Hundreds of moai - Sunday April 23

We sleep in, exhausted from yesterday's celebration, and the sun is rising when we walk, or rather run, to breakfast through a sudden rain squall. The rain stops, the sun comes out again, and we discover the most glorious double rainbow plunging straight into the sea in a pool of gold.

On our way back to our room the sound of the churchbells floats through the air. The service is supposed to be quite beautiful with islanders siging in Rapanui, and I say to Oswaldo, "We should go. It starts at 9." He says, " It's 10 to 9." So much for that.

Instead we head out of Hangaroa, along the east cost road, to Rano Raraku, an extinct volcano, from the sides of which teams of Rapanui workers directed by master craftsmen sculpted hundreds of moai. It has stopped raining and the sun is again very bright as we walk up a steep path into the crater. In front uf us lies a huge, placid lake filled with reeds. The water used to be the only freshwater supply for the eastern part of the island, and the reeds used for thatching the houses until protection rules were instated quite recently.

We sit for a long time on the grass, in peace, contemplating the lake and the bright green insides of the crater, where at the top tumbled moai lie scattered, evidence of a frenzied production, which suddenly ceased. There's a curious absence of fauna, no birds on the water and no splash of fish. A modest fence, visible behind Victor, prohibits access to the crumbly, steep sides of the crater, with the discarded moai off in the distance.

Then we retrace our steps and head up a diagonal path along the outside of the volcano. We are surrounded by moai, suddenly very close to us. The huge statues are buried up to their shoulders by centuries of eroded earth, since the Rapanui stood up their statues to finish embellishing the backs, after detaching them from the rocks where the fronts had been carved. The eye sockets were only carved after the statues were standing up. Thor Heyerdahl had one statue dug out all the way down to its base, showing (in a famous photo from his book)  that it was the height of three men from below the shoulder. He covered it up again for better preservation, since the hardened volcanic ash, from which they are cut, is very prone to erosion.

We follow many winding paths up and over and down to see as many statues as possible, in all states of completion. Nobody knows for sure why production was so frenzied and then suddenly stopped, but there is a lot of emotion (anger?) in the way completed and/or damaged moai were just shoved down the hill.

A brisk wind is blowing and nearly blows us off the last curved path at the end of the volcano's side. We brave it nonetheless, and are rewarded not only by seeing the only kneeling moai,

but also a distant view of the coast and the Tongariki platform.

Then we make our way down the hill again, ready for a coffee and a water. We resume our drive, skirting the Poike volcano to reach the northern coast, where we stop to check out the island's second, and more secluded beach, Ovahe, nestled in the crook of enormous cliffs. Since it is Sunday there are a lot of people, local and tourist, on the beach already,

but not as many as on the nearby Anakena beach, where we stop to get a freshly blended fruit juice, (passion fruit and guava) sitting at a picnic table watching the many local families enjoying their Sunday outing under the palms, and, further out, throngs of bathers in the turqoise water.

We feel suddeenly exhausted, overwhelmed with impressions, and decide to head back into town. Initially our plan is to have lunch, but we don't feel hungry at all after a week of hotel breakfasts and other meals, and end up spending the rest of the night in our comfortable rooms, reading, writing, eating nuts and chocolates, and having some very nice Chilean red wine. 

Not a bad end to another great day.