A week on the most isolated island in the world
Easter Island is a long way from everywhere. On planes, I like to look at the map to see which part of the world I'm flying over. But on the journey to Easter Island, the map was empty. Just sea, for two and a half thousand miles from Santiago to the island.
The flight had been overbooked and this had led to me being upgraded to business class. This was very nice, but it meant that I was the first person off the plane, and the airport was small and ramshackle. It was not obvious which building was the terminal building, and I had a moment's fear that 300 people were going to follow me into a storage shed or something. I was extremely relieved when I picked the right one.
So once my four friends who I was travelling with had found their way off the plane from back in normal class, we headed straight out to see some moai. In Santiago it had barely rained since October but here it was humid and drizzling when we got to Ahu Akivi.
It's always strange going to places that are so famous. Everyone's seen thousands of images of the moai and it makes it feel like a weird kind of déjà vu to actually be there in front of some of them. And somehow they weren't as incredible or mindblowing as I thought they would be. The island has such a mythology about it that I suppose you feel like you're going to be blown away the moment you see a moai, and it's hard for anything to live up to that kind of expectation.