Statuesque beauties of the South Pacific
Sarah Gordon is mesmerised by the mysteries and traditions of Easter Island
NOBODY really knows how the colossal stone statues that guard Easter Island were moved into position. Nor do we know why, during the decades following the island’s discovery by Dutch explorers in 1722, each statue was systematically toppled, or how the population of Rapa Nui islanders was decimated.
Shrouded in mystery, this tiny triangular landmass, stranded in the middle of the South Pacific and 1,289 miles from its nearest neighbour, has been the subject of endless books, articles and scientific theories.
To visit is to be allowed into an exclusive club of adventurers who have made it to this remote outpost. Each one has fallen under its spell, but also left with more questions than answers.
Most travellers visit Rapa Nui while touring the dramatic landscapes of Chile, which laid claim to the island in 1888. You can take one of the daily five-hour flights from the capital Santiago, which are a lifeline for the islanders.
British Airways has made the journey to this region slightly easier with the launch of the first direct flights between London and Santiago. But as you fly over endless blue seas from Chile to Easter Island, you will still feel as if you are journeying to the middle of nowhere. After all, there was a reason why the first settlers, who sailed to Easter Island from Polynesia in 500AD, called it the Navel of the World (Te Pito Te Henua).
There is something slightly haunting about visiting the extinct volcano Rano Raraku, from which the stone statues, or moai, were carved. Its grassy flanks are scattered with abandoned statues, buried up to their necks and tilted at all angles, like drunk revellers making their way down the mountainside. Others have been left by the roadside, lying face-down. It is as if the workers carving and transporting the statues simply disappeared one day without trace.
Some scientists believe the Rapa Nui brought it on themselves, committing ‘ecocide’ by cutting down the island’s many palm trees to transport the almost 900 moai, causing irreparable damage. Others believe the islanders brought Polynesian rats with them, which proceeded to destroy the trees.
As food grew scarce, warring families started toppling each other’s protective moai as an insult to their ancestors. Another camp of scientists say they have found evidence that the Rapa Nui were respectful of their surroundings, using only what they needed and carefully preserving water and food sources. They claim the first Dutch ship to arrive in 1722 brought illness and that, as the Rapa Nui died in huge numbers, they lost their faith in the protection of the moai and knocked them over.
What we do know is that ships passing between 1862 and 1864 kidnapped up to 3,500 Rapa Nui from the already-dwindling population. These included all the elders who could read glyphs known as Rongorongo and who passed on the tradition. They were used as slaves in Peruvian mines and just two survived long enough to return to the island, bringing yet more disease with them. By 1868, there were just 111 Rapa Nui left. Today’s population of about 4,000 Rapa Nui stems from those 111 people.
A veritable open-air museum, the historic sites on the island trace the development of the moai from when they were first carved in 1250 to the last ones in 1500. They started out short and squat, but over time they were carved up to 33ft tall and weighed 80 tons. While the stern moai with their blank stares fascinated me, my favourite story involved the Bird Man, who became the political leader to unite the island’s 12 tribes once they had lost faith in the moai.
Each year the Bird Man was decided by a competition between the tribes, in which they sent men to climb down a precipitous cliff, swim across open sea for a mile to