Memories of Mana on Easter Island: A Solo Trip Almost 25 Years Ago Still Inspires Awe

Reflections on an adventurous solo trip to Chile’s remote islands

by Joyce E. Perrin

Mystical, mysterious, mana, and moai. These are the words that capture the haunting allure of Easter Island, Chile. Easter Island is often described as the most remote inhabited island on Earth, sitting more than 2,000 miles away from any major population center in the middle of the South Pacific. It feels like the edge of the world, and in some ways, it is.

In 2001, I visited Easter Island on a solo trip. On my first night, I made my way to Ahu Tahai, a reconstructed ceremonial site perched near the crashing waves. The sun was melting into the ocean as if being swallowed by the horizon. Three stone platforms held the moai—the towering, enigmatic statues for which the island is famous. They stood in silence, guardians of a forgotten time. The surf broke against the black volcanic rock, the only sound in the golden quiet. Other tourists stood still, no words spoken, as if under a collective spell. I took photo after photo, trying to capture the way the light danced on the weathered stone.

Nearby, horses grazed lazily. One lifted its head and stared right at me, unbothered. It all felt so natural until I turned to the single standing moai with restored white coral eyes. I felt drawn to it. I wanted to stand in front of it and whisper, “Tell me your story. How did you make your journey from the distant quarry? Why do you face inland, and what do you see? What do you represent?” These questions are what make Easter Island endlessly fascinating. They pull at you, softly but persistently.