Third Time Unlucky: The Disappointment of a Not-So-Magical Easter Island
Reflections on a disappointing third trip to Easter Island, now an expensive destination which has lost its magical touch
I decided to revisit Easter Island for a third time this year, on my honeymoon. I wanted to take my new husband for his first visit, as I’d enjoyed it so much before. My first trip had been in 2001 to coincide with my thirtieth birthday, my second in 2004 on a second round-the-world trip; the first time had blown me away, but even on the second occasion I’d felt a worrying inkling of the changes to come - but I certainly hadn’t been prepared for the
disappointment I’d feel third time.
My first impression of Easter Island was that it was magical - there isn’t much to it, but it has the heads, stark volcanoes and a small number of wild and artistic Pacific islanders with a heart-breaking history. It is
surrounded by a harsh, roaring ocean and nothing for thousands of miles. Magical is the only way I could describe it then. Only a handful of tourists were there, even though it was the last few days of the island’s annual Tapati festival (its busiest week). Round-the-world flights between French Polynesia and Chile had only just been licensed to allow stop-overs there, so I was one of a privileged few newcomers.
I stayed in a small hostel, with a terrace overlooking the island’s rugged western coast. I would sit watching kids surfing near the village, mesmerised by the waves, writing my diary. One of the sons of the Rapa Nui owner was a local artist and his works hung on the walls, depicting the colourful history and life of the remote island (the Rapa Nui are the original inhabitants who arrived from Polynesia, possibly as early as the 4th century). There was an interesting collection of backpackers staying there, one of whom was a photographer. I accompanied him on a sunset trip to Rano Raraku, the volcanic birthplace of the enormous statues, as he wanted to capture the moais at dusk. We trundled across the island in his beaten-up, rented jeep, and parked the vehicle in the pot-holed road nearby. We were the only people there, and I marvelled at the sheer size and improbability of the moais as the guy set up two tripods, each bearing a large camera, and then he ran around like a madman shining a huge torch onto a couple of the figures, while the cameras slowly exposed the effect.
Back in the village, long-haired locals rode around bare-back on nearly-wild horses. Driving along the coast we saw a man, wearing what looked like a white loincloth, trying to tame horses in a shallow bay – the horses thrashed around in the water as he grabbed them and tried to cling onto their manes and hoist himself onto their backs. Around the interior of the island a strange but sweet smell wafted about from a local grass. There was magic in
the air.
On my second visit I drove across the island with another random collection of backpackers, who I met staying at the same hostel. Things were a bit more ordered, with a new parking lot at Rano Raraku, the roads a bit less ragged and a few more shops, restaurants and hostels. After heading over to see the moais inside the crater we ended up driving across moorland towards the north-west coast in search of a hidden cave. We finally found the cave where, according to legend, virgins had been kept for months on end until the birdman came to collect his bride - the one with the nicest-looking private area, apparently, images of which were etched on the inside of the cave walls. We drank piscola and played pool late into the early hours in a bar where a couple of horses were tied up outside. Again it felt wild and magical.
This time there was none of that. We stayed in the same
place again (this time they’d built another wall so the terrace for watching the beautiful seascape and surfers was gone), we rented a jeep to explore the island, but the magic had disappeared into thin air – my husband never got a whiff of it. There are still wild horses roaming freely and even locals riding them in the town, but it feels different – sites and land have been fenced off, the locals seem to have become wary of foreigners (non-Chileans and Chileans alike) and it is now incredibly expensive (since May this year – to coincide with the solar eclipse in July – the entrance fee to the national park now costs a whopping $60). The two main sites – Rano Raraku and Orongo – are now enclosed behind walls (closed between 6.30pm and 9am so no sunrise or sunset visits), with massive car parks and ticket booths, visitor centres and public toilets (which charge extra), food vans, gift shops, wide paths metres away from the moais, big buses full of tour groups stopping for a lightning visit. Inside the crater the path is closed to visitors as they are doing an archaeological dig (on a second try the woman in the ticket office said it was possible to visit if you came with a guide – for another $80 or so).
The cafes and restaurants in Hanga Roa sell disappointing
food and drink at almost UK prices. We only found one reasonably-priced restaurant, which offered a special set menu which made the island seem a little less exorbitant, but still cost
$20 a head. Only one ATM on the island accepted VISA and had run out of money, so we were forced to change cash dollars to afford anything on our last day (longer than expected, owing to a 12-hour strike against the planned development of a huge new airport building). The Rapa Nui indigenous population are currently fighting for independence and they don’t want the airport expanded. I watched a video on the flight over there from
Santiago that showed interviews with the locals who said they were friends with everyone, but this feeling didn’t come across from the placards declaring independence everywhere, the strike and the surly service which came with a 10% “optional” charge in most places. A bit of resentment would not be surprising after centuries of in-fighting, slavery and destruction, and eighty years of being kept behind fences in the Hanga Roa settlement; they only gained the freedom to roam in 1966. We tried to visit the virgin cave, but the land was closed for regeneration; a herd of bulls put us off heading along the cliff after climbing under a barbed wire fence. Perhaps all the fencing-off around the island is the islanders payback to everyone else for their years of incarceration.
Of course there are still some gems to be found. The Rano Kau crater is a magnificent volcanic crater next to the south-western tip, with a lake covered in triangular reed beds sitting at the bottom of steep cliffs covered in dense vegetation (but as we walked around the rim we felt as if we were probably trespassing again). Watching the spectacular sunsets is a daily highlight – and a free one – gazing at the sun as it disappears behind enormous storm clouds in the distance, spewing pink crepuscular rays outwards in all directions, as powerful waves crash against the volcanic cliffs and rubble in the foreground. Maybe if we’d spent longer we could have got to know some locals and begun to understand them and feel the magic again.
Watching the skies and hiking along the crater rim I did feel a glimmer of hope for Easter Island’s future, but it dissipated as we headed back into Hanga Roa. I imagine that the atmosphere will only get worse once a new flight route begins in January (Lan Peru will be flying twice a week from Lima). I think that the
backpackers will start giving the place a miss, given the ever-increasing costs which are out of most backpackers’ budgets. The all-inclusive and cruise passengers will begin to take over. Yes, the moais are impressive, and of course it is imperative to preserve them and protect them from erosion and the damage that could be cause by human interaction, but now it just feels like a cordoned-off theme park, perfect for the day-trippers who arrive on cruise ships throughout the year, bus around for a couple of hours to see the highlights, eat an over-priced lunch, buy some tacky mini-moais (I admit I have some from my first trip!) before getting back to their luxurious cabins, sailing into the sunset, having ticked off Easter Island.
I wonder if this feeling is inevitable on visiting recently-popular
sites around the world. Perhaps it is just the inevitable effect of tourism and accessibility, as I had similar experiences and feelings of disappointment a few days earlier in San Pedro de Atacama, another newly-discovered and rapidly expanding and changing place (or perhaps Chilean tourism is just becoming a
victim of its own success?). I love to revisit favourite places, feeling that wonderful wave of happy recognition and nostalgia, but when change shatters the magic, the feeling of disappointment is so disheartening. Perhaps I should just stick to established favourites (how could the Himalayas in autumn, for example, ever disappoint?) or only venture to new places, with low expectations…
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