) as the women. So lighten up, people! Have some
fun
in life!
Thursday, May 04, 2000
The sun wasn't quite up in the southern hemisphere when we landed. Customs was no problem, but we did have to cough up that $45 'reciprocity' fee. Leaving the airport, the air was... err... chilly, and we also immediately realized that Dana's remedial grasp of Spanish was only going to be barely adequate. I have never really had a gift for languages, and we were relying on her (shall we say) abridged Espanol to get us through the week. With my own irreducible linguistic skills, I somehow negotiated a Delfos van to take us downtown. You see, our flight to Easter Island didn't leave until 4:40 PM. We had almost 11 hours to kill, after being awake for twenty hours and counting.
The driver thought we were crazy, since nothing was open yet. We had considered getting a hotel and sleeping for a few hours, but shelling out full price for a room just to waste the first full day of our trip in dreamland didn't seem to be too great of an idea. That said, either of us would have laid down on a park bench and caught some shut eye, had we thought we could get away with it. We had boarded the plane on a spring night, and emerged on an autumn morning, in the ever brightening daylight of a country we'd never been to, in a continent we'd never been to, an entire hemisphere we'd never been to. The van driver dropped us off in the town square, doubtlessly thinking we were nothing but stupid gringos. We wanted to eat, but nothing was open. We wanted to look at the Museum of Pre-Columbian art, but it wasn't open yet either. We wandered up and down the business district, enjoying the architecture, watching the city come alive.
We made many observations. First of all, Santiago is the most graffiti-covered city ever. In many cities, you get graffiti in the bad neighborhoods, and the more 'uptown' you go, the less vandalism presents itself. Not Santiago. From the most run down and beat up neighborhood to the finest part of town, the graffiti is everywhere. On buildings, signs, monuments, and even the street itself. There is no escape from it anywhere. It was almost frustrating that I couldn't read any of it; a lot of it seemed to be political. I think being able to read a lot of this graffiti would have helped me get into the heads of these people. As I was thinking about this, Santiagoans (if I may) started to emerge from their homes, and within a few hours, the previously desolate town square was packed with people. Thousands of people purposefully crossed the city-block sized area, most of them ignoring the street performers, beggars, and artists who had set up shop on the perimeter.
We had left our jackets in our luggage, and we were rather... chilly (let me abuse that low pun as much as possible, please)... all morning long. We found a cafe that was about to open and were allowed to sit down even though they weren't ready to serve us. At the stroke of eight, the waitress came over and we were again faced with trying to communicate in Spanish. It did not occur to us to try English; we both believe that if one is going to visit a foreign country then one should make every effort to learn their language and customs. Thinking that the whole world should learn English is American arrogance at it's worst. Even if we did try English sometimes (which we didn't), and if we had found people who spoke it, those would all be occasions on which we had failed to partake of an opportunity to improve our Spanish. So it was our own damned fault if we came off like retards to 90% of the people we met over the following week.
We tried to order tea and muffins and ended up with espresso and croissants. Close enough. I hate coffee; espresso more so. I drank it. I guess I needed the caffeine anyway - my next opportunity to sleep was twelve hours away, assuming I could sleep on the next plane. So far I had failed to catch any shut-eye on the two previous planes, I had no evidence that things were going to change.
We found a labyrinthine series of arcades (that is: "A roofed passageway with shops on either side", not "a video game room") all through the city, making tunnels and shortcuts through the ground floors and basements of the larger office buildings, which all seemed to be huge monoliths without streets or alleys between them for blocks at a time. The hundreds of tiny shops in these arcades seemed to be arranged according to theme; for example we saw ten small lamp stores in a row. It followed then that we also saw large gluts of tiny shoe stores, a row of skimpy lingerie shops, a handful of micro haberdasheries, and a district of itsy bitsy travel agencies. Of course, we also found a dozen porno shops crammed into the space that only two would occupy here at home. Did you know that in Spanish the word for... oh, forget it...
Speaking of cheap thrills, Dana chose a rather short skirt to travel in, and although the length wasn't too obnoxiously short by American standards, let's just say that they don't quite wear them this short in Chile. She earned at least 25 wolf whistles within two hours of leaving the airport. I wasn't sure whether it was funny or not.
Finally, the museum opened, and we were absolutely fascinated with some of the brilliant displays of the pre-Columbian art of South America. There was some really amazing stuff, but we were half asleep, and almost beyond caring. This was not a good day for intellectual pursuits. We dutifully toured the whole place, and fortunately it was not large. I heartily recommend a lengthy visit to this museum, but only after a good night's sleep.
Unsure what to do next, we ate again, this time in a fast-food chicken place. We found all sorts of oddities, like sodas called "Bilz" and "Pap", and crappy American fast food chains with their unhealthy products renamed amusingly for local appeal. All of the napkins in every restaurant are the size and texture of one square of toilet paper. They are also typically arranged (in even the seediest dives) in complex, inverted conical sculpturettes. Odd to see these fancy two-foot high fountains of tiny napkins arranged 'just so' when even the cockroaches are avoiding the place. Still, the inverted-cone-of-napkins sculpture is unavoidable in Santiago.
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The town square was bustling in the mid afternoon sunshine by this point, and there were all manner of people there. The architecture in this part of town is old and gorgeous, but a modern skyscraper or three looming in the background isn't an uncommon sight. Realxed, leaning against a wall, watching all of the people go about their business in a culture that was both foreign and yet familiar, I heard the incredible wailings of an old woman begging on the street. Her ululations were haunting and dreary, and I knew I'd be able to make good use of them in a future recording project. Leaving Dana to rest on a bench on the other side of the quadrangle, I was trying to surreptitiously capture the old woman on my tiny tape recorder, when suddenly, from around a corner, walked Ronald Mc Donald, followed by a flock of 30 children in white sweatshirts and baseball caps. I was mortified, to say the very least. This crass and vulgar symbol of rampant conspicuous consumerism was marching purposefully across the incredible stonework of the square, past art museums and cathedrals, weaving around the artesians and craftsmen set up on the outskirts. It was like a Martian invasion or something. Never have I seen something so out of place, and never have I been less happy to see such a coarse reminder of everything that is wrong with my home country. My recording ruined, I tried to flee, and I inadvertently stumbled into a cathedral. I am not a Christian, and never have been, but the power and beauty of this particular building is beyond my feeble journalistic skills to describe. It was immense, majestic, and heartbreaking. I wanted to take pictures, but there were too many people doing business with their deity, and I didn't want to disturb them. I might not agree with their religion, but I most certainly respect their right to practice it in peace. We braved the clean and modern Metro train system trying to get back to the airport cheaply. We managed to get shaky directions from an employee, and found our way to where we needed to be. At the airport, I was excited at the wide array of Easter Island souvenirs present at every turn. I promised myself I wouldn't buy anything at the airport until after I had returned from the island. What I was to find on the island would be far superior, I reasoned. Still, after spending ten years scouring thrift shops and garage sales for other people's used Tiki and Moai souvenirs to add to my collection, I was now seeing thousands of them, in all shapes, sizes, and colors laid out before me. This Moai Mall was almost too much to bear. I might as well have strode around with an envelope full of money marked "take some" in my hand all week. We found that the airport restaurants in South America don't have quite the tendency to gouge you like the US and European ones do, and knowing that we had another long flight ahead of us, we ate yet again. This steady stream of grub was probably what was keeping us from falling asleep on our feet. We had salads and sandwiches in a cafe with a pirate ship motif. A running joke developed at that meal. As expected, all water after leaving Miami was quaffed from bottles. No tap water. Most of the Chileans prefer to drink their water carbonated, or "con gas" in Spanish. A beverage missing the carbonation is "sin gas", which an English speaking punster like myself could mutate into meaning "fuel for sin". Peeling the "sin gas" label off of a water bottle and applying it to a beer bottle was a common sight at our tables for the next week, as alcohol is most definitely "sin gas"! Okay, maybe you had to be there. Once again, here is proof positive that in-jokes are never funny to anyone but the people present at the joke's genesis. |
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The flight to Easter Island was almost surreal. It just didn't seem possible that in a few hours I would be walking on Te Pito o te Henua (another name for the island!). I would be breathing the air of the Moai builders. That I would be among all of these sites I had studied for the past decade was beyond comprehension. I knew the names of all of the places: Anakena, Rano Raraku, Orongo. I had seen their pictures. But to actually walk on this soil after all of these years, to look up at the stars of the southern hemisphere and see the stars the Moai builders saw, stars I have never seen before in 32 years of looking up into the sky every single night was more than I could bear. It was almost time.
Interrupting this metaphysical experience was a really bad movie
about
three women, their dad, and their cell phones. There was also a
baby
that was shrieking the entire way. That little brat did not shut
up for four solid hours. And he wasn't just whimpering. It
was like someone was drowning a cat. Fortunately, I had ear
plugs,
but I pity the guy sitting right in front of that kid! At least
the
annoyance of the stink bomb baby on the Miami flight was only
temporary.
The kid's mom was speaking German, so I dubbed the tyke "The Bavarian
Banshee".
Part Four:
Four Days on Rapa Nui (finally!!!)
And so the plane landed. Stairs were pushed up to the doors, and we walked down into the cool and humid air of Rapa Nui. Crickets chirped. No Moai in sight. We walked excitedly to the gate. That's The gate. There's only one. We found our bags at The baggage check area; and that was a big relief. We were a little worried about them changing airlines once and planes twice. And where exactly were they during all of that layover time? But they appeared to be fine.
And now the adventure was to truly begin. Accommodations on the island are, to be sure, unique. There is only one village there, Hanga Roa, and just about all of the island's 3000 residents live in Hanga Roa. There are a few small hotels, but any traveler who has done their homework knows that the way to experience Rapa Nui is to stay with a native family.
Outside of the airport, throngs of Rapa Nui waited excitedly for the new batch of tourists to make their way through the one-room airport and out to the parking lot. There, a rag tag fleet of cars and mini vans waited, their owners all excitedly displaying large, poster-sized cardboard placards with prices and photos of their homes pasted to them. We greeted one woman, who's card showed that her rooms had private baths (not a given) and hot water (also not a given). She wanted US $25 per night, per person, including breakfast. We bartered down to $15 per night (or so we thought... the Spanish is as shaky as ever, but getting better by the moment) but with no breakfast.
<
Feeling
as though we were completely in the hands of fate, ready
for
anything, and prepared to accept whatever may have happened, the
woman's
husband(?) loaded our bags into a rickety Toyota, while she went back
into
the airport to greet the next of her prospective tenants. We got
in, and drove off into the darkness. In the car, the man and his
mother(?), a kindly older woman named Victoria, tried to make small
talk
as we drove the short distance from the airport to their
residence.
We never did get the names of the driver and his theoretical wife (the
woman at the airport), but we did feel fairly sure that Victoria was
the
matriarch of this family. That theory was proved correct when we
ended up dealing with her almost exclusively from that point on.
As a matter of fact, we never saw the driver or his wife again.
We arrived at Residencal El Tauke, Victoria's place, shortly. It is on Te Pito o te Henua street, about three doors down from the corner of Atumu Tekena street. The single-story, L-shaped building was arranged simply: the family lived in one wing, and on the other wing was made up of four guest rooms, each with a motel-style private entrance off of a small patio. In the center of the property was a courtyard thick with tropical plants, and a little shrine to the virgin Mary in the center. We had learned that after missionaries descended on the island in the eighteenth century, a small cult of the virgin had arisen. We saw a series of little shrines all over the island, most of which were well maintained, and inside of which candles could be seen burning every night.
Victoria showed us our room. It was completely acceptable. As I said, we were prepared for anything. The room was about eight feet by eight feet. Most of it was taken up by a double bed. There was a small dresser and two small night tables. These four pieces of furniture left almost no room to walk. The walls had once been painted yellow, but were now hopelessly mildewed. The only adornment on the walls was a single tiny round ceramic plaque depicting the virgin Mary, carved in relief and enameled. No carpet. The curtains hung limply over the single window, which looked out into a small back yard. The bathroom was typical: a shower, a sink, and a toilet. In other circumstances we would have run in fear, but somehow, the room was absolutely perfect. We had two very small towels, which were not replaced at any point in our stay, and one single tiny bar of hotel soap. If we wanted luxury and comfort, we would have gone to Monte Carlo or something. Our little cube was exactly what we expected, and we would have asked for no more or no less. We were told that there would be hot water in the morning... but not now.
We had now been awake for some 36 hours. Was it time for sleep? Hell no! Who could sleep? We were too excited! We walked down the main drag of Hanga Roa, which is 1/4 mile of small souvenir shops, restaurants, and markets. All of the buildings are small and single story. We found an open cafe and sat down. As is the case with many of the restaurants in Hanga Roa, most of the seats are on the front patio; almost no one sits inside. We ordered two beers. We weren't given a choice as to what brand we were served - Cristal (in cans) was the beer that the last supply ship had brought, and so that is what we were given. It tasted both awful and amazing. It was like the worst cheap American beer you can imagine, but it also was the most welcome and valued beverage I have ever held in my hands. It was cold and good. We had another round, quickly, and then walked further down the street towards another place, who's name escapes me. It is notable for the fact that a tree grows right up through the center of the patio.
This is where we first encountered the roving pack of feral dogs that roams Hanga Roa continually. Let me say that I am not really a 'dog person'. In fact, I have always thought that the idea of letting an animal roam freely around your home is sort of absurd. Particularly one that barks all night long, pees on the carpet, and humps your guests legs. And then you have to adjust your entire life's schedule around the dog: being home to feed it, take it for walks, etc. And unlike children, a dog (or cat) will never grow up and become self-sufficient. It will always be completely helpless. Nope, it makes no sense at all. Combine this with the fact that normally, when I see wild dogs roaming the city at night, I usually make it a point to give the typically rabid beast as much latitude as I can.
So imagine my distaste when I noticed dozens of wild dogs of all sizes and breeds roaming the streets. It was my natural tendency to want to avoid them, but there were just too many of them. However, it soon became apparent that all of these mongrels were not only healthy (if skinny) but extremely friendly. One dog even 'adopted us' as we walked from cafe #1 to cafe #2, and waited outside, watching us patiently, as we consumed beer #3 and beer #4 (Cristal again, of course). Then the friendly (and sort of cute, I have to admit) little beast continued to follow us down the street, tail a waggin', as we made our way back to El Tauke. It eventually found two other dogs headed in the opposite direction to pal around with, but we hadn't seen the last of that particular pup.
Heading back towards 'home', we ended up walking past the Residencial, in order to take a look at the church on the other end of the street. Very unusual, in that it was a perfect hybrid of Rapa Nui art and Western religious icons. Rather bizarre. We were told that the Church services on Sunday were not to be missed, even for non-religious types.
In between our residence and the church was another cafe, Kopakavana. This one was larger and more traditionally comfortable than some of the others, so we had one more drink. We heard the music (on a CD) of a local group of musicians called Matato'a, who's disc we eventually purchased. The disc was very popular in town at that point, and it became the soundtrack for our Easter Island experience. The bartender had a bottle of cognac sitting on the bar, rather than on a shelf behind it. He poured himself a half dozen drinks while we sat there. He never even capped the bottle, or put it away, he just left it sitting on the bar the whole time. He disappeared for a while, and we could have helped ourselves, but we didn't feel like this was the best way to ingratiate ourselves to the locals.
We had been told that the local favorite drink on the island was
Pisco
Sour. This is a concoction made from Pisco Capel, an 80 proof
liqueur
that is available in Chile in a clear bottle, or internationally in an
ebony bottle shaped like a Moai (natch!). We had tried the stuff
at home at one point, and found it intolerable... However,
we
hadn't thought to try it with sour mix, and with that secret ingredient
added, it became a magical elixir. I'm sure the atmosphere
provided
by the place in which we were drinking didn't hurt our appraisal
either!
Friday, May 05, 2000
We slept hard that night, but not as long as we would have liked. Roosters began to make their noise at about 4 AM, and by 7 AM we were hounded by the continual noise of someone sawing wood and hammering nails. After an hour of this, I looked out the window to find that the guy next door to Victoria's place was building a second floor to his home. The construction continued, and eventually it drove us out of bed bright and early. But we really didn't mind. We were far too excited about beginning our exploration to really be upset at what might have been a major annoyance in other circumstances.
We had noticed that many of the souvenir shops also doubled as Jeep rental facilities. We went to the one nearest our residence, Moira Rent A Car, and inquired about the price. It would be $50 per day, or $135 for three days. We decided to do some comparison shopping, and asked four other places for their rates. All of them said $50 per day, but Moira was the only one offering a discount for multiple days. So we rented a red Jeep from Moira. We paid cash in advance (US dollars). Moira took a cursory glance at my International Driver's License (available at any AAA office for $22, including the photos), and had me sign a single simple agreement form. That was that. How easy and relaxed this was, I thought, compared to the complicated process of renting a car in America! We would soon find that all aspects of life on the island were easy and uncomplicated, and that suited us just fine.
We had a breakfast that set a surprising and delightful precedent for all of our meals on this island. Sitting down at the same cafe in which we had our first beers the previous night, we both ordered the Tuna Plate. When it arrived, we were treated to what is without a doubt the single best tuna steak either of us has ever had. Prepared on a plate of salad including lettuce, tomatoes, avocado, beets, and green beans, the tuna was absolutely fresh and perfect. The portion was huge, and supreme in every way. These were 4000 pesos each, or about US $8. A tuna steak of the size and quality we were served would be about $25 in America, and would not be half as fresh.
Thusly fed, Jeeped, and ready to rock, we bought some water, fruit, and juice to add to our food cache, and hit the road for or first day's adventure. An Uncommon Guide To Easter Island led us straight along the only paved road on the island (outside of Hanga Roa) to Anakena Beach, and our first Moai sightings.
Ahu Nau Nau at Anakena Beach contains six Moai, which were restored from their toppled positions in 1978. A smaller Ahu containing only one Moai is off to the side, this one was resurrected by islanders and Thor Heyerdahl in the 1950's. A still-toppled Moai lays nearby. An eye made of shells was recovered at this site, and is the only one in existance. It is now in a museum, but some of the Moai restored at Anakena have had new eyes created for them. Outside of the Nau Nau site, only one other Moai on the island has eyes, and those were created for it in modern times (or so I was lead to understand).
Being one of only two small beaches on the island, Anakena is a popular site for tourists. Several bus loads arrived while we were there, which was disappointing. We really wanted to be able to experience these sites in as much seclusion as possible. Somehow, seeing throngs of people around them ruined the energy we were feeling from the ancient monoliths. But I suppose the other tourists had as much right to be there as we did. Unfortunately the sun was behind Ahu Nau Nau, so my pictures came out a little backlit. At this time of year, the sun describes a smaller arc across the sky than it would in the middle of summer. The Moai at Nau Nau face south, so the sun never hits their faces directly. Photography is therefore difficult at this site in the autumn.
The day was almost perfect. The weather was in the mid to high 70's, and there was a gentle breeze blowing in from the ocean at all times, but it never became anything resembling a wind. The muggy humidity of the previous night had subsided a bit, and the sky was mostly clear. There were a few clouds occasionally hiding the sunshine, but nothing that threatened rain.
We noticed a hill just to the east, and climbed to the top. From there we had a great view of the beach, the Ahu, and quite a bit of the nearby terrain. Palm trees had been planted nearby during the past decade to give tourists some shelter and to make the picnic area more comfortable. An outhouse has also been installed near the picnic area. Initially, all of these 'modern conveniences' (a parking lot, outhouses, and park benches) disappointed us and spoiled the mood and feeling of this site for us. Fortunately, the rest of the island's major places of interest were less modernized than this.
We noticed that down the other side of the hill, there were interesting lava formations sloping down to the sea, and that there were beautiful tide pools being created by the irregular heaps of rock deposited there millennia ago by the erupting volcanoes that formed the island. We decided to explore.
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On the way down, we encountered the ruins of several manavai, or small gardens sunk into the earth and surrounded by short stone walls. We found dozens of these all over the island, all containing different plants, trees, and flowers. Next, we came across a small cave, guarded by a fearsome crab. Fearsome, that is, if you are a small fish. Mr. Crab looked more like dinner to me. He scurried out of the way, and we could see a large pile of animal bones in the cave. We vaguely remembered something about bones being placed in caves on purpose for some reason, probably some superstition or ritual, and had been warned not to disturb them. I wasn't particularly worried about Aku-Aku (ghosts or ancestral spirits), but we decided they were better left undisturbed anyway. Continuing down to the sea, we were amazed at the spectacular rock formations, and the pure clarity of the water. Looking down, one can see straight through to the bottom of the pools formed by the receding tide. The water is as clear as tap water. Tropical fish, tiny crabs, and sea urchins thrive in the little pools, darting among rocks that are also home to various colorful plants. It was like looking at an aquarium, but it was also something far, far more profound. This was a little microcosm for all of nature, undisturbed at it's work. A little ecosystem had sprung up in a tiny bowl of rock that had been created purely by chance, as the hot lava and the cool sea crashed together hundreds of thousands of years ago. The lava had stopped and cooled into rock. The sea beats relentlessly against it, slowly eroding it, patiently reclaiming it's own territory. And the little ecosystem in the tide pool? It could be wiped out at any moment by the mighty and unforgiving Pacific. As it happened, we would visit several more sites like this in the next few days, and each of them would be unique and gorgeous. The tide was threatening to sneak back up towards the shore, and the crashing waves had made targets of us, so we headed back to higher ground. There is no shade to speak of on the island, except for in Hanga Roa (and under that grove of newly planted palm trees near Anakena beach). Our hiking had made us hot, so we stopped by the edge of the beach to enjoy the surf, the shade, and our OJ. We met a nice man from Chile who advised us that Santiago was not a great place to visit! We also spied a couple of young Rapa Nui boys doing backflips on the sand, to the delight of their girlfriends, who were pretending not to notice. Some things never really change, no matter where you go. We went back to the Jeep, and decided that our next trek would be hiking down the north coast of the island towards where the cliffs began to get higher at the beginning of Poike peninsula. Poike is one of the three volcanoes on the island, but for various reasons the small peninsula on which it sits is not usually visited by tourists. We would be turning to the south as soon as we got to the cliffs near the sea side foothills. The weather was great, the sea was beautiful, and the hike was full of interesting discoveries. We drove part of the way, stopping to see a few Ahu. This is also where we encountered the first of many, many unreconstructed sites. Te Pito Te Kura and Ra'ai were highlights. One must remember that the all of the Moai were toppled, and the vast majority have been left that way. The erect ones are the rarities. Walking up to these sites and seeing these majestic stone effigies laying flat on their faces, often broken in half with their Pukao (the topknots or 'hats' made of red stone seen on some Moai) having rolled down a hill, was a sad sight indeed. The toppled Moai we saw all along the more deserted parts of the shore were a grim reminder of the social upheavals that the island had undergone not so long ago ('only' a few centuries). Eroded by the weather, smashed by their fall, and disrespected by weeds, these Moai held a completely different energy that the recently re-erected ones did. |
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As we moved along the shore towards Poike, we actually saw less and less Moai. We did see many, many manavai, and also the ruins of a dozens of old canoe-shaped stone buildings, of the type which were constructed on the island in the days of the ancients. Although there was not much left of them, save for an elongated oval of stones standing a foot or two high, viewing them in an archeological context did provide some interest. Where there was one ruin there were usually many; we explored the waist-high remains of several potential ex-urban centers. We remembered that the Moai had all been built on their ceremonial Ahu to watch over villages like these.
Trying not to step on any of the ubiquitous little lizards that are constantly trying to get out of your way, our next discovery was Te Pito to Kura. This is a small group of uncharacteristically round stones was believed by the ancients to have been brought over to the island by Hotu Motu'a, supposedly the original discoverer of Rapa Nui. Arranged around a larger central stone, the four smaller ones point north, south, east, and west.
We passed a family of Rapa Nui camping on a small hill leading down to the ocean. They were camped next to a cave, and the most adorable little girl followed us in, giggling and pointing, as intrigued by us as we were by the whole darned island. Near the cave was another of the shrines to the virgin Mary, this one composed of a combination of Rapa Nui carvings, more Western stylings, and bones. A smaller cave closer to the water caught our attention, and we were intrigued by a bunch of white shapes we saw in the gravel. Many of the caves we had seen contained animal bones, and although warned that we should not disturb these offerings, we still wanted to have a peek.
Well, in this case, it wasn't such a good idea. The white shapes were not bones. They were crumpled up lumps of paper. This cave was the local outhouse...
We also passed a small residence, rare outside of Hanga Roa, with a caleta (tiny dock/bay where boats can come ashore) in front. It was a long walk around it, and Dana was nervous about traipsing across someone's property. But with the typical friendliness of the islanders, the owner invited us to walk across his lawn as his kids ran about, playing in the sunshine.
We soon saw another Ahu, but there were no Moai on it, toppled or otherwise. We saw that the cliffs of Poike were still a ways off, so we determined that this particular Ahu would make a good spot to rest and eat lunch. It proved to be just like any other ocean side spot on the island: spectacular. Anyone with an ounce of curiosity can spend hours just marveling at the bizarre rock formations formed by lava flowing to the sea, or the clear and colorful tide pools formed within these lava formations, or the impossible blueness of the pacific ocean beating relentlessly against the shore.
We spent some time here, eating a late lunch. Our sunlight was starting to become a valuable commodity, so we decided that we had better start making our way back to the Jeep. There are no lights on the island whatsoever at night (except for in Hanga Roa, of course). Somehow, the three hour hike one way only took 45 minutes going back. We were both astounded at this apparent time warp we had passed through. But now, with some sunlight left, we decided to drive as far up Poike as we could and watch the sun set. We were able to get about 1/3 of the way up (after dodging a dozen freely roaming horses who were meandering across the road), and then we hiked a bit further until we hit the wire fence that keeps visitors from going any farther. The sun was going down just a few degrees too far to our right for us to really get a good view; it was going down behind Mount Terevaka, back beyond Anakena. We had hoped to see it sink into the sea, but we weren't so lucky.
From our vantage point half way up the northern side of Poike, we did note that our Jeep, parked on a hill in the distance, looked like it was ready to be photographed for an advertisement, so we took the picture. Unfortunately, the light was fading fast. We also found a relatively easy method of making our way down the sheer cliff face towards a small peninsula halfway between our perch and the sea, some 300 feet below. We climbed down 150 feet of cliff easily, and on the rocky platform jutting out into space, still several stories above sea level, we amused ourselves by hurling some stones into the wind, trying to hit a small outcropping of rocks which kept appearing and then vanishing beneath the waves 150 feet below. The island was just a little smaller then. The wind was picking up and threatening to push us from our perch, so we headed back up the cliffs, and then down the grassy slope of Poike to the Jeep.
Since there are no lights on the island outside of Hanga Roa, we were faced with the task of finding our way back in the growing blackness. With the exception of two streets in Hanga Roa and the (newly paved) road to Anakena, all of the roads on the island are dirt tracks, more stone covered than flat. There is no speed limit posted, but you can't do more than 10 MPH on most of the roads anyway. The roads are of red dirt, and one must pay attention contiunally. Boulders and ditches are a constant hazard, and when filled with water or mud, the descision of whether to go off road to avoid a pothole potentially too big to drive over is a valid one. Twists and turns in the road are to be taken slowly; one never knows what is beyond the next one. At one point, we almost rammed right into a herd of cows and bulls meandering down the road. There was no moving them, and honking our horn only attracted the attention of a large and unfreindly looking bull to whom we would rather have reamained invisible. Eventually, three cowboys rode across the hill on their horses, and drove the herd off the road so we could pass. Cowboys. On Easter Island. I am not kidding!
We traveled the length of Poike, arriving on the south end, and were able to see Rano Raraku - tomorrow's destination - in the distance. We ended up driving between it and the ocean. As we rounded a bend in the road, we experienced one of the most spectacular moments on the entire trip. Without warning, Ahu Tongariki was suddenly before us.
Looking at the largest and most spellbinding collection of effigies on the island, ancient visitors to Tongariki would have been able to see 30 of the largest completed Moai, all lined up on the huge Ahu. Just a mile from the quarry at Rano Raraku (from which they were mined), these huge Moai appear to be watching over the birth of their future companions. A tsunami decimated the site in 1960, but restoration efforts have begun in the last ten years. Unfortunately, many of the colossal masterpieces were completely pulverized or dragged to sea in the tsunami, so only about fifteen of the original thirty have been saved. And it is still the most impressive Ahu on the island!
We were going to visit the site again the next day, but stumbling upon it unexpectedly like this, alone and at dusk, was mind blowing. We got out of the car in the near-darkness, and without a tourist in site, we made our way towards the Ahu. Fifteen of the most awesome Moai on the island were lined up before us, the ocean was behind them, the sun was just vanishing completely beyond the volcano in front of them, and there were more stars in the sky that one man could count in a lifetime. We had to sit down on some nearby rocks; our knees were weak with the tremendous power of the place.
In spite of the fact that we were 8000 miles from home, in the darkness, and without any means of contacting anybody who had ever met us, these potentially terrifying effigies were mesmerizing and comforting. We had no fear - of anything. The moment was perfect and the solitude was absolute.
We stayed there quite a while, just gazing upon one of the wonders of the ancient world (not one of the orginal seven wonders, though). When there was absolutely no more light whatsoever, we finished our trip back to the village.
As promised, the water in our room had been hot that morning, but by this evening it was cold again, We each took a really fast and really cold shower, and dressed to get some dinner. We were absolutely exhausted from hiking around in the sun all day, but like the previous night, there was no way we were going to miss out on anything. We could sleep when we got home!
We walked towards the bay, a few blocks down the street in the opposite direction of the church, and discovered a few more places to eat, and a few small Moai. One of them was restored improperly; it faces the sea rather than watching over the village. We found a nice little place on the north end of Policarpo Toro street, near where the pavement becomes dirt track and heads onward toward Tahai and Kio'e (which were Saturday's destinations, along with Orongo). We had excellent tuna again. Not quite as good as breakfast, but still among the best we had ever had. Dana also had some seviche. The portion was large, and it was just about the best we had ever tasted.
Also outstanding was the size of the cockroach that ran across the patio as we ate.
All part of the local color. No worries.
Rather than hitting some of the other cafes, we just decided to
give
in to our exhaustion and hit the sack. No 'sin gas' tonight!
Saturday, May 06, 2000
I had planned to get up with the roosters on Saturday morning, maybe watch some cartoons (just kidding) and get on the road early. I guess exhaustion got the better of us, because somehow we slept until ten or so. Perhaps this was for the better; eleven hours of sleep finally rested us up after the combination of the exhausting trip, and then our immediate and enthusiastic initial explorations of the island on Friday.
We breakfasted at the Iorana Restaurant on Atumu Tekena, about halfway between Te Pito te Henua street and the road to the airport, and right in the center of town. Set back a little from the road, Iorana is easily found by it's sign - an 8-foot long carving of a shark (or is it a tuna?) hanging over the arch on the entranceway. The food was as good as any we had found elsewhere, but it took almost 45 minutes to get served, even though we were the only customers. But it was great, as all of our meals on the island were. Iorana, by the way, is Rapa Nui for "hello" and "goodbye". Sort of like "Aloha" or "Shalom" - a general all purpose greeting. We found that almost all of the Rapa Nui speak Spanish, but many of them rememeber their native language too. To learn a few words of Rapa Nui will quickly ingratiate you with these people. All of my attempts to speak Rapa Nui resulted in a response of surprise and joy from the locals. They really appriciate the effort.
While eating, we noticed a middle aged (and very obviously American) couple traipsing back and forth up the street. We made a game of trying to decide where they were from. It was a tough call. Both were extremely overweight and dressed in second-rate designer fashions, so we decided that upper Wisconsin was a good choice. But, there was also a south/southwest thing there too. Maybe Alabama or part of Texas. We wondered how on earth these people had chosen this place for their vacation. I mean, it's not like we had any more right to be there than they did, and it's not as if we felt superior or anything, it's just that this particular couple seemed, on the surface, to be just about the last people on Earth who would have had any interest in Rapa Nui. There were people from all over the world on the plane from Santiago, and I know this is judgmental, but most of them just seemed to fit somehow. Old or young, of any race or nationality, as diverse a crowd as you can imagine, but they all just seemed to belong. But the subject of our observations at breakfast that morning were the exception. It seemed impossible that they would have an interest in taking a hike through the ruins and up the side of volcanoes - they seemed to have trouble waddling down the street. Were we making harsh and unfair judgments, or were our observations correct? If correct, then were these people just VERY lost, or were they the first envoys to the island from that particular section of America's diverse cultural heritage that causes so many people in other parts of the world to loathe Americans on principle?
Would this couple return, and bring McDonalds with them? Would their presence, and the presence of people like them, create a demand for a Wal Mart and a Starbuck's on Rapa Nui? And how would the locals respond to that, I wonder. Would the Rapa Nui see the construction of a K-Mart on their island as an opportunity to finally have access to the types of goods that are common in so much of the world, or would they see it as an abomination and a threat to their relatively undisturbed way of life? I really can't tell you. There is no shortage of teenagers in Hanga Roa. They could staff a Burger King without too much trouble. Personally, to return to Rapa Nui and see a Blockbuster Video on the corner of Te Pito te Henua street and Atumu Tekena street (the site of Video Hata Ki Te Hangui) would make me pretty damned depressed. But again I wonder: how would the locals feel about it?
With these thoughts occupying my conscience, we bought some more water, loaded up the pack with some of the Power Bars we had bought (and had been munching on continually while hiking) and set out for Rano Raraku. This site, glimpsed so tantalizingly in the previous day's twilight, was one of the high points of the trip. No... it was one of the high points of my life.
<
Approaching
the extinct Rano Raraku volcano, the west side of
which
was the birthplace for some 900+ Moai, we were like little kids at
Disneyland.
We just couldn't wait to start running up that hill. There were
some
other tourists present, but as was the case almost all weekend, we
found
that the guided tour vans have a tendency to arrive at a site, let the
van full of gawkers out to have a quick peek, take a few pictures, and
then jet off to the next location. A little patience on our part
was almost always rewarded with some peace and solitude in which to
explore
these places undisturbed. I am not so sure why it was so
important
for us to be as alone as possible during our exploarations.
Perhaps
it had to do with wanting to preserve the mystique of being in the most
remote place on the planet. Naturally, seeing other tourists
clouded
the romance of the notion that we were 2500 miles from the coast of
South
America, and even farther from any place else. If you travel south from
Rapa Nui, you have an uninterrupted 3500 miles of ocean ahead of you,
and
then you hit Antarctica. Hawaii is almost as far to the north.
We were also wary of people like the couple we saw on the street that morning (we privately dubbed the man 'Tex'). Call it a prejudice if you must, but they simply reminded us far too much of all that is distasteful and annoying about the culture we live in. Having a part of that follow us to this beautiful and perfect little pocket of paradise was almost tragic. And so, to preserve the fantasy that we had truly escaped 'it all' and come this radiant and unblemished paradise, we avoided our fellow tourists at all costs.
Like the previous day, we were treated to perfect weather. It was in the mid-70's and sunny. There were some clouds in the sky, but they were few and far between. When one temporarily drifted between us and the sun, it provided a few seconds of welcome relief from the heat - and/or an annoyance if I was trying to get a good picture! Keep in mind that there is nowhere to get some shade. Even though it was a comfortable temperature and there was a nice breeze (but never a wind) blowing gently all day, the sun beat down relentlessly. We had applied copious sun block the previous day, but a missed spot on the back of my neck had burned, and had made my camera strap - which chafed that same spot continually - into something resembling a medieval torture device.
So we loaded up on sunblock, and headed up the side of the volcano.
Several narrow dirt paths wind and snake from the small parking area up to the lowest point on the volcano rim. Arranged all over the grassy slope are dozens of Moai. Carved from the side of the mighty Rano Raraku, these giants had made it halfway down the slope before being abandoned by their builders. Larger and of newer vintage that any of the Moai on the seaside Ahu platforms, these giants have a different look to them, and they also show more variation in their design. Each is unique and memorable in it's own right. Something that many people don't know about these Moai is that they aren't just heads. All of the Moai were sculpted all of the way to the waist. Their hands are typically seen covering their bellies, and many of them have structures near the waist that have been described as either ceremonial loin cloths or erect penises. All of the Moai represent ancestors of their builders, and of course the fertility symbols near the waist were important. They also all have names, but I have no way of knowing what the individual Moai are called (only a few are mentioned by name in the invaluable Uncommon Guide to Easter Island).
The dozens of famous photos of Moai on the side of Rano Raraku have further contributed to the false impression that the Moai are just big heads. The truth is that erosion is the culprit; if you were to dig any of the Moai out of their resting places, you would discover that only 1/2 to 1/3 of the figure has escaped being buried by the slowly shifting earth. Perhaps, one day, all of the Moai will be completely buried? This also explains why unlike the rest of the Moai on the island, the ones on the hill escaped being pulled over during the social unrest: the rebels simply couldn't pull something on to it's face if it was mostly buried 20 feet down into the dirt.
The volcano rim is not level; the northern portion of the rim is significantly lower then the rest, and there is also a big cleft on the tall peak of the south side. But don't expect a hike here: on the south side the gentle slope up to the rim is nowhere to be found, rather it is a sheer and unbroken slab of rock jutting straight up out of the earth.
So we hiked to the northwest rim, and we were amazed at the view of the inside of the volcano. A big lake full of reeds dominates the view, and on the southern inside slope, there is yet another cluster of Moai. Altogether, there are 396 Moai on Rano Raraku, that's almost half of all of the Moai on the island. Many of them are still in various states of carving. Some are barely recognizable, as they lay on their backs, ready to be spawned from the rock around them, still more a part of the volcano than an individual entity.
Standing on the northwest rim and looking to the right, the rim slopes upwards at a fairly steep angle to the highest point on the volcano. It is possible to walk right up, but it is fairly strenuous due to the angle and the barely discernible (and often non existent) path. We marched up as the last of a busload of tourists were coming down. We had the volcano to ourselves! At the top, we were treated to a stunning view of Tongariki far behind and below us, and of the entire volcano spread out in front of us. The black rock and hardened lava had been covered with grass and soil thousands of years prior to our arrival, and with dozens of Moai several millennia after that. A cool breeze rippled the water on the little lake, and hawks flew overhead.
This is when I realized that two feet behind me was the sheer drop on the south face of the volcano. Were I to take one big step backwards, I would fall straight down to a rather painful death. I was at the very peak of the mountain, but I had come up the slope of the back side, not fully comprehending the daunting drop that was less than a yard from my final destination. I decided to sit down, carefully. Dana had no such vertigo, she lay on her belly and poked her face over the precipice. I advised her against it...
We had some water, recuperated from the climb, took some pictures, and then made our way back down. We had spied a guide giving three French girls a tour of the inner rim, but were too tired and too absolutely overloaded with what we had seen so far to want to make this side-trip ourselves. It would have been great to get closer to the inner slopes, the additional Moai, and to explore the split down the middle of the south face, but instead we opted to go back to the outer hillside, and explore the rest of that.
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We made it to the quarry area near the place where the grassy hill becomes steeper. Here we found some of the largest Moai ever attempted, still only half carved. At times this was like one of those "Where's Waldo" books. One can stare at a section of rock for a few minutes, and like a developing Polaroid, Moai that you hadn't noticed before will emerge from the rocky camoflage. There are dozens and dozens of Moai in the face of the volcano, all along a narrow pathway that leads right around to the south side of Raraku. We walked along the path with the cliffs becoming steeper and steeper above us, an arm's length away on our left, and the grass slopes on our right. It was possible to walk within two feet of a half-carved Moai and not see it. In certain sections of the quarry, four or five Moai are clustered together in the rock, all in various states of completion. Some lay horizontally, and some were carved on a 45 degree angle. One lay right at the side of the path, covered in weeds. We almost walked right by it. In another spot, a tiny but steady leak of water had formed on an overhang above the chest of a would-be Moai. One drop of water fell down on to the behemoth's chest every 15 seconds or so. Over centuries, this simple process had carved a small bowl into the Moai's chest, perhaps six inches in diameter and three inches deep. The clean water had seeped through the mountain from the crater lake above us. Would this crack ever give way to a stronger torrent of water that might eventually pierce the Moai's chest completely? Standing in one spot, looking at the cliffs in front of us, we would spot one Moai, and then suddenly, right next to it, another would 'appear', and then another above it, and another off to the side. It reminded me of the scene in the movie Aliens when the Space Marines first encounter the monsters: they are looking at an apparently empty chamber, when all of the sudden the walls come alive and a dozen aliens reveal themselves to have been there all along, camouflaged on the walls and ceiling. These Moai were the last ones made, and the progression in the art form is apparent. The scale of these Moai dwarf even the mighty ones at Tongariki, and had they been completed, their positions on their Ahu would have been awe inspiring. I took even more pictures, but to look at them briefly, one sees only rocks. Examining them further, as was the case in real life, the images slowly emerge. It was a shame to leave this place. We could have spent a whole day there, and really made an effort to see every last archaeological detail. As I stated, there are 396 Moai in various states of development on the volcano, and I imagine we glimpsed a good many of them, but not all of them. I envy someone like Katherine Routledge, who spent many months on the island around 1915 or so, or Thor Heyerdahl, who in the late 1950's was able to excavate one of the Moai on the hillside of Rano Raraku and see it in it's entirety. To imagine all of the Moai on that hillside standing as they are, but with the ground level 15 feet lower is a fantasy that no one will ever see come true ever again. It must have been humbling for the children of the Moai builders too see these creations as they were originally meant to be seen. To walk among them with one's head at the level of their chests, rather than their noses, would have been incredible! Photo notes: I should have bought stock in Fuji Film before leaving on this trip. I definitely used up enough film to single handedly raise stock prices across the board! It was a challenge to get all of the shots I wanted without the oft-maligned fellow tourists getting in the way, but it can be done with a little patience. Most of the Moai here face west. The best pictures would then be in late afternoon in the summer. In the autumn, the sun is angled more to the side, so you will get better profiles than head-on shots. The Moai inside the crater are facing west-northwest, and are best shot in the afternoon, but not too late. If you wait too long, the Moai will be obscured by the shadow of the north-northwest rim of the volcano. |
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There is plenty of other things to see at this site besides Moai. We noticed a little circle of rocks on the ground, a few yards in front of the Ahu. It seemed that this could not be any sort of old formation, because each rock was only fist-sized, and would certainly have been disrupted over the years. As it turns out, they were placed there to mark the location of a petroglyph on the ground. This particular one was of a sea turtle. I am rather fond of Testudinidae (turtles and tortoises) in general. In addition to being powerful and important animals in the mythology of several key civilizations across the world, they are important on several levels in my own personal spirituality. I added the Rapa Nui to the list of cultures I am interested in who incorporated turtles into their art.
We also found a little stone manavai behind the Ahu, but instead of being full of plants, it was full of miscellaneous parts of some of the Moai that had not been salvageable after the 1960 tsunami. Sort of a 'Moai construction kit', or at least the leftover parts of one, collected off to the side after one enterprising re-builder had rescued the fifteen fantastic Moai lined up at Ahu Tongariki!
A little ways behind the Ahu was yet another area in which the flowing lava had run into the sea leaving intricate and colorful (if you think various shades of black and gray are colorful) rock formations and beautiful tide pools. I spent some time meditating by the sea, with the Moai further up the shore facing away from me, looking instead at Rano Raraku in the distance. In the meantime, Dana met a man from Scandinavia who was bicycling around the world. We did joke about the difficulty of cycling to Rapa Nui! He was off to South America and then the US of A next.
The day wasn't long, but climbing that volcano was tough, and we had seen quite a lot in only six hours or so. We decided to head back to Hanga Roa and take a nap before investigation of something even more primitive: Saturday night life. There are actually two 'discos' on the island, but they don't get going until after midnight. Normally, I am a night person, and going out at that hour is nothing unusual for me. But I was concerned about being out until dawn and then sleeping through our last day of exploration on the island. But I wasn't about to miss a Rapa Nui disco, either!
We slept for a few hours, and then went for dinner. We ended up at the pizza joint a few doors down from our residence. It almost seemed a shame to go for pizza after all of the incredible local cooking we'd enjoyed already. But keep in mind that there are no fast food type places on Rapa Nui. This is a good thing. But, I was curious to sample the only local version of this universal 'delicacy'. We were unable to sit on the patio, and the inside was a little cramped - there was only one table. Tourists from all over the world had written greetings in crayon all over the walls, and the friendly waitress (who spoke the best English we encountered on the island) invited us to do the same. I suggested a bilingual pun. One of Rapa Nui's many names is "Te Pito o te Henua", which is what the islanders affectionately call their homeland. It means "the navel of the world". Dana crayoned a greeting, replacing the word "Pito" with "pizza": The Pizza of the World! I drew a happy cartoon Moai serving up a hot pizza.
Speaking of hot pizza, it took forever for ours to arrive. No worries. A table eventually cleared up, and we moved outside. The pizza was good, but not great. We headed next door to our favorite bar, Kopakavana, to enjoy a Pisco Sour and a few Cristals. Then we walked down the street to another little cafe, for another beer. This little cafe was notable for four reasons. First, it seemed to be a little more upscale - it was a newer building, and had the cleanest, most modern bathroom we saw on the island. Second, it actually had two brands of beer: we sampled Escudo rather than the old standby Cristal. Third, our doggie friend from Thursday night caught up with us here, and started following us around again. Fourth, our 'American buddies', the couple from that morning, were having a good dinner and speaking to the proprietor in loud English which she apparently did not understand. Why is it that people think they can make others understand their language by increasing their amplitude?
It was getting close to midnight, and we had a decision to make: Disco Piriti, or Disco Toroko? Piriti was close to the airport, and was supposedly where more tourists went. Toroko was where the locals hung out. We decided to have a quick look at Piriti and then go to Toroko.
Piriti can boast that it has the only neon sign on the island, even if it is just one straight line of blue above the door. There are also day-glo lights inside, and fun art on the walls depicting Moai and Rongo Rongo petroglyphs in day-glo colors. Ladies enter free, but I had to cough up 2000 pesos. This was about four bucks US. The exchange rate, by the way, is about 530 pesos to the dollar, but for the sake of convenience (and for the sake of sticking it to the tourists and making some extra money) expect to get an even 500 to the dollar everywhere you go. You will usually get your change in pesos, but a few places will have dollars handy. We were the only people at the disco for a good half hour, and we were pretty much ready to move on by the time some more people showed up. We were puzzled at the prices - beer was reasonable at 1500 pesos (it was 1000 everywhere else though), but they wanted 20,000 for whiskey. That's 40 bucks! We wondered exactly how much you would get for that amount of money. A whole bottle, perhaps? A pint or a fifth? It must be very expensive and rare to import.
We moved on to Toroko, which is on the opposite end of the village on Atamu Tekena street, near the place we had dinner on Friday. Driving any further up this street would take you right out of the village.
Toroko was not anywhere as modern as Piriki (speaking relatively, of course), but it was a lot more fun. The dirt parking lot was filling up with vehicles, and there were locals having 'tailgate parties' all over the place. A handwritten sign on the door next to a barbecue makes things perfectly clear: "Natives 1000 pesos, Touristas 2500 pesos". We forked over ten bucks and went on in. I was trying to speak a little bit of Rapa Nui to the old lady at the door and ended up calling Dana a 'belly button'. This wasn't so bad, because I almost used the word for a more unmentionable part of anatomy, but corrected myself before I said it. Yes, it always has to be something naughty. Why doesn't anyone ever slip up and call someone a 'spoon' or a 'shoe'? It always seems to be something offensive that slips out during linguistic mix-ups...
The place was a little more jumpin' than Piriki, but we were getting some strange looks. Hell, we get strange looks here at home, so it was no big deal. But we were definitely a minority here - I guess 'touristas' usually take the typical advice and go to Piriki.
It was against our nature to do so, but we headed back to Residencial Tauke before 2:00. We could have stayed out a while longer, but we didn't want to waste our last full day on the island too tired and hung over to explore. We had our taste of the night life, but now it was time to sleep. First, we went to a little park area near Toroko, where some modern native carvings are on display. We didn't know it, but there was a major Ahu just a short walk from there. In the darkness, we couldn't even see it. We goofed off and acted respectfully drunk for a little while. We marveled at the incredible clarity of the sky, the impossible number of stars visible, and more shooting stars than in a Steven Spielberg movie.
Sunday, May 07, 2000
Roosters don't have any conception of our days of the week, but construction workers do. The birds started making a racket bright and early, but at least we were spared the power saws and hammering of the next door neighbor. This was good, because the hammering in our heads from Pisco Sours and Escudo beer was enough.
Fortunately, we had drank a lot of water and downed some of our ubiquitous vitamins before bed. We had breakfast at our usual haunt, the same place we ate at on Friday morning and had beers at on Thursday night. I wish I knew the name of the place! If you ever visit, they have a red, white, and blue sandwich board on the sidewalk advertising tuna and seviche, and also have a very small market and a car rental available. We had yet another Tuna Plate, and were still not tired of it. They must have appreciated our business, because the portion we were served that morning was prodigious. We ended up wrapping some of it up to take as lunch. Just as we left the cafe, we saw The Bavarian Banshee and his mother, who looked incredibly exhausted.
Today's adventure was to explore the ceremonial site of Orongo. But first, there were a few other small Ahu and some other things we wanted to explore. So instead of heading east towards Rano Kau volcano (where Orongo is), we headed west, just past Toroko, to Tahai and Kio'e. These sites were restored by the archaeologist William Mulloy, who's grave is located there. Speaking of graves, the cemetery is also near this site, and boasts one large cross in particular that was carved from the Pukao of a fallen Moai.
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There was a woman who had a blanket set up nearby with carvings and souvenirs on it. I had my eye on one particular Moai carving, about 14 inches high, made of black stained wood, and with real shells inlaid for the eyes. The petroglyph carvings on it's back were detailed and intricate. She wanted $75, and while I could have bartered her down a bit, I still wanted to wait before I bought anything. I regret not buying that particular Moai, it was the nicest one I saw, and picking it up from a woman selling her wares from a blanket near an Ahu lent an authenticity to the whole exchange. She was the only person I observed selling wares outside of Hanga Roa.
We worked our way up the coast toward Ahu Tepeu. We got a little mixed up because the directions we had were vague, and we ended up hiking away from the jeep for a little over a mile, and not really seeing much. There were tons of piles of crumbled rock, possibly the remains of villages that had collapsed centuries prior, but they were so far gone that we couldn't even be sure that's what they were. In fact, we were not even sure if we were in the right place. Dana found the skull of a cat, the latest example of the many, many piles of animal remains we saw scattered throughout the island.
The only other people we encountered at all were a German couple, probably in their 20s. They were hiking ahead of us for a while. At one point, they simply disappeared, and we found that they had disappeared into a cave. This cave was a little hole in the ground, impossible to find if you didn't know where to look. It was the width of a manhole, and led into the earth at a 45 degree angle. The Germans had disappeared down this burrow without hesitation. It curved to the right almost immediately, and lost any natural light at that point.
Dana wasn't going anywhere near it, but I got into my mode of "if I don't do this now, I'll never have another chance". So I backed feet first into the pit. I had to sit on my hunches and shuffle around the corner. I had no light, and couldn't see a foot in front of me. I could not see or hear the Germans. Their flashlight was far enough away that it's light had disappeared altogether. Normally somewhat prone to claustrophobia, and without light, and noting the multiple spider webs, I headed back out after going in about six feet or less! Those spider webs are noteworthy as well - it seems I was not entirely welcome in that cave. Read on...
Although the weather was amazing, once again, the lack of shade and clouds meant that the sun was beating down on us pretty hard. As we hiked back to the car, exhausted, sweaty, and dizzy from the sun, I wasn't sure if I could go on. Dana fell far behind me. But we made it back, had some water and a power bar, and felt better soon.
We were conscious all afternoon that Orongo and Rano Kau were waiting, but we kept stumbling onto other important and amazing sites. We came across Te Pahu cave by accident, and stopped to see it. From the road, it looks like a pit in the ground, or a really huge manavai. A pile of stone 'stairs' allows easy access to the bottom of the 12-foot deep pit. Banana trees and other exotic plants grow thickly in the chasm, which is maybe 10 yards in circumference. To the right, a huge maw opens up in the earth, and one can walk under the house-sized rock overhang very easily, and into a fairly large cave. After a few dozen yards, the opposite end opens up into another exit, this one not as easily accessed. Back into the original pit, a small path leads to a narrow corridor in the rock. Edging our way through this corridor led us to an amazing underground lake. We marveled at this formation for a long time, shouting and clapping our hands so as to observe the interesting natural reverberation.
Next we discovered Ahu Akivi. This Ahu is unusual because it is so far inland. Some people have noted that all of the Moai on Rapa Nui (except for the single misaligned one near Hanga Roa) face away from the sea, guarding over the seaside villages near which they were erected. The Moai at Akivi appear to face towards the sea. Akivi is one of the only major Ahu that isn't near the sea (it is a mile and a half inland), so the astute archeologist can point out the fact that the all of the Moai did in fact watch over the village, and their seaward orientation is purely by chance, given their inland position. Akivi was also rebuilt by Mulloy. Walking around the back of it, we were able to see that some of the Moai have concrete 'collars' where their broken off heads were reattached with more modern stone working materials.
Puna Pao was the next stop. This is the quarry of red stone where the Pukao were carved. A half dozen of them still lay on the hill, completely ignored by the cows grazing nearby.
We were exhausted and running out of time. It was now almost 4:00 PM. Fortunately we still had a good three hours of daylight, so we hightailed it to the eastern end of the island, where a long and winding series of roads snake up to the top of the mighty Rano Kau. Three hours is enough time to see Orongo, but if we had needed to budget another two hours each way for the climb, we would have been out of luck. Rano Kau is much larger than Rano Raraku, so we were very grateful for the road. We saw the bicycle man from Scandinavia coming down the hill on foot; we had no idea where his bike was. Other than that, the place was deserted. We noted with some enthusiasm that all of the island tours seem to wrap up by 3 or 4 o'clock. With the daylight stretching out until at least 7, we had the island almost to ourselves for the last few hours of each day.
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Just a tad further up the volcano is the first place in which one can stop and view the crater lake. Dwarfing the carter lake at Rano Raraku, the mile-and-a-half wide Rano Kau crater lake is astonishing. Looking from the top, the lake looks almost like an ocean filled with little islands. In reality, these 'islands' are just patches of earth and clumps of weeds poking up out of the water. A path winds from this point on the rim down to the edge of the water several hundred feet below. We didn't have the time to go down, and Dana felt a little unsure as to how safe the path was. I reminded her of the last time we were on the rim of a volcano: she was leaning over the edge, with certain doom a half step away. At least this time there was a path and something of a slope leading down the side opposite to the one we came up! Still, we decided not to hike down.
On the far side of the rim, more than a mile away as the crow flies, is thin strip of land called Orongo. With a 1000 foot sheer drop into the sea on one side, and a less inviting non-path into the volcano bowl on the other, this little grassy peninsula, not even a dozen yards wide, is one of the most amazing places on earth. The road leads around the rim to a point about 1/4 mile away from Orongo. There is a tiny shack at the end of the road where a guard is supposed to be stationed. We were told that he would collect $10 from us as the 'entrance fee' to the Rapa Nui National Park (the whole island). So if you don't go to Orongo, there are no other fees for seeing all of the other sites on the island. But if you go to Easter Island and skip Orongo, you are an idiot! Just pay the sawbuck!
That said, the guard was nowhere around, and the last two cars besides ours were just leaving when we pulled up. Aces! Alone again! We hiked along the rim of the volcano. The sky was perfect and cloudless. The sea was flawless, blue, and endless on our right, 1000 feet below. Three long strides and a leap to the right, and we'd be swimming with the sharks. Three long strides and a leap to the left, and we'd be bouncing down the rocks to the bottom of the volcano. Ahead of us, we were running out of solid ground. As we approached the preserved remains of the tiny village on the tip of the peninsula, we saw that the rim of the volcano is not contiguous. Just after the last building, the grass ends, and the rock falls away to reveal a cleft in the seaward side of the volcano, not unlike the one on Rana Raraku. Were the split a little deeper, the sea might rush in and fill in the volcano lake. Another ten thousand years of erosion, and the face of this site might change considerably. Thaw me out when it happens, please.
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On this thin and perfect little piece of land, high above the sea, and accessible on only one side, the Rapa Nui people once held their yearly bird man competition. The bird man cult arose in the later stages of the island's history, after the building of the Moai and poor agricultural choices had depleted much of the island's resources. In this most serious challenge, young men scaled down the cliff, swam to one of the three nearby islets, and collected a tern egg. The first one back was the winner of this sacred ceremony. Many didn't make it back at all. The site is rife with the short, oval shaped dwellings typical of the island's ruins, but the difference is that the ones at Orongo have been preserved. At the very tip of Orongo, just before the land drops away, are one last outcropping of rocks, covered with petroglyphs. Some of these images are among the most famous on the island, and appear frequently in all manner of Rapa Nui art and craft. Standing here, high in the air and looking over the sea with no obstructions whatsoever, the curvature of the earth can be seen. One can view more than 180 degrees of the horizon. Turning slowly around, the Rapa Nui ceremonial buildings, the petroglyphs, and the other aspects of their culture form a magical picture with the volcano and it's staggeringly beautiful lake in the background. Words can absolutely not describe the beauty and magic of Orongo. That the ancient inhabitants of Rapa Nui were lucky enough to live near a place of such shattering magnificence is a blessing that all people should be so lucky as to share. Why they made it their most sacred of all places is no mystery. The visitor to Rapa Nui doesn't mind that there are no Moai up here. Forgetting that dragging one to this remote point would have been beyond even the astounding engineering skills of their builders, this place is powerful and exotic enough as it is! After marveling at the site for an hour, and exploring some of the buildings, petroglyphs, and other archaeological features, we sat on a rock and ate our lunch. A gentle breeze was blowing, and the shadows were just beginning to get long. Looking in any direction brought wonder and heart breaking beauty. I don't think we said a word for an hour. No one was there but us. It was almost a shame to leave, but one can only be overwhelmed for so long before the brain stops absorbing any more new information. We headed silently back down the mountain, just as a French couple and their three young kids made the scene. These were some seriously lucky kids, but I doubt they really comprehended that yet. I hope that being in this place, alone with their parents, enriches them on some level, and that they have as profound an experience (from their own young point of view) as we did. There was one more stop to make before we headed back to Hanga Roa. The Ahu at Vinapu is one of the better of the still-toppled ones. It was sort of strange approaching Vinapu, which is near the eastern end of the airport landing strip. There is a large and modern industrial complex hidden away in some hills. A cluster of huge cylindrical storage tanks surrounded by a barbed wire fence reminds one of the worst aspects of being back home, and looks completely out of place on Rapa Nui. I wasn't able to find out what the complex is, but I suspect it is either water processing, or more likely, fuel storage for the airport. It was sad to see this reminder that even a place as remote and relatively untouched as Te Pito o te Henua was still not immune from the modern industrial world. I cannot help but wonder if this site is going to contribute to the destruction of the perfectly blue sky, the clean, unblemished sea, the spotless beach at Anakena, and the overall feeling of purity and health on Rapa Nui. |
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That said, perhaps it is that ugly blemish on the southeast corner of the island that enabled me to be there. Perhaps there would be no plane fuel, or no Jeep fuel, if that hideous concession hadn't been added to the otherwise unspoiled landscape.
Just out of view of this sadness is Vinapu. Two Ahu sit near each other, both are home to a half dozen toppled Moai. One of the Moai had enough space underneath it that someone made a little cave there, and apparently lived in it for a while. Another one of the fallen giants landed face up; this is odd since most of them were pushed down face-first. This Moai must have twisted as it came down. I had run out of film, so I didn't get any pictures of Vinapu, and this is unfortunate since it is one of the more photogenic of the destroyed Ahu. Photograph this one in the morning; the sun from the east will light it nicely.
I also found an animal skull at this site. At first I thought it was a dog, but it has no canine teeth. I think now it was a baby cow. We found little piles of animal bones all over the island, all week long. When we saw them in caves or other places where they looked like they were placed there on purpose, we stayed away. But just as often, we'd stumble over a carcass just laying in the grass, stripped and bleached to the clean white bones by birds, bugs, microbes, and the sun. A few of them seemed to form sort of natural still-lifes, and I took a few pictures which are far less morbid than you might imagine. But, in these cases, there were almost never any skulls. I imagine that people had taken many of the skulls they found, for whatever reason. It was odd that the baby cow skull was laying on it's own, then. I wondered where the rest of the bones were, and how the skull got there. It was also odd that we never found a more recent carcass. Every single one we found was dry old bones (fortunately!).
We had one hour left until the Jeep was due back. That was almost the amount of daylight left too, if we wanted to push it. We decided to race over to Anakena and cool off in the ocean for just a few moments. When we got there, true to the pattern, most of the rest of the visitors were gone, and the place was almost deserted. We took our shoes off and walked into the waves. The sand here is soft and perfect. There isn't so much as a single pebble or shell to mar the pure white span of beach. The water was comfortable and warm, and the sun was just beginning to set over the nearby Mount Terevaka. We had hoped too see the sun dip into the ocean, since we had slept through it on Saturday and were badly positioned on Friday. No such luck. Regardless, we could see the clouds above the mountain turning a spectacular pink and orange, and for about fifteen minutes, the entire atmosphere was bathed in a beautiful pink light. I looked at Dana, and saw that her skin, her clothes, everything, seemed to be tinted pink. It was as if I was looking at the world (prepare to groan, but this is really how it was) through rose-colored glasses!
Back to Hanga Roa, we dropped off the Jeep, caught another cold shower, and relaxed for a while. We had a lot to think about. The last three days had brought non-stop astonishment. Every time we saw something that awed us, there was something different but equally magnificent just around the corner. Three days is not nearly enough to see everything on Easter Island. We saw all of the major sites, and spent more time at each of them than the average tourist did, but I feel that there is an entire 'next level' that can be explored. When one is at Tongariki, looking at the fifteen Moai in the shadow of Rano Raraku, it is hard to focus on the smaller treasures at the site, such as some of the petroglyphs for example. That said, trying to see all of Easter Island in one visit, even a longer one, might overload the brain too much. A person needs time to digest and appreciate all they have seen, to learn from it, and to develop a craving for more.
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And yet, I feel as drawn to it as ever.
But I am also worried. A major hotel corporation wants to put a resort on the island. This means that the unspoiled view from the top of Rano Kau will now be a view of a hotel. This means that the quaint residences (such as Tauke, where we stayed) will slowly become extinct as a different type of tourist (spearheaded by our Texan friend?) comes to the island, demanding the comfort of home. Golf courses. Swimming pools. High tension wires stretching from shore to shore. More paved roads. More vehicles. Less clean air. Fewer stars. The inevitable fencing off of the main archeological sites, lest they get destroyed by a class of tourist who have not learned to properly respect these things. More industrial complexes powering all of this. More flights landing on the airstrip. A dilution of the Rapa Nui culture as the west swoops down and scoops up this perfect little corner of the world, and sticks it in it's dirty and corrupt pocket to keep selfishly for itself.
These thoughts occupied my mind as I stared out the little window of our room into the lush back yard. We headed out for dinner, with the intent to find a place we hadn't been to yet. Much of Atumu Tekena street was closed early on this Sunday evening, and we had trouble finding somewhere new. We settled on a tiny place next door to our 'favorite' place. There were two tables outside, and only one inside. A man about our age with two braids in his hair didn't look too happy to see us. Perhaps he wanted to close. When we asked him for a menu, he testily pointed to the wall - it was scribbled on a card hanging by the kitchen area. No prices were listed. We ordered, and went back to the patio to select our table.
The food took forever, as was the case with all of our meals on the island. We had grown to actually appreciate this. We realized that these people were really just not in a hurry. Our tightly wound American clocks would just have to wait a while if we wanted anything. By the end of our last day here, they had. We speculated that orders for fish or meat were served only after the person preparing the meal had walked the short way to the butcher and bought our entree fresh. We never had a less than outstanding meal at any time. The food was never fancy, it was just wholesome and good.
Our host eventually warmed up, and when his mother returned from the market with a bucket full of fish, he took the time to show us that they were Pua Pua, and told us that he was the only person on the island that served them. Too bad we hadn't arrived a little later. The numerous tuna steaks we had devoured were uniformly succulent, but it might have been interesting to try the alternative.
We headed over to Kopakavana for one last Pisco Sour, and then called it a night. It was odd that I was finding myself going to bed at 10 or 11 each night (normally I don't hit the sack until 3 AM or so), but the exercise, the sun, and the excitement certainly took a lot out of me. I was popping vitamins, quaffing water, eating healthy food, and munching Power Bars all weekend long, but a body can only take so much!
Just after laying down, I decided that I couldn't quite get to sleep yet. I was sad that we were leaving the next morning, and I felt like there was so much more to see! I wasn't ready to leave yet, and I had to go outside and meditate for a while. I wanted to absorb some further intangible aspect of this place in a calm manner for a while, without all of the hiking, and looking, and wandering...
So I walked alone back to the single Moai that sits near the caleta by the bay. Then I walked up the street towards the modern-day sculpture garden that we had drunkenly goofed off in the previous night, near the disco. I sat down and stared straight upwards for a very long time. I still cannot get over the number of celestial objects visible here. I saw one thing, very close to the horizon, that was just about the brightest thing I have ever seen in the night sky, putting even Venus to shame. I could not identify it. It was almost exactly due west, and just a few dozen degrees from the horizon. It was bright and twinkling. I stared at it long enough that my eyes started playing tricks on me. I started to think it was moving, but it wasn't an airplane. It can't be an airplane - there are none out here, except for the weekly flight from Santiago, and another from the opposite direction, Tahiti. Then I started to think it was moving about in jerky random directions, as in the way you hear about in reports of UFO's. I reproached myself for that one; I had long, long ago learned better than to give any credit to those silly speculations that UFO's had aided the Moai builders. But to trick myself into thinking I was seeing one at all - and off the coast of Easter Island in particular - was a comical notion.
I let my eyes readjust, gazed elsewhere for a while, and eventually decided that this object must in fact be Venus, but seen here with more clarity than ever before possible. I learned a week later that on that night, all of the planets were in alignment, and it would be four hundred years before that happens again. So who knew what I was looking at! I also saw dozens of meteors, one every 2 or 3 seconds, but mostly tiny ones, almost unnoticeable. Little scratches on the breathtaking night canvas. A big blazing one showed up very occasionally. The most amazing thing I saw, something I've only been able to see once before (while driving through Utah in 1994) was a cross section view of the galaxy which we live near the outer edge of. The Milky Way stretches across the sky like a cloudy blue and purple arch. It takes a moment to notice, but these 'clouds' are behind the rest of the stars, and therefore far, far, beyond them. It is fairly faint, even in this place, but it is quite something to see if you can recognize exactly what it is you are looking at.
Thusly humbled, I headed back to Residencal Tauke. On the way there, I saw the usual gang of canines. I didn't worry too much, because I had grown used to the sight of a dozen dogs roaming the streets, in a pack, in the middle of the night. One started barking, and across town, another answered. Soon, all of the dogs were sitting around barking at each other, and then some of them started to wrestle. They chose the exact center of the intersection to stage this match, and I had to pass right through it to get home. Pretty soon all of the dogs were barking and jumping and wrestling, and unfortunately, they had noticed me. Some split off from the group and started walking up the street with me. They were snarling and twitching, and getting ready to bite each other, or me.
I tried using an old Jedi Mind Trick to make them go away, but that didn't work too well. Eventually I made it back, unchomped, but with my newfound tolerance for dogs firmly revoked. I had developed this tolerance on the island, and I would be leaving it here!
Something I would be taking with me, however, was the itchy bump
developing
on my leg, which I was trying to pretend was not a big deal...
Monday, May 08, 2000
With only a few hours left on the island, and no more Jeep, the Easter Island trip was just about done. We still had Santiago to look forward to, but after our little taste of it earlier in the week, we weren't that excited about it. It just didn't seem to be something that could compete with what we had experienced in the past four days.
Many of the shops in Hanga Roa sell souvenirs. No... ALL of the shops in Hanga Roa sell souvenirs. Any imaginable permutation on the Moai theme is explored, from key chains, to little stone Moai, to T-shirts, to stickers, to big wood Moai. There are also imitation Rongo Rongo tablets, reproductions of the Orongo petroglyphs, other native carvings, stickers... you name it. I was largely able to resist my impulse to buy everything in sight, for two reasons. First, although most of the businesses have stickers on their doors implying that they take credit cards, they don't. And I had to conserve my cash. Second, I was acutely aware that I was going to have to drag it all back home with me, through three flights, several days in Santiago, and a day in Miami. So I took it easy.
I did buy a nice carving of a Moai from Jorge Tuki. He runs a little carving shop across the street and down a bit from Residencal Tauke. It was important to me to get something that had been made by a native carver, not just some mass-produced piece of trash. In the Santiago airport, all over Santiago, and all over the island, you can find several metric tons of Moai souvenirs, but how many of them really embody the spirit of the island? Almost none. I was torn between two of Tuki's works, a 20.5" Moai in a dark cherry colored wood, and a shorter and lighter colored one. I liked the detailing and the carvings on the smaller one's back, but I wanted to get something substantial to add to the Polynesian Room in my house, not just a little knick-knack. So I shelled out $150 clams for the big one. Tuki wasn't around, his wife was running the shop while Jorge was presumably off somewhere doing carvings. I also picked up a few 7" high Moai made from grey pumice with authentic red Pukao as separate pieces. Some of these were for gifts. I got some other gifts and postcards for friends, as did Dana. I later found out that Tuki also owns Kopakavana. Was he the cognac quaffer we had met during our first night in town?
All of the people in Hanga Roa were very friendly. The tourism industry is reasonably new for them, only having been established a few decades prior. And yet, it is responsible for raising their standard of living substantially. The people of Hanga Roa live simply, in small houses without many of the luxuries we take for granted in the Northwestern Hemisphere. And yet, there was no sign of poverty. The people live a simple life, but also don't seem to want for anything. They all seem healthy and reasonably well fed. Their lives are uncomplicated and decent. The children are always smiling. Everyone knows everyone. Mail is simply addressed with the person's name and "Isla de Pascua" (Spanish for "Easter Island"). No street address, let alone a zip code! The man who served us dinner Sunday night was proud of his heritage, and turned on the small TV in his restaurant at a pre-appointed hour - it was at this time that Rapa Nui broadcast their own TV shows, rather than showing programs imported from Chile. His little corner of the world was moving into the modern era, slowly but surely. Each new tourist leaves a little more money behind, and as this money accumulates, the demand for - and the means to buy - modern conveniences is increased. But still I wonder - is this good or bad? Apparently, our host thinks it's good. He was so very proud of the local TV broadcast.
Is it selfish for those of us who live so far away to want Rapa Nui to stay as it is, if the locals want to be brought up to date? If the economy grows, will divisions between classes increase? Will there be an upper class and a poverty class? Will locals begin to accost tourists for handouts in front of the mega-resort hotel that has been proposed, as their former neighbors drive away from their hotel jobs in their nice new cars? Will the soul of this place be destroyed, as it has been on places like Hawaii?
We noted that when on Rapa Nui, we felt like we belonged there. Not because the people were amicable, but because the island was. It is a paradise, and it accepted our presence there. It was okay with the fact that we were there, and it even welcomed us to enjoy it, knowing that we, in turn, loved and respected it. Four thousand miles to the north, Rapa Nui's cousin Hawaii has been turned from a paradise into a theme park, with it's giga-resorts, paved roads, junkyards, power plants, crime, and even a harbor full of warships. Hawaii has been corrupted by those who don't respect it, and by those who see it as nothing but an opportunity to make money.
Will Rapa Nui have it's soul ripped out from within, as Hawaii has? And if the locals encourage this development, will they later regret it? Sadly, there's no warning them; they'll have to learn for themselves, and by that point it will be too late to do anything about it.
Well. Enough of that. It was time for breakfast! We didn't have the time or inclination to eat in a restaurant again, so we assembled a little brunch at a market. After settling with Victoria (US $120 for four nights and three days), her granddaughter(?) an exotic teenage beauty (keep your tongue in your mouth guys) and her little sister drove us to the airport. The younger sister, who was about ten, gave Dana a little flower for her hair. It was an honest and overwhelmingly charming gesture. Dana reciprocated by furiously digging through her purse, eventually coming up with a plastic tortoise-shell hair clip, which she presented to the little girl, who was delighted.
At the airport, we took one last look around. There was a single Moai there that we hadn't noted in our excitement Thursday night. We wondered if it was old, or made newly for the airport. There was also a very cool wooden sculpture of a lizard. The agriculture officer made Dana leave her flower behind.
As the flight took off, the pilot did something fairly unheard of in all of my experience on a major commercial airlines. He took us on a sightseeing trip! The pilot circled the entire island, pointing out all of the major features as we went by. Unfortunately, we were seated in the middle row of seats (this plane had three rows of seats with two isles dividing them), so we couldn't see much. I did barely glimpse, for one final time, all of the sites that had astonished us for the past four days. From the air, I was able to see Anakena Beach, Ahu Tongariki, Rano Raraku, Rano Kau, and Hanga Roa. It was like a scene just before the credits of a sappy B-movie where all of the events of the film flash back in a slow motion montage as weepy music jerks tears from more sensitive viewers.
The we streaked off to the coast of South America, and into part two of our great adventure!
During the flight, I wrote postcards to a dozen friends and family members, and tried unsuccessfully to sleep, once again. Noteworthy on this flight was that the Bavarian Banshee was aboard yet again, making as much noise from his little lungs as he had on the flight over. 'Tex' and his wife were aboard, as were the Germans who had apparently survived their descent into that dark little hole near Akivi. There was also a very nice wizened old man who sat next to Dana, and who spoke a little English. When he found out we were from Chicago, he said "Oh - Chicago! Al Capone! Bang Bang!".
Part Five:
Chillin' in Chilly Chile
We selected a Delfos van again, as we had earlier in the week, to take us downtown. On our previous trip into the city, we were alone in the van, and were charged US $7 each for the trip. This time there was a mother and daughter, and a business man traveling with us. The man was dropped off first, and we came next. We took our bags, and went inside.
The lobby was small and dark, but it had a cozy and very Latin feel to it. Artwork covered the walls, mostly old paintings that were as tenebrous as the rest of the decor. The building was very old, and impeccably maintained. It was delightful to our vintage sensibilities as well as our more subfusc tastes. The van left as we checked in; Dana mumbled 'score on the van', but I didn't catch what she said right away. Our reservation had not been booked properly, but fortunately, there were rooms available. We wanted a double, which was only US $40. We thought that's what we got, but when we checked out, we found that we had been in the Honeymoon suite, which was US $50. We didn't gripe, but it was definitely a little late for us to be considered honeymooners...
As we went up the old manual elevator to the fifth floor, I realized that the van driver had forgotten to charge us: 'score on the van', indeed.
The hotel was an excellent choice. There was a beautiful hilly park right across the street, and our windows looked out over it. We later found out that this park was Cerro Santa Lucia (more on that later). The room was great, and compared to the little box we lived in on the island, it was a palace. It was clean, and comfortable. As was the case with the comparatively reasonable prices in the airport restaurants in Chile, we noticed that the items in the mini-bar in the room were not exorbitant, as the ones at home always are. I never thought I'd be so happy to see either a sofa, or a TV. I normally watch almost no television, but I hadn't seen any news in five or six days, so I flipped CNN on. The Northern Hemisphere appeared to be intact.
Hot water on demand was a nice luxury too, and we each had a long shower before heading out into the Santiago night. Our immediate destination was the Bali Hai Restaurant. Having just spent four days on Easter Island, it was a bit artless to immediately choose to eat in a restaurant that has a row of plaster Moai guarding the front entrance. But if you read the very beginning of this admittedly lengthy journal, you know that the campy appeal of a place like this is irresistible for me, and besides that, I wanted to check this one out as research for Tiki Ro