January 13-14, 2000-- Plus One
By January 13, the 600 of us on Ocean Explorer had traveled over 10,000miles together. We'd been eating, looking at the stars at midnight on the sun deck, exploring exotic ports, and generally getting to know each other better. But as we approached Easter Island, a little over one third of our journey completed, little did we know that our stay on this community would feel about the journey-and each other.
It took a night of torrential downpours, with some people stranded in zodiacs circling helplessly for almost two hours in a raging sea, hanging on and sick as they searched for a safe harbor. Others, drenched to the skin, were huddled together wet and muddy and waiting for shelter on the dock as the lightning striking all around us lit up the blackened waters and jutting rocks of the dangerously narrow channel. And finally, an entire village of Polynesian natives banded together to volunteer their help in an emergency no one could have predicted eight hours earlier.
We were caught unexpectedly in the most violent and sudden storm Easter Island had seen in 30 years. All the elements for a grand adventure were there, but we were too miserable to enjoy the implications until the experience was over a day later..
Our visit to Easter Island began uneventfully enough.
We had been well briefed on this island its inhabitants have called "the navel of the world." We had seen slides, heard lectures, and discussed the mystery of what precisely may have happened to cause an entire Polynesian civilization on Easter Island to vanish without a clear explanation. The mystery is magnified by what the civilization left behind-over a thousand gigantic stone statues-called moai-- that stand sometimes as high as 60 feet high, many with the distinctive red topknots that mark them as existing only on this tiny island.
Why these statues were erected and why the people who created them suddenly vanished without a trace still remains a mystery, but on a brilliantly sunny day in January, the Ocean Explorer passengers landed, maps in hand, and determined to learn as much as we could in our two-day stay. It would turn out that we would learn as much about human response in times of stress as we did about the incredible human feats of skill exhibited by this lost Polynesian civilization.
Well before January 13, four of us had settled on our own plan to explore Easter Island, called Rapa Nui by its Polynesian inhabitants. The story began several weeks prior to January 13. My friend Suzy and I had decided we wanted to stay overnight on the island in order to have maximum time to scout out every possible moai, cave, caldera and beach without wasting time on zodiacs going back and forth to the ship.
Suzy, Glenn, a travel writer from Toronto, Bobbie, a professor of nursing from Texas, and I had booked rooms at Chez Cecelia a small guest house just outside of town. We also had made arrangements to pick up a jeep for a day-ultimately this would expand to two.
Easter island, described in tour guides as the most remote, barren and isolated island in the world, lies midway between Tahiti and Chile, 2,350 miles from the South American coast that we had just left. Its population of about 1,600. Very few cruise ships stop there and those like ours must bring their passengers through a narrow channel to land by zodiac or tender. The island is triangular, with an extinct volcano at each point of the triangle. It is 14 by 7 miles, with a total area of 64 square miles and a number of dirt and gravel roads (all of which we traversed several times in the next two days).
Arriving at the Easter Island dock on a day of brilliant sunshine and puffy cumulous clouds, we took a taxi to Chez Cecelia. We found a modest establishment, well hidden off an unmarked dirt road--- clean rooms, a covered patio and brilliant yellow tiara flowers, along with abundant roses, and succulents filling up all available garden spaces with fragrance. Maria, the proprietor, showed us into a spacious living room and served us cold fresh pineapple juice she whipped up in the blender.
To our surprise, a handsome chestnut horse grazed on the lawn. Over the next two days, we saw beautiful horses (and cows) everywhere -- grazing on lawns, standing on roads and along rock fenced fields, near the moai on lush green hillsides, sanding on black volcanic rock strewn fields, and scattered among the many loose cattle wandering on the sharp lava cliffs that drop precipitously into the aquamarine seas.
We headed first for one of the three extinct volcanoes at Orengo and gaped into the viscous green swampy waters of the caldera, the heart of the volcano. Quickly, I got used to hopping in and out of the back seat of the Suzuki jeep, maneuvering my backpack and backing out rear end first.Glenn proved to be an agile jeep driver; he tooled over the pitted gravel roads with ease, and we hit our heads on the low ceiling as we careened along on the trail of the mysterious moai.
At first we thought these giant carved statues of volcanic rock would be elusive targets, and hoped with luck to find a few dozen. Soon we saw we could stumble across them anytime---along the sea, tumbled on their sides or lying face down in rows in a farmer's field or standing in a neat row along a volcanic rock wall. Up on the mountainside in the middle of the island, we hiked to the quarry where they are partially carved out of the rocky volcanic mountainside where they were created and rolled on long tree runners to an eventual resting site somewhere else on the island. Sometimes they stood in a row of fifteen; other times one stood alone on a bluff or facing the sea.
The tall gaunt moai have elongated faces and ears and sometimes have hands crossing their stomachs. They say that five clans who lived on the island demonstrated their strength by erecting these huge statues and transporting them on wooden rollers made from cutting the island's forests. The red topknots that some have were added later. Over several centuries this stone carving slowed down and finally stopped due to deforestation of the land because of the roller production and damage to the soil. Many of the trees were destroyed, and today efforts are being made to plant eucalyptus groves.
We found that, despite what we had read, the island was not as desolate as described, and in fact was beautifully green and lush, much like the green springtime California hillsides I remember as a child growing up in Sacramento.
The weather was gorgeous, sunny and in the mid eighties; we hiked up to the source of the moai carvings on the mountain quarry, rode along gravel roads adjoining beautiful cliffs dropping down into the blue-green sea, and changed into our swim suits at one of the most beautiful pink sand beaches I have ever seen-bobbing in a gentle sea for what seemed for hours. We wanted to stay forever.
At dinnertime in the only village--Hanga Roa-we sat along the sea at sunset and ate ceviche, a Chilean delicacy of raw tuna and limejuice. In between pisco sour drinks, we dashed across the road to take yet another photo of a moai situated along the ocean against a blood red sky at sunset. We sat well after the sunset at 10 p.m. talking about this tranquil island society and hoped commercialism wouldn't change their gentle culture.
The second day appeared as beautiful as the first. We hiked, (shopped, of course), met many of our comrades at the now familiar pink beach for a second day of luxurious swimming in calm seas, and drank pisco sours manufactured on a rocky ledge by our resourceful traveler Glenn.
We planned to turn in the jeep at 6 p.m. and hike into town where we were expected to return by zodiac to the ship at 7:30 p.m. But as we hiked down the dusty road, we could see the sky clouding over, and by the time we reached the waterfront, we heard there'd been a delay in zodiac leaving time because the ship was still "bunkering." Which means taking on water or fuel at sea.
Whatever happened to the bunkering schedule, it hadn't gone as planned, and the Ocean Explorer was well behind schedule, we were told. In the meantime, we watched the horizon as ominous black clouds began to gather. But, we thought, this was a cause for concern only of the ship's staff, and Bobbie and I strolled along taking our time, for the two- mile hike back to the dock. Everything seemed doable for an 8:30p.m. departure.
But when we reached the dock-situated out on a point beyond the town--it was clear that things had deteriorated.
Storm clouds now hovered like a vast black umbrella in the sky; lightning began to strike repeatedly, lighting up the dark water and coming closer and closer. Meanwhile, an hour before, three zodiac boats each filled with 14 passengers and a tender with 40 passengers had headed out to sea where the Ocean Explorer was drifting.
By the time the rubber rafts approached the ship, high seas made disembarking impossible. Darkness had come, and the black slick zodiacs were tossing about almost invisible and unable to return in the dark through the narrow rocky channel to the dock without the benefit of lights. Far out on the water, the passengers on the ship stood on deck, binoculars in hand, helplessly watching their friends in the zodiacs as lightning lit up their plight.
On the shore, about 200 of us stood in the mud on the dock and the heavens opened up on us. A torrential rainstorm wiped out any vision of ship, zodiacs, land, or light. We stood in the downpour, drenched, and waiting for instructions. Some were able to huddle together under a nearby metal shed roof; others waited in the open, trying to stay covered in raingear and under umbrellas as the mud rose around our sneakers.
The staff now decided that we could not board the ship that night, and started to make other plans. The town's entire fleet of taxis and vans had volunteered to mobilize and take us to the one hotel that would hold us all in the lobby temporarily while other plans were made.
At first, I was one of the lucky ones. I was standing in the downpour, but had put on my backpack and fanny pack under my rain jacket. My feet and shorts were soaked but at least I had protected my other important clothes, overnight gear, etc. But my luck didn't hold out.
I stood in the pitch black night, like the others, waiting for transportation to the warmth of the hotel lobby. When my turn came, the Polynesian driver of the taxi I was to board went to the trunk and tried to open it. He said, "Take off your jacket and backpack and put them in the trunk." I knew I'd be soaked if I did this and refused. He insisted, refused. Finally, I, being of meek mind, obeyed. Instantly, I was soaking wet in the torrents of rain that continued to fall. The driver could never open the trunk. My raincoat was off and wet to the core, and I waited again in line.
Many long hours later, at one a.m., a final few of us huddled in the hotel lobby got a room in a rundown b & b where we were taxied. Broken sink. Broken toilet. Scalded by hot water in the broken shower. But I had a bed. It rained all night.
But there was a bright side to the story. My roommate was buddy Hwa. She had bargained for a beautiful Easter Island bowl that day. I wanted it! She wouldn't sell it. So, at 9 a.m. the next morning, after a sleepless night, as we waited for something good to happen, we called the little store nearby where she had made her purchase. We said we wanted to look at another bowl. The store owner, delighted, met us and opened the shop. I bargained-down from $200 to $60---I got my bowl and a permanent memory of Easter Island. We now had two heavy wooden carved bowls to carry back to the ship on the zodiac! Beautiful bowls. Beautiful island. Unforgettable memory of Easter Island and the worst storm in 30 years.
Back on the dock at 11 a.m we learned the ship was about to leave-without us! They didn't realize that about 20 of us were still there waiting for a zodiac..
Tonight, everybody has gathered together to compare notes and tell his or her own horror story. Where did you sleep? How wet did you get? Who got lost and how did they get found? It was a great experience, everyone agreed. We all pitched in together.
Today's ship newsletter says: "We would like to thank each and every person that helped us last night and today when we all needed it the most. The kind and heroic efforts bestowed upon us by passengers, staff, crew, and most especially the wonderful people of Easter Island, were so appreciated and heartfelt."
And that's true. Everyone on the island--taxi and van drivers mobilized and drove muddy, exhausted people to resting places in the pitch black night, those with beds to spare in the town opened their doors as one a.m. They stayed awake all night and put together a breakfast for us to eat in the morning. Polynesian dancers and musicians stood in mud and rain singing, dancing, drumming, using flashlights to light up the dark and keep us entertained as we stood in the mud.
After we returned, that night we all gathered in the Mayfair Lounge once more and retold the many stories of sharing, singing on the zodiacs, borrowing dry clothes, sharing food and water, holding each other when we were cold, and being kind and thoughtful to those who were ill, caught without their medicine, worried about a spouse, or otherwise in distress. It was an emotional evening. It brought us together as an extended family, everyone agreed.
To be sure, this changed us all in our attitudes toward each other and toward our voyage.
An adventure to be sure.
A memory of a lifetime.
