Easter Island
After too much time spent on airplanes, we’re finally trading in the weatherproof jackets for flip-flops. It’s a balmy 82 degrees as we set foot on Easter Island and we couldn’t be happier. We don’t know anybody who has traveled here before, so going in, I don’t think we really knew what to expect. But landscape is fairly lush, palm trees are swaying in the breeze, and as we walk out of the airport, leis are quickly draped around our necks by our driver. It’s like traveling in time to what Hawaii must have been like 60 years ago, when tourists there were still measured in the tens of thousands and not the millions.
We take a quick tour of the town (what there is of it), before stopping off at a common tourist photo spot. We’re over the moon excited to see the Moai statues in the background, oblivious to how much our lives will revolve around them for the next 5 days.
Like the rest of Chile (even more so), there are no hotels of substance here, leaving the vast majority of accommodation to consist of small, family run operations with a handful of rooms each. Our place is no different, and we’re pleased to find we have the three unit building to ourselves, at least for the next few days. Apparently, November is high season on Easter Island, so things are expected to fill up quickly.
At this point, Easter Island is shaping up to be awesome. Internet on Easter Island, however, is not. Wi-Fi is a requirement for us when it comes to picking a place to stay, and, as advertised, I’m able to connect without fail. What I can’t actually do however is transfer any data. I guess I’m old enough to remember when 128kbps (the service available on the island) was the gold standard in download speeds, but these days it feels like the Dark Ages. Pages take minutes each to load, and simply trying to pull up our tour confirmations in email is an exercise in futility. My trusty travel companion tells me this is a good thing, as I won’t be able to do any work. It’s a nice story, but I’m not really buying it.
With nothing else clamoring for our attention, we are free to walk into town and do a bit of exploring. We quickly get familiar with where all of the important stores are while sampling a few restaurants along the way. The empanadas here are as good as any we have had in Chile, while the self-proclaimed “best sandwich on the island” is good, but sadly, no lomito. We also comes across some sort of rugby tournament being played at the only good sports field in town, with vendors grilling up meat skewers over old oil drums cut in half. That’s just not something we can pass up, a decision we revel in as we try to figure out the rules of a game we clearly don’t understand.
On the way back to the hotel, we wander back by the statues we saw earlier in the day, passing this poor fellow along the way.
It still feels a little surreal being here, having the opportunity to just sit on the grass and stare up at these Moai, wondering how they got here and what they mean. We’re soon joined by a couple of friendly locals, who are definitely spending time with us for the quality of the company and not the food that seems to keep slipping out of my fellow traveler’s hand. Where’s Sam when I need him?
It’s been a long day and then some, considering we left Punta Arenas almost 20 hours ago, and with no Internet, sleep comes pretty darn easy.