Pitcairn Islands

Reporting April 24

 I promised you Pitcairn a few days ago but time and the satellites (and the Wi-Fi) and the seas were against me.  But we are back on Sea Days now, facing the inexorable ending of our cruise.  Proceeding a little more slowly now so as not to arrive too early, that is, before our booked reservation of a mooring, we will arrive at Callao, the harbour for Lima, some time after midnight on April 28.  My plane does not leave for Dallas until 12:05 a.m. on April 29, so I have time to put in. It’s not Easter Island, of course, and I will be out of Wi-Fi communication then, so I had better make up for it now.

This is the joy (?) of modern travel, putting in the time between destinations.  You already know what I call it: moving one's body through time and space.  Time capsules would be ideal, or ruby red slippers with clickable heels. I have no idea what that would cost.

Anyway, Pitcairn Island – a real revelation.  From our Currents magazine (the on-ship nightly newsletter):

 “The Pitcairn Islands, officially named the Pitcairn, Henderson, Ducie and Oeno Islands, are a group of four volcanic islands in the southern Ocean that form a British Overseas Territory. The four islands are spread over several hundred miles of ocean and have a total land area of about 47 square kilometres. Only Pitcairn, the second largest and measuring about 3.6 kilometres from east to west, is inhabited…”

..by 45 people!  Pitcairn is the least populated jurisdiction in the world. There is no decent harbour for a ship the size of ours, so the entire population of Pitcairn, less three, came to us. (The three were a 99-year-old woman, her caregiver and someone to help the islanders’ boat back to the dock on its return.) They brought with them piles of T-shirts and tchotchkes to sell: shell necklaces, honey, spoons and bowls and trays, etc. made of burro wood, the local tree.  The tourist ships are a valuable financial source for the community.  The minimum/maximum wage is ten dollars an hour for any activity, so the Mayor told us, a woman in her sixties (my guess), born on Pitcairn who married and lived in Alaska until she returned 6 years ago.  She also edits the local newsletter and rakes the weeds on the side of the highway.  I sort of gather that this money comes from the U.K. or the U.N. – not sure?  The United Nations Committee on Decolonization includes the Pitcairn Islands on the list of Non-Self-Governing Territories.

Five school children came along too, of course. I mean, who would be there if everyone was here? They are taught by a teacher who comes for a year, as does the local doctor. After elementary school, the children have to go to New Zealand for the rest of their education and few of them return.  The average age of a Pitcairn inhabitant is 57, beyond childbearing age. Unless some young adventurers choose to come here the population may soon die out.

Everyone has a telephone and Internet access but no television.  A supply ship comes every three months from New Zealand bringing in the necessities and everything else, for a price.  The mayor told us she loves to be free and to be the mistress of her own destiny. She says she goes fishing on Bounty Bay to catch her dinner and grows her greens in her garden, beholden to no one.

 After the sale, the islanders enjoyed a big buffet lunch as guests of the ship and then they gave us a gift before they left.  They all sang, from the five schoolchildren, the youngest of them about five years old, I would guess, to the thirteen-year-old boy who will leave for N.Z. next year. There is one church on the island and I suspect the congregation comprises the choir we heard, with beautiful, polyphonic harmony.  They sang “In the Sweet Bye and Bye” – you know, that ends in “till we meet on that shore”?  Lump in throat time and a beautiful, memorable highlight of this odd, truncated cruise.

 I count my blessings.

 

EASTER ISLAND

This is the third time I have tried to get to Easter Island.  I think I may not try again.  At least I got to it, though I never got on it. (Got is a verb that sounds more casual than the effort it requires.) 

 

Easter Island was the goal and the reason for most of the people on this ship to embark on this cruise.  June, my roommate, and I “did” French Polynesia just last June, adding only one new name to our repertoire: Fakarava.  After 10 days of serene seas and unlimited sunshine, we were tired only because we went forward an hour every night as we proceeded east toward Chile. June and I took minimal, but memorable (all but one) excursions in the first days, preferring to save our money and our energy for a total assault on Easter Island and the moai - the name for the giant stone statues with the blunk-out eyes. We leaned that the eyeholes were once filled in with coral eyeballs, installed after the statues were put in place.  When I say “put” I should say, dragged, drawn, towed (?), pushed, lifted (?), manoeuvered and set, somehow.  There are a number of theories, some of them tested by modern archeologists, as to the methods by which the ancient people on this island managed to move 13-foot stone statues each weighing more than …tons, onto pedestals of similar weight (check).  Why remains another question as baffling as how?

I was looking forward to having my picture taken standing in front of one of these monoliths.  It was not to be.  Deep swells causing large waves in the ocean bounced the horizon up and down like a berserk elevator and made it impossible and dangerous for the ship’s tenders to transport the passengers ashore.  We were all waiting patiently in the gathering lounge when the announcement was made and no one complained or groaned.  Any one with a will to live

and travel another day could see that it was foolhardy to attempt the crossing from ship to shore. 

 

So as the sun pulled away from the shore and our ship slipped slowly to the east, I raised a glass of Prosecco to Easter Island.  It won’t happen again.