The taxi to the airport went via the seafront, six miles or so of Pacific sunset and surf dudes 'hanging ten' before we turned inland to reach Jorge Chavez international.
We were rather early, so much so in fact that we had around seven hours to kill and this we did by eating ourselves stupid and then wandering around duty free looking for a bottle of perfume to replace the one Kerry left in Zorritos.
After what seemed like an eternity It was finally time to board and I was amazed to see so many people at our gate. I had half expected a tiny plane with just a few hardy and intrepid travellers for company but it seems Easter Island is on many people's radar these days.
If it means anything to you we flew on a 767, a pretty big plane with seven seats across and something like 200 seats in all.
We had a bit of a sleep on the plane but succumbed to lolling neck syndrome, thus waking approximately every thirty seconds. When we did finally pass out the stewardesses brought round roast chicken and potatoes so if we got above a couple of hours each we'd be surprised.
No matter though because at 0650 we touched down and were released onto the tarmac at Mataveri airport and stood in line to pass through customs.
Easter Island. What a belter!
I have wanted to come here ever since I saw it on Whicker's World more years ago than I'd care to mention.
I remember Whicker describing it as the "ultimate trophy destination" and it did indeed feel like a prize just to be here.
Just the formality of customs then and we'll be finding a room and settling in for what will hopefully be a wonderful week......
The line to pass customs was long and we were almost at the back of it.
It was also seemingly not moving.
We stood for ten minutes, twenty and then thirty, in which time we had moved forward about a foot.
As we inched forward the sun rose high in the sky, we boiled and our feet ached.
Finally, after 2 hours and 10 minutes we reached the officers and were processed in seconds.
I have no idea why it took so long to reach the head of the queue.
Having no accommodation, we relied on hoteliers being at the airport touting for business.
We declined the kind offer of a tent for a week from one of them in favour of a look-see at a room with another.
The lady drove us, two Japanese girls and a Russo-American couple to her pad and insisted we take coffee and breakfast first.
All very pleasant but after a night awake and/or drooling on our lapels all we really wanted was to see the room and, if we liked it, to get our heads down for a bit.
Our prospective host actually had two rooms for us to consider; one at $70 per night and one at $50, the latter being a short drive away on a different site.
Well, the more expensive room was a little spartan to say the least so we held out little hope for the other. I think we made our mind up not to take it when we saw the six local chaps sitting on the driveway freely imbibing hard liquor so in a way it was fortunate that the room wasn't to our liking.
We thanked the lady for her time and set out to find something a bit more suitable and were immediately accosted by another lady in a 4X4 who asked us if we wanted a room.
The room she showed us was a pearler with its sunny aspect and proximity to the pounding waves. That we'd have access to a kitchen was a bonus that we would come to rely on due to the exorbitant price of eating out on the island.
With it now being lunchtime we sought sustenance and after a brief misunderstanding with the toothless sextuagenarian who ran a breakfast shack in the grounds of our digs we came to a completely unpatronised restaurant. Having ascertained it was open, we perused the menu and were soon offering apologies and hurrying out of there quicker than you could say "portion of chips, $15 US".
Maybe they were served on the heaving bosom of a naked virgin or came with starter, accompanying steak and as much drink as you needed to wash them down, I don't know.
What I do know is that I ain't paying $15 for a plate of chips.
We found somewhere slightly cheaper but lunch still cost nearly $40.
Next stop: supermercado!
Back at the gaff we succumbed to exhaustion and passed out for three hours before getting up at 1900 to cook some pasta.
Whilst eating we met Elizabeth from Stockholm and Stefanie from Dusseldorf, two single travellers who had hooked up here on Easter Island.
The weather wasn't very nice on Monday so we went to try and get some money having failed to do so yesterday on account of both island cash points being out of order.
We queued for a good half an hour only to be told that the foreign currency exchange closed twenty minutes previously.
We must come back tomorrow, before 1130.
Luckily we'd changed some money with a Chilean lady at the room so we had something to keep us afloat.
That afternoon, with the weather still pretty ropey, we set out on a three hour hike to visit Orongo, an ancient village where the bird man cult was played out each year.
I'm jumping a bit ahead of myself by mentioning bird men and cults. So you can understand what I'm blathering about, here is a potted history of this remarkable island.
At a time unknown for certain, but probably around 500AD, a group of people sailed (probably) from the Marquesas Islands and landed on this uninhabited land. Estimates for the length of this journey range from 15-30 days, depending on favourable winds, currents and the protagonists seamanship.
The leader of this incredible voyage, Hotu Matu'a, became king of the new found land, as did, in turn, his direct descendants.
As the population grew it spread around the island and in about 1000AD the first statues were hewn out of volcanic rock and erected overlooking the island's clan's settlements.
They were images of their ancestors and the idea was that they would watch over the living and protect them.
All was well for generations but then, due largely to overpopulation, things got a bit uppity.
First of all, by about 1600 ish, they managed to pretty much completely deforest the whole island.
This meant there was no wood for building boats and none for fire. No boats meant no fishing, no fire meant no cooking, no cooking meant rumbling tums and when man is hungry he is prone to go apeshit.
The once peaceful island became a maelstrom with cannabilism to the fore.
The island finally became known to the outside world when, on Easter Sunday 1722 (geddit?), a Dutch captain by the name of Jacob Roggeveen happened across it.
Roggeveen reported that the island was surrounded by standing statues but by the time Captain Cook reached there in 1774 he found them all toppled.
Clan warfare had resorted to the ultimate heresy, toppling the statues of the revered ancestors.
With the old 'gods' denounced a new way was sought among the islanders to determine who should be 'king'.
This gave rise to the cult of the bird man; an annual competition to climb down a 400 ft cliff, swim just under a mile through shark infested waters, collect an egg laid by the sooty tern and return back up the cliff with it intact.
First man back is king for a year and what he says goes.
As for the rest of the also-rans, well, they obviously just weren't trying hard enough.
So, back to the present day, we started yomping toward Orongo in weather that is best described as tropically inclement, missed a turn so we end up walking five miles instead of three, and when we got three quarters of the way to our goal visibility was so bad that we could not see more than ten yards in front of us.
We were soaked to the skin, freezing cold and sliding all over the place on the mud road. We also inexplicably collected stray dogs as we progressed.
We finally conceded defeat and turned back. We flagged down a passing jeep and implored the two Chilean guys inside to give us a lift back to town. They acquiesced and once we'd offered grovelling apologies for caking the rear of their vehicle in half a ton of mud we communicated further via the international language of football. We fairly slid down that road, thanked our new friends heartily and rarely has a hot shower felt so good as it did when we got back to our room.
So far then we'd been here for two days, seen nothing, had no money and, in my case, was showing all the symptoms of the onset of manflu, that well-known debilitating affliction that women are seemingly immune to.
First thing next morning we were determined to get some cash so we were at the bank armed with all possible documentation to ensure our mission bore fruit.
The cash point was still out of order so we queued at customer services to get an advance on our Mastercards.
The unsmiling clerk informed us that our cards were of no use as the account numbers were not of the raised variety, therefore she couldn't imprint them on her manual card reader.
My Barclays card would be of no use either because I haven't informed Barclays that I'm in Chile but luckily Kerry's UK bank need no such information so we withdrew on that.
Sort of.
Customer services provided a chit to say we could withdraw. Said chit needed to be taken to the counter. Yes, that one with the long queue, the one that has sprung up since we've been faffing about at customer services. Oh, and look, one of the two windows has just closed. An hour later we were finally the weary guardians of some Chilean pesos.
We immediately traded some to hire a jeep for the day with Elizabeth and Stefanie and set out to drive round the whole island.
The island is surrounded by Ahu (platforms) on which once stood Moai (statues), most of which now lay face down having been toppled around 300 years ago when everyone here went crazy eight bonkers.
In addition to the Moai there are numerous petroglyphs and in fact, the island boasts more than 20,000 archaeological sites.
The first major site we went to was the Rano Raraku volcano which was where the ancient stonemasons carved the Moai. Scores stand sentinel on the volcano slopes and some even remain half finished indicating an abrupt end to work.
Next up was Ahu Tongariki, a restored Ahu with fifteen standing Moai, a truly awe-inspiring place. We also visited the one beach on the island, a picture postcard white sandy heaven complete with restored Ahu and then we went to Puno Pao, the site where the Moai "hats" were carved out of red rock.
All in all it was a magical day.
I started to feel pretty grotty on Wednesday so we just mooched about but by Thursday I felt a bit better so we hired a quad to go and see the one corner of the island we hadn't yet visited.
We took in the fascinating museum, saw the only Moai with eyes intact and went in a cave that would have been lived in probably as recently as fifty years ago.
The weather turned wet again so we headed home but by the time we got there the sun was out and was broiling us to within an inch of our existence. This gave us just the window of opportunity to try for Orongo again and how we were rewarded. There is a volcano crater there which is now a lake and the blue sea and sky contrasted beautifully with the lush green grass in the village.
Bird Island (Motu Nui) looked utterly impossible to reach and the petroglyphs here were second to none.
Orongo was the site of some pillaging at the end of the 19th century. An American ship came to the island and the crew hacked the village to bits to provide the Smithsonian museum with some exhibits. The English came and removed the most ornate Moai from the island. Now on display in the British Museum, the Rapa Nui name for this one is "The Stolen Friend".
Friday was souvenir sourcing day and after more prevarication than I ever wish to repeat we finally splashed out on a carved Moai which will take pride of place on the mantelpiece we do not have in the home we do not own.
In the afternoon we were tipped off that there was to be a fiesta in town so we went along to be treated to singing, dancing, drumming and displays by local schoolchildren and adult groups alike. This was fantastic entertainment with songs being dramatised by painted fellows wearing little but a pouch to spare our blushes.
On Saturday we split up for the day, Kerry investing an eye watering amount of dollars on a five hour horse riding tour led by the Rapa Nui Casanova (I have mucho women, mucho children. Children in Chile, children in Germany, children on the island) and I hired a bike and cycled round the whole island.
Neither of us could sit down with ease afterwards but we washed down our final meal on the island with enough vino tinto to anaesthetise ourselves somewhat.
With our flight not being until 1815 on Sunday we managed to get a few hours at the beach before we had to pack and go. This was a lovely end to our week here and just the tonic before heading back to the hubbub of the continent.
And that was that. Goodbye to possibly the most amazing place I have ever been, somewhere that is an utter privilege to behold and provider of a tranquility that is difficult to find.
Easter Island will live long in our memories.
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