TOAI or MOAI?
Taking a vacation isn’t always as glamorous as it sounds. There's a lot of planning involved, saving money, counting expenses, praying for patience, expecting accidents, and being prepared for anything. For me, it’s almost like a daily routine, because I was born with what I like to call TOAI – the “tendency for unusual events to happen.” My life is like a movie script, and it’s rarely a comedy, maybe that's why my friends call me Forest Gump.
So, this time, I decided to take a break and head to the famous Easter Island, or Rapa Nui, as the locals call it. I chose it because I wanted to escape the chaos of the city, get away from people, worries, and problems. I wanted to relax, clear my mind, listen to the birds, and stay far away from my phone and TV. Five hours on a plane from Santiago, Chile, and I was in Rapa Nui. Yeah, I really wanted to disconnect.
When I arrived, I was in awe of... well, let’s be honest, I was in awe of nothing. There's not much on the island besides water and hundreds of stone heads called MOAI. I had enough cash for a week, but once I realized everything there costs three to four times more than in Chile, I understood the advice I got from a guy I met at the airport: “Let your nails grow, that way you'll have food and save money. You’ll eat your nails!” Wise words.
Traveling alone is a challenge. You don't feel secure exploring new places or meeting new people. And let's not even talk about the beach. People like me, who pack sunscreen, a tent, a laptop, a camera, snacks, pens, notepads, good luck charms, erasers, and even comic books, are never quite sure who to leave all that stuff with before going for a swim. But this time, my problem wasn’t about the stuff. I didn’t want to swim. My real issue was with taking selfies. I could take pictures, but I never appeared in them. I'd balance my camera on some crooked rock, sprint to the spot, pray that I was centered and upright, and hope I didn’t look like I was bending down just to fit in the frame. Spoiler: the pictures never turned out well.
Luckily, no more film rolls to develop, so I have a collection of crooked, blurry, headless, and full-of-my-shoes photos on my computer. After about 15-20 failed attempts, I managed to find a friendly Chilean couple. I’m pretty good at making friends when it’s useful.
I have a theory about friendship: it’s all about trading favors. We become friends because we need something, like the old saying goes, "one hand washes the other." I did just that. I got my professional photographers—Vivian, who worked at a museum in Santiago, and Germán, her lawyer boyfriend. These guys were top-notch. Finally, after many picture-perfect shots, I had a brilliant idea: I would take a photo of the sunrise at Ahu Tongariki, with the 15 giant stone heads. The sun rises behind them, so the photo would be magical. The only problem? The site was 30 minutes away from where I was staying in Hanga Roa.
Not a problem, right? I had just enough money left to rent a car for 24 hours. I rented a 1999 Suzuki Jimny. It was a bit beat-up, but hey, it was all I could afford. I was ready to get up at 6:30 AM, drive to Tongariki, take my magical sunrise photo, and then use the car to explore the island. Simple, right?
Now, I wasn’t entirely wrong, but I wasn’t exactly right either. The idea of impressing the tourists with my car seemed good in theory. I drove to a local show—Rapa Nui's traditional dance group, Matato’a. As a young man, I thought, "If I drive a car, the tourists will think I know the island. Maybe I'll have a few girls around me." Well, if this had been anyone else, it might’ve worked. Not me.
To my surprise, I did catch the attention of a woman—an older Israeli tourist, who, by the way, had a few grandkids already. She came up to me, impressed by my car, especially because it was an old model, and I was struggling with the gears. I thought, "Well, maybe she wants to introduce me to her granddaughter!" Turns out, no, she wanted me to meet her friend, who was also from Israel. So, I ended up hanging out with them after the show, drinking and chatting. Could’ve been worse, right?
But then, just when I thought things were going well, I ran into a slight hiccup: I couldn’t start my car. Typical. I told the ladies to wait for me at the bar while I figured it out.
I went back to the show venue to ask for help. The locals, as always, had a different perspective. They told me I deserved this because I left the headlights on. I had no idea! The entire Matato’a band—yes, the whole band—ended up pushing my car. That’s right, the warriors of Matato’a were pushing my Jimny.
We still couldn't get the car started. So, after a few more laughs and some good-natured ribbing, I was stuck. I asked, "What do I do now? Someone might steal my car!" The response was priceless: “Who’s gonna steal a car on an island where everyone knows everyone?” Oh, I felt like an idiot. Why hadn’t I thought of that?
Desperate, I turned to the local fire department at 1 AM. The chief, Juan Carlos, told me they only handle emergencies. To them, this wasn’t an emergency, but to me... it was the crisis of the century.
Long story short, I went back to my guesthouse, tried to convince the guard to let me borrow the owner’s car to tow mine, but of course, that didn’t work. I had no choice but to wait until 6:30 AM to meet my friends and tell them what had happened. They'd be disappointed for sure. I slept for a couple of hours and walked to the meeting point: the church.
To my surprise, Germán and Vivian were super chill about it. They didn’t yell at me for leaving the headlights on. They flagged down a taxi, and the driver, also a local, drove us to the car. He tied a wire from his taxi to my Jimny, put it in second gear, and started the car.
I was so relieved, I paid the taxi driver generously and went on to catch the sunrise... sort of. We didn’t make it to Tongariki, but we did find a spot with a nice view. Mission semi-accomplished.
But wait, this story’s not over. After the sunrise, the heat kicked in—32°C, and there’s no shade on the island. I had a brilliant idea: “Why not go for a swim at Anakena Beach? The water’s crystal clear, and the heat is unbearable!” So, we went. I took everything out of my pockets and jumped into the sea.
About 40 minutes later, Germán asked me for the car keys. “The keys are in the backpack with Vivian,” I said. He came back to me and said, “The keys aren’t there. We’ve checked everything. They’re in your pocket.”
That moment felt like the slow-motion scene in a disaster movie. My life flashed before my eyes—my birth, my first fall, almost drowning at Guarapari, that time I peed my pants at graduation... all of it. And there I was, thinking, “The keys are probably in Tahiti by now. We’ll never find them.”
Long story short, we couldn’t find the keys, but a group of random Chileans offered to help us look. I couldn’t believe how friendly they were. Eventually, we had to go back to the village to get a spare key. By the time I got back to the beach, it felt like everyone on the island was looking for the elusive car key.
But, hey, I survived the adventure. And as for the locals? They didn’t even know they were looking for the key of a guy who seemed to have TOAI written all over him. I’ll never forget the generosity of the Chileans.