What to See Along the Coastline to Anakena Beach

We couldn’t go to Poike, after I was finished at Rano Raraku. My taxi driver told me that the volcano peak was closed for visitors, for rehabilitation reasons. So we would go directly to Anakena beach, where there was another significant moai site. It was the site where the Rapa Nui first landed, and from that moment Easter Island became Polynesian territory. 

Easter Island’s northern coastline

But Alex did not drive directly to Anakena beach. Instead, he drove back to Tongariki, and I asked to stop to take one last gaze at the line of moai in the distance. Ahu Tongariki was still an incredible sight, but no longer as dramatic as when the sunrise beamed past the stones with resplendent light.

We drove past the high ground of Poike, and came upon the northern coast of Rapa Nui. And we alighted upon a little bay, lined black with volcanic rock that made a stark contrast with the aqua water. It was the first beach, actually, where I encountered something approaching ‘Polynesian blue’ waters on Easter island. 

We stood at the edge of ground as the sea breeze flowed, unhindered by our still forms. There was no plant life here, other than the scrubby grass ambitiously trying to invest the hard ground with life. Unlike at Rano Raraku, Alex did not bother drawing my attention to these; there was no lore to them. 

Sea urchins as seafood

I crept closer to the shoreline, as I am prone to do when I am this close to the sea. I crouched on the rock, savouring its liminal atmosphere, waiting as nature flowed in silent time.

Over to the side, I spied a curious broken white shell. It had once been circular, and symmetrical. An echinoderm. Five sets of rays radiate from the centre to its edges. But what was curious was not the shell – it was the deep purple spikes that littered the rock beside it. 

Intrigued, I looked around and realised there were more of them nearby. Several shells still had the spikes stuck on to them, and then it dawned on me what they were. Sea urchins! But why were they here on land, crushed and broken? 

The intrigue deepened when I discovered a whole pile of shells, in a decidedly not-natural configuration. I asked Alex in my dismal Spanish, what they were. His basic English was yet good enough to confirm my conclusion. 

“Por que? There are so many?” I asked further. 

Alex made a motion with his hand, and explained that the sea urchins are eaten. My eyes widened. I didn’t realise you could eat sea urchin! All I knew was to stay away from them in the water, since the spines were often toxic. Alex nodded, smiling. 

I played with the shells a while longer. The deep purple of the spines was really beautiful. I wondered, whether the urchin was the same colour when living. 

Pu O Hiro, the fishing trumpet of Hiro

Alex motioned for me to follow him. We walked over to a smallish piece of stone, set upright on the ground. Roughly oblong in shape, there were holes on parts of its mildly irregular surface. The stone was fenced, indicating that it was no ordinary rock, but an artefact. 

Alex raised his hands to his face and made a blowing motion. “Hiro’s trumpet,” he said. Pu O Hiro. The information placard explained that it was a fishing talisman.

Tradition has it that blowing through the stone’s holes produced a sound that drew fishes to the coast, a great artefact indeed for a fishing people. Unsurprisingly, it had been captured in war as a trophy many times, and had been carried all over the island as a result. 

But here it lies today, on the northern coast of Rapa Nui. 

It’s funny. I sort of had the dim knowledge that Easter Island was part of the wider Polynesian territory. But I had not thought that it was Polynesian still. After all, the prevailing image is that the people on the island were gone, and only their mysterious moai remained. So I didn’t really think about encountering Rapa Nui artefacts beyond the moai.

I was glad for these slow stops along the way to Anakena. 

The Rapa Nui petroglyph site: Papa Vaka

Near Hiro’s Trumpet was a rock art (petroglyph) site. So near, that Alex simply walked me there.

Unlike the former, Papa Vaka is marked on the tourist map. A ceremonial site, symbolic images related to Polynesian culture and life such as canoes (vaka), fish hooks, and marine creatures were carved onto slabs of cooled lava on the ground (i.e. papa). 

There are various points on the island where Rapa Nui petroglyphs have been found, and I would dearly have loved to explore all of them, but it was simply not realistic even in a week. (How can people do Easter Island over a long weekend?? It’s a travesty!).

That said, at 12 metres long Papa Vaka is the largest petroglyph specimen on the island. So, pick this one if you’re prioritising, since it’s also near the majorly cool sites of Tongariki and Rano Raraku. 

The rock etchings have been worn down by age and weather, but you could still make out some of the images indicated on the information placard. A series of steps leading up to it provides a higher vantage with which to view the petroglyph. That said, I could really only recognise the canoe glyph with any kind of clarity. 

Te Pito Kura: The last of the fallen Easter Island moai

We drove to the next site, Te Pito Kura. It was another moai site, but the statue had fallen, like so many small ahu all over the island. To be honest, I might have given it a miss. However, interestingly, this was the other site where the ranger office stamped my ticket, aside from Rano Raraku. 

This particular moai was special, though. It was among the last of the Easter Island statues that toppled from its platform. The event only happened after 1838, well after the decline of moai building, after the tribal wars, after the rise and fall of the birdman ritual era that followed, and even after the arrival of Europeans. This, despite being also the largest moai ever successfully moved and erected on a ceremonial platform (it’s 80 tons, people… that’s like, 16 elephants!). 

I had thought of moai and moai building as a mostly male activity. I mean, the features suggest that they represent male ancestors. The Rapa Nui stone masons made the faces prominent, taking up at least a third of the statue, and though the moai were given bodies, they did not go all the way to the feet. Interestingly, they do not stop at the shoulders or waist either, but went low enough to include the groin. And once I saw newer versions of similar Polynesian effigy carving, it did not take much to realise the reason, and that moai are decidedly male. 

That said, according to the Anthropological Museum at Hanga Roa, there are 10 moai on the island with feminine features, although four of them are still at the Rano Raraku quarry and never made it to an altar. Perhaps in later times, it became more acceptable to raise women to the status of mana-storing moai. 

However, moai building was apparently not solely a male endeavour. For this largest moai ever erected in Rapa Nui society was commissioned by a widow, grieving her late husband. Perhaps this was why the moai was not touched during the tribal wars. Its mana was not powering any aggression. 

Te Pito O Te Henua

There is a path near Ahu Te Pito Kura that led downwards, even closer to the shore. Ringed by a low wall of stacked stone, a smooth semi-spherical stone lay on the ground flanked by four smaller stones. 

A magnetic stone, Te Pito O Te Henua (the ‘navel of the world’) was a legendary stone brought to Easter Island by none other than the founding king himself, Hotu Matu’a. Tradition has it that the stone held a high concentration of mana. Its high iron content causes it to warm more than other stones (if mana is just a form of energy, does iron store mana more effectively?). 

Hiro’s Trumpet, and also the king’s mana stone! Whichever tribe held the northern coast seems to have done pretty well in the wars, to have these trophies in their territory! 

The Rapa Nui “fisherman’s cairns”

It was at this point that I noticed it again. A little cairn shaped like a cone, high upon a coastal slope. I had observed them since Papa Vaka, the petroglyph ritual site. There were more here, at roughly regular intervals.

I went to examine one, wondering if it was a shrine. Was there a recess within, for placing offerings, like the mountain shrines of Annapurna? 

No, just a stack of stones. Puzzled, I consulted Alex. What was the religious significance of these little cairns?

“Oh, those are for guiding,” he said, finally spotting what I was focused on. Guiding what? “For the fisherman, coming to land.” The pointed cone shapes stand out more obviously in silhouette along the ridgeline, an easier navigation fix for the returning canoes. 

Oh. 

Anakena’s highly historical ahu

We finally got to Anakena, and I have to say, the site of Ahu Nau Nau felt different from all the other moai sites.

For starters, you don’t see it right away. Alex dropped me off at the entrance to the Anakena archaeological complex, and for a moment I was confused. There only seemed to be restaurants and bars. When I asked him where the moai were, he told me I’d have to walk in along the path towards the beach proper. 

For another thing, Ahu Nau Nau was not built on firm rocky ground, but on a sand dune.

Frankly, I think this makes its survival even more impressive. Even more so when you consider that it is the only multi-moai ahu where the moai still have their ruddy pukao topknots on. Well, four of them anyway. (There is a solo one with its pukao intact, Ahu Ko Te Riku, in the Tahai complex). 

The beginning of Polynesian settlement was in Anakena

The stars are always there… 

What do I fear?

Quote from an exhibit in the Anthropological Museum, Hanga Roa

Looking out to sea from Anakena cove, it is easy to see why Hotu Matu’a had chosen to land his great canoes here, hundreds of years ago. 

The Polynesian arrival at Anakena was the tail end of the inspired Polynesian colonisation in the 2nd millennium AD, which saw the expert seafarers colonise the three furthest points of the Polynesian Pacific – Hawai’i, Aotearoa (New Zealand), and Rapa Nui.

According to tradition, Chief Hotu Matu’a arrived in two ships. I was surprised to learn that the other ship was commanded by a woman – his sister Avareipua. I don’t know if this is considered normal or unusual in Polynesian culture.

Although each Rapa Nui tribe had its own territory and chief, ever since Hotu Matu’a claimed the island, the Ariki Mau (king of the island) was always chosen from his descendants, the Miru tribe. This lasted until the end of the warring period, when a new way to choose the Ariki Mau came into being – Tangata Manu, the birdman ritual. 

I can’t recommend the Hanga Roa museum enough. The exhibits relating to the seafaring knowledge and pedagogy of Oceanic peoples were fascinating, not least because it is also the lost knowledge of my own Bugis ancestry. There, you can learn more about the significance of Anakena to Rapa Nui history.

Anakena beach

However, actually the first thing you see along the path from the entrance is not Ahu Nau Nau, but the beach. 

Anakena beach is probably the only beach on Easter Island that tourists would recognise as a ‘proper beach’. It is not very big, but its curved shape makes for a calm cove. Unlike the black rock of much of the Rapa Nui coastline, the sand is pale and fine. The shoreline slopes gently inland and it is here, on an artificially raised altar, stands the moai of Ahu Nau Nau. 

Today, Anakena beach seems to be the recreational part of Easter Island. Aside from the main street of Hanga Roa, it is the most touristy part of the island (or maybe it is actually the most touristy part).

Even so, it still looks like a natural beach. People enjoy the beach in what I would consider ‘natural’ ways, i.e. lying randomly on the sand or in the water without toys like jet skis and parasails, and there were no ‘people parking lots’ of umbrella-topped sun lounges on the beach. 

There did not seem to be resorts or other accommodation at Anakena. However, there is a camping area. In fact, I obtained a housemate at my Airbnb in the middle of my stay, and he went on to camp overnight at Anakena. 

3 Tips for visiting Anakena beach

Anakena was so different from the other moai sites, and the island in general, that I had not prepared for a beach visit. Here are some things to consider when visiting Anakena beach to fully enjoy it:

1. Bring beach shoes to Anakena

Anakena is a sandy beach, and the sandy area extends quite far inland. The area in front and around Ahu Nau Nau is all sandy ground, so it does get annoying if you hadn’t brought suitable shoes. So bring beach sandals on the day you want to go to Anakena. 

That said, Anakena is not all beach. The ground became firmer as it rose higher, where another moai stood alone. Not far from this lone moai was a little grove, and I had my lunch within its shade. 

2. You can go swimming at Anakena beach

There are little coves between Hanga Roa and Tahai where you could swim. But those feel quite cramped to me, and far too close to ‘normal’ public places like roads and restaurants. Anakena, on the other hand, is a more conventional beach. It felt like it might be nice to take a dip in the water.

I didn’t make any preparations to swim because I had not expected such a nice beach. And, to be honest, it’s also because I was already aware from my previous day’s dive how cold the South Pacific can be, even when the surface air temperature is warm.

Still, if I did have swim clothes on, I might have tried at least going in the shallows. I didn’t feel too much regret though, because the sky had grown ashen by the time I got there. 

3. There are restaurants at Anakena

Unlike the other moai sites in Rapa Nui National Park, which are minimalist locations, there are actually multiple food options at Anakena, making this a great lunch stop. I had brought a packed lunch with me, not knowing this. But at Alex’s encouragement, I did later have a drink and a snack at one of the cafes. 

The strange magnetic slope

When we set off from Anakena back to Hanga Roa, Alex asked me an odd question. “There is a magnetic place we passed,” he said. “It’s on the road. Do you want to go back?” 

I was not sure why a magnetic slope was interesting, so I asked him what was special about it. Nothing on the tourist map mentioned anything special on this road, and I had not seen any turnoff or indeed, any features whatsoever. 

But then he said something that changed my mind. Struggling to find the right English words, he mentioned something about the car going backwards. Puzzled, I asked him to clarify. I mean, of course a car goes backwards, it’s called reverse gear…

But according to him, there was a spot on the road, which was a place of high magnetic activity. When you’re already down the slope, without the car’s engine running at all, the car will roll back up the slope. 

Are you frickin’ shitting me? Of course I’ve got to see that!!! He grinned, turned around, and proved to me it was true. 

I repeat, sometimes it is so much better not to haggle with a local. 

I don’t know if I was just clumsy because it was so freakin’ unbelievable, or if the magnetic thing messed with my recording, but I only got the last second of what could have been the most awesome video from this Easter Island trip. Unfortunately, I only realised that much, much later.

Carbon offset information to Easter Island

I went to Easter Island as part of a longer journey around the world. Had I gone close to my original plan, a return flight from Kuala Lumpur to Easter Island via Sydney and Santiago produces carbon emissions of approximately 17,414 lbs CO2e. It costs about $87 to offset this. 

Heading to Anakena in Easter Island? Pin for your itinerary inspiration! Onward to Part 5, when I somehow managed to visit the final moai sites in the longlist.