When I arrived in Easter Island I felt a little confused. It was so different to what had come before.
Firstly, I was sad without Robin, and the Ukranian guy next to me on the plane didn´t manage to cheer me up with his contraband bottle of brandy. I´m sure that´s more than 100ml. And it´s 2am.
Then the island itself was very tropical. White sands, palm trees, cockroaches scuttling beneath my feet. Chile sure does have everything. Oh, whoops, don´t mention Chile. My tour guide showed me his scars from being stabbed in four vital organs by a Chilean in a racist attack. Ooh show me again. Don´t put your top back on. Really? Did you nearly die? Show me again. I´m ever so empathetic.
Anyway, the most confusing thing here is that hardly anyone speaks English. This is completely new to me, but don´t worry, I found some Americans on a tour today to have a good whinge about it with. Whoever heard of a hostel owner who didn´t know what "half day horse riding tour of the island with lunch" was in English?
But most strange was when Laetitia and I (French girl from my hostel who says she doesn´t speak English but DOES), were tucking into our hostel pasta last night. The Italian guy next to us was about to aim his knife and fork into a full enormous beef tomato in its own dish. It was shining proudly and whole. Out of its own dish. I couldn´t take my eyes off it. Who eats like that? I eventually had to apologise for staring too long.
What a relief then to have a wonderful sightseeing day, followed by dinner with tour acquaintances, and the welcome refrain of, "Isn´t anyone else going to have another beer??" Now where have I heard that before?
Firstly, I was sad without Robin, and the Ukranian guy next to me on the plane didn´t manage to cheer me up with his contraband bottle of brandy. I´m sure that´s more than 100ml. And it´s 2am.
Then the island itself was very tropical. White sands, palm trees, cockroaches scuttling beneath my feet. Chile sure does have everything. Oh, whoops, don´t mention Chile. My tour guide showed me his scars from being stabbed in four vital organs by a Chilean in a racist attack. Ooh show me again. Don´t put your top back on. Really? Did you nearly die? Show me again. I´m ever so empathetic.
Anyway, the most confusing thing here is that hardly anyone speaks English. This is completely new to me, but don´t worry, I found some Americans on a tour today to have a good whinge about it with. Whoever heard of a hostel owner who didn´t know what "half day horse riding tour of the island with lunch" was in English?
But most strange was when Laetitia and I (French girl from my hostel who says she doesn´t speak English but DOES), were tucking into our hostel pasta last night. The Italian guy next to us was about to aim his knife and fork into a full enormous beef tomato in its own dish. It was shining proudly and whole. Out of its own dish. I couldn´t take my eyes off it. Who eats like that? I eventually had to apologise for staring too long.
What a relief then to have a wonderful sightseeing day, followed by dinner with tour acquaintances, and the welcome refrain of, "Isn´t anyone else going to have another beer??" Now where have I heard that before?
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