UNRAVELLING THE MYSTERIES OF EASTER ISLAND

BY CHRIS ROBINSON

Giant stone statues have watched over local villages for centuries, but how did these moai get there?

It was love at first sights, as I knew it would be. The prelude was a flight from Santiago, the capital of Chile, which began with a spectacular sunrise over the Andes and continued westwairds for five hours over the South Pacific Ocean. Finally, 3,500 kilometres from the South American mainland, there was a speck of land in the vastness of the ocean - Easter Island, or Rapa Nui, as the native Polynesians call it. It grew to an emerald triangle with volcanics cones at each corner and a necklace of white surf defininf the boundary between green and blue. The runway extended from coast to coast and when the aircraft doors opened, a heady mix of warm, perfumed air elevated my exictement of having reached the most isolated place on our planet.

Images of the iconic Easter Island statues have always fascinated me. Kon-Tiki, written by Thor Heyerdahl about his journey to the mystical island by canoe in 1947, was my first travel book. That first morning, I sat on the flower-strewn terrace of my bungalow situated in the gardens of the inn where I was staying, listening to the ocean surf pound the lava cliffs nearby. I could hardly contain my enthusiasm for exploring this island of mysteries.

Moai on Ahu Tongariki, the largest ahu on Easter Island

A short walk down a red dirt lane took me to my first moai – as the giant stone heads are known – at Ahu Tahai. Massive heads atop sturdy stone platforms dot the cliffs above the Pacific surf. They face inland towards vanished villages, their eyes looking upwards in a penetrating, eternal gaze. They are massive, yet they are human. They are powerful, yet they are fragile. And every bit as magical as I had hoped.

Over the next few days, I headed out in my rental car to visit many of the nearly 1,000 moai still guarding the coast of this small 24 by 12 kilometre island. Each was as marvellous and enigmatic as the last. The most imposing site is Ahu Tongariki where 15 towering moai stand guard on a massive stone platform beside a bay of jagged lava rocks against the background of one of Rapa Nui’s three volcanoes.

Anakena Beach with the silhouette of the moai of Ahu Nao Nao archaeological site

Nearby is Rano Raraku, the ancient quarry from whose crater walls most were carved. Around 400 moai lie scattered in and around the crater, some fully formed, some still in the process of creation as if their makers were just taking a short break. At Anakena on the north coast, the moai rise above a South Seas island beach of white powder sand lined with coconut palms. It was here that oral tradition says the first settlers arrived at an unknown time and from an unknown place.

Layers of mystery upon layers of mystery. The nearest inhabited land was thousands of kilometres away across open ocean. When Europeans ‘discovered’ the island on Easter Day 1722 (hence, the European name), there were only the simplest of one-man canoes in use, yet the Rapanui people had clearly been there for centuries. How and why had the iconic moai been created? And just as perplexingly, how had they been transported from their volcanic quarry birthplace? Some weighed over 80 tonnes and the Rapanui had no wheels or large animals to move them. Why are there almost no trees on the island, and few of the endemic species found on other isolated islands like the Galápagos?

Ahu Ko Te Riku moai with restored eyes close to the Tahai Ceremonial Complex

To find the answers, I talked with local Rapanui and archaeologists from the UK. Oral tradition, genetics and archaeology suggest the first settlers came in ocean canoes from southeastern Polynesia around 1,000 years ago. The settlement grew rapidly, and a sophisticated clan system developed. Each clan made a statement of its importance by raising moai to watch over their villages.

Sunrise through the moai of Ahu Tongariki

Clan warfare and overpopulation then caused an island ecosystem collapse: total deforestation, loss of endemic fauna and flora, and societal implosion reduced the Rapanui people from perhaps 15,000 to barely 100 by 1877. Most of the moai were torn down. No explanations are fully accepted, and questions remain unanswered. There are as many theories as to how the moai were moved as scientists who have studied the conundrum. But this just increases the romance of Rapa Nui.

On my final day on the island, I returned to the moai at Ahu Tongariki once last time in the dark and awaited enlightenment, both literally and figuratively. As the sun peaked over the horizon at dawn, rays of light gilded the statues in an ethereal golden hue. I felt a wave of joy wash over me. At last, I had fulfilled my quest to experience this remote outpost of human culture.