Day 4 - grand tour of the island.

8am start. I head out of Hanga Roa in the direction of Anakena and turn inland toward Ahu Akivi. I take back what I said yesterday about the coastal road: this is by far the worst dirt road I’ve ever driven on. It’s a mass of potholes, loose rocks and gravel, though negotiating it becomes more and more fun as I get used to my off-road vehicle. I then get stuck behind a combine harvester – the only other road user at this hour. I’m glad I’m not cycling and I’m glad I set off early, because I can’t be going faster than 10mph. I pass the turnoff for Puna Pau, the quarry where the islanders used to produce the pukao – the red stone topknots on the heads of some of the moai. The first tours won’t be arriving after 10am, so I have the seven moai at Ahu Akivi all to myself.

Even though I’ve seen plenty of moai by now, I still find myself gawping at these lichen-covered goliaths, each over four metres tall and weighing over twelve tonnes. There’s something significant about the way they’re positioned - they're the only ones to face the sea, unlike all the other moai on other ahus around the island, which face inland. Apparently, during the spring and autumn equinoxes they stare directly into the sunset.

From there, I chug merrily towards the coast. I think I’m getting the hang of this quad bike riding; Lawnmower feels a lot more stable and I’m not concerned that I’ll flip over. I stop by Ana Te Pahu, or ‘banana cave’ and scramble down to have a look. It’s a collapsed lava tube, or manavai (sunken garden); the islanders have been using those for centuries as greenhouses for growing traditional Polynesian staples of sweet potato, taro and bananas because the caves trap moisture and protect the plants from the wind. It’s full of banana trees and there’s water dripping down from somewhere. If I were a sweet potato, I’d be very happy here.

The coastal road is a mess of steep, pitted uphills and downhills. I worry about vehicles coming the other way because Lawnmower is almost the same width as a car with none of the advantages. Make it down to Ahu Tahai – the sunset moai. This a great site for photo ops during the day as well.

I make a detour to the nearby anthropological museum, which does an excellent overview of the island’s history and culture. I admire the moai kavakava and a rare female moai. There’s a rongo rongo tablet on display – the pictoral written language remains undeciphered to this day. The tablet’s a replica; to see the real thing you have to go to St Petersburg or London.

Here’s the history of Easter Island in a nutshell: Polynesians arrive around 450 AD; the land is then split between King Hotu Matu’a sons, and leadership is passed on along bloodlines thereafter. Between 800AD and 1500AD, their society is focused on the carving of the moai. Then they fall out among themselves, probably because there are no longer enough resources to feed 30,000 people, and there are widespread massacres. By the time the Europeans arrive in 1722, there are only several thousand islanders left and the worship of the Birdman has taken over.

Easter Islanders got a crummy deal all round. When the Europeans arrived, they raped the island women, shot at the men for fun, and nicked everything that wasn't nailed down, up to and including a moai (which is now in the British Museum). Then the Americans kidnapped some islanders to use them as slaves, and finally the Peruvians captured a thousand islanders, worked most of them to death in guano mines, and when one hundred were eventually sent back, most of them died en route and the rest infected the rest of Easter Island with smallpox, meaning that most of the population then died out, including anyone educated enough to read the rongo rongo script. Then, to add insult to injury, Chile claimed the island for itself, a greedy Frenchman ‘bought’ most of the island for a few trinkets and used the land to raise cattle before being murdered by the islanders, and it’s only in the recent years that the islanders’ native language, Rapa Nui, has been recognised as an official language after being suppressed during the Pinochet years. I’m surprised that the island is still a part of Chile because it has about as much in common with the mainland as pigs have with diamonds.

There's still a lot of discontent. I have a habit of reading graffiti and notices in shop windows because the writing often is on the wall, and thus I learn of the bitter debate regarding whether or not the island should let Paris borrow a moai for some exhibition. I, personally, would tell them to bugger off or to borrow the 'stolen friend' from the British Museum, and it seems that many islanders agree with my first notion.

When I try to make my way back into town, disaster strikes. I rev the engine and fly up a steep hill, almost overturning after hitting some huge potholes, only to discover that it’s a dead end. Then I can’t get Lawnmower to reverse and I can’t get the engine started. I almost give up and walk into town, but figure that if it’s something easily fixable, I’ll be Just Another Woman Who Can’t Be Trusted With a Motorised Vehicle, thus adding to the undeservedly bad reputation of female drivers. I get the engine going eventually through trial and error.

As I sit in the little park with my empanada, three large friendly stray dogs settle at my feet and look at me imploringly. It’s uncanny. Why me, and not the gringo family nearby? A fool and her empanada are soon parted and one of the dogs puts his paw on my knee in gratitude.

I’ve been asked recently whether I ever give myself any days off during my research trips. Not days as such, because there always seems to be so much to do and never enough time, but I do give myself the odd break during the day. Today, it’s beach time on Anakena, where the legendary Easter Island king, Hotu Matu’a, first set foot on land.

It’s a popular spot for gringos and islanders alike and I splash around in the bracing ocean with everyone else. Even on a break I’m reading “The Mysteries of Easter Island”. It seems I’m at Anakena too early; the best time to photograph the moai is in the afternoon.

My final stop of the day is Rano Raraku – the birthplace of the moai, the volcanic crater where they were carved out of volcanic tuff, then pushed into specially dug pits and finally transported to various ahus around the island. Here, my timing is spot-on; since it’s near closing time, there’s hardly anyone there, and the light is wonderful. It’s an eerie place, with all those broken stone torsos lying around and giant stone heads jutting out of the ground, looking mournfully out to sea. It’s a testimony to the islanders’ single-mindedness and their monumental folly – both the purpose of their civilisation’s existence and reason for its disintegration. Maybe there’s a bigger conclusion to be drawn from this: that which makes us human and gives us purpose will ultimately be our destruction. Maybe we can’t help but head full-tilt for oblivion.

The car rental place let me have Lawnmower for two extra hours in exchange for my filling it up with petrol. I make it back in one piece, after stopping in a few places along the coast to check out more ahus with toppled moai, petroglyphs and stone outlines of hare paenga -traditional dwellings.  I’ve been on the road for ten hours. Everything aches and my right hand will hardly unbend because I’ve been clutching the accelerator with a death grip.

I've accomplished what I’d set out to do. I’ve checked out all the major sites, I can now recommend the best time of day to visit each one and I can comment on all the major road conditions. I think I’ve earned my dinner at the Belgian-run Au Bout du Monde – now the front runner for my coveted ‘author pick’! The tuna steak, grilled to perfection, with a Tahiti vanilla sauce and island vegetables in pureed or crisp form is inspired, and the chocolate mousse is superb.

I walk back the long way, along Atamu Tekena, to see which places are busy and popular. I need to see a traditional dance show, and am torn between Kari Kari, the one I saw two years ago, and Vai Kia Kia, which promises curanto (traditional meal cooked in a pit over hot stones) as well as a show, though the latter is a whopping CH$30,000 (£45). I go to see Kari Kari again for ‘quality control’.

Yes, it’s touristy, but these young musicians, singers and dancers are really passionate about preserving their music and culture. They also look great in grass skirts. The hypnotic, frantic percussion beat, the singing, the frenzied dancing – their legs moving too fast to follow in a whirl of feathers and sweaty toned flesh - makes for a heck of a spectacle! The only other place I’ve seen people gyrate so suggestively has been in the Caribbean; I wonder who’d win if there was a dance-off between Caribbean folk and Polynesians… Then there’s the obligatory ‘audience participation’ part when the dancers step into the audience and take people to the dance floor. Two years ago, a Polynesian beauty dragged my friend Simon onto the stage and he actually put on a good show, trying to gyrate with the best of them, while his girlfriend Christina and I howled with laughter.

I’ve been up for more than sixteen hours. Time to wash off my second skin of grime, sun cream, sand and salt, to write and to plan tomorrow – my last full day on the island.