Pulitzer-prize winning playwright Edward Albee writes a travel
article, I’m going to read it. When he writes one about accomplishing his lifelong goal of visiting Easter Island, I’m
definitely going to read it.
As was the case with myself, and probably every other adolescent boy who happened across photographs of the giant,
mysterious statues erected upon Easter Island, Albee longed to journey there one day and witnesses them
himself—although it took until his 78th birthday to do so.
The wait was well worth it, he tells us. The dramatist writes fondly of visiting many of the island’s more
than 800 statues and the lake filled quarries from which they came. He marvels over the island’s
otherworldly, volcanic landscape and its rugged beauty and isolation.
I was a little disappointed, however, to learn that there is actually a small town on the island—I had always romantically imagined it
deserted. I was also unhappy to discover the presence of 12
hotels within the town and, according to Albee, possible plans to construct a casino there. Visit now, Albee
warns, before the unsavoriness so often associated with casinos pollutes the magic of Easter Island.