An Escape to Easter Island

At the Nayara Hangaroa resort, visitors to Rapa Nui bask in the wild and remote landscape.

WERE IT NOT for a random conversation I had over lunch in midtown Manhattan, I might not have ever considered traveling to Easter Island, a place that has lingered in my imagination since I was a child. Leo Ghitis, the CEO and owner of Nayara Resorts, and I were discussing what was soon to be Nayara’s newest offering — a lush, luxury tented-camp experience tucked away in the jungle of Costa Rica. While talking about the challenges of trying to keep hotels afloat during the pandemic, and the rapidly evolving landscape of sustainable eco-tourism (a thing for which Nayara is famous), Ghitis casually mentioned that the company was also operating a property on Rapa Nui, the indigenous name for this far-flung Pacific island that comes with its own unique logistical challenges. By the end of our lunch, a seed had been planted. I needed to go there.

It’s nearly a year later when I finally arrive at Nayara Hangaroa, jet lagged and wildly overdressed. It was the dead of winter back in NYC when I began my journey — a juggernaut that included a 10-hour direct flight to Santiago followed by another five-hour flight to reach the island, but Easter Island was balmy and bright. So much so that being there felt akin to having landed on another planet entirely. The pervasive feeling that you are far away from literally everything is one that I very much appreciated and was never able to shake for the duration of my stay.

“The pervasive feeling that you are far away from literally everything is one that I very much appreciated and was never able to shake for the duration of my stay.”

Deemed an “eco village and spa,” Nayara Hangaroa is perched above the rocky, volcanic coast near the island’s southernmost tip. Despite being only a few minutes away from Mataveri Airport and situated within the town of Hanga Roa, for which the resort is named, the property feels incredibly private, offering a panoramic view of the coastline and the ever-present lull of crashing waves. The rooms and suites, cleverly spread out across the property, are all meant to reflect the local concept of “Kainga” — a guiding mentality in which all things work in concert to respect the earth — using organic materials, open spaces, and natural minimalism.

Sustainability and conservation are key here, and the locals carefully safeguard against the intrusion of the outside world. All stores and restaurants are locally owned (including Nayara Hangaroa, which is actually owned by the local Hito family, whose lineage can be traced back to the area’s original settlers), and every effort is made to honor the island’s history. In the case of the Nayara property, this comes in the form of architecture that echoes some of the island’s most important ceremonial sites: round stone buildings with growing, green grass roofs, curved walls, clay tubs, sinks made from local volcanic rock, and cypress trees used both decoratively and as a means of structural support. Walking the expanse of the property, it’s easy to forget where it ends and the natural landscape takes over; the resort almost imperceptibly gives way to the natural rock formations and stone structures that dot the perimeter of the island. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one to miss this distinction, as on more than one occasion I left my room to find one of the island’s many wild horses leisurely eating grass near the pool.

While the 75 rooms and suites at Nayara offer the requisite level of creature comforts, Nayara also boasts the only movie theater on the entire island (where free screenings are often held for the locals). There are three restaurants on the property, each highlighting local ingredients and all with spectacular ocean views. I made a point to sample as many local offerings as possible but returned at least once a day to have fresh ceviche at the pool bar. (I even delayed my return to the airport by an extra hour so I could stop and have it one more time before I left.) No less spectacular than the fresh seafood was the resort’s spa. Conceived of as a replica of an ancient Rapa Nui Manavai — a circle built of stones that was used to retain water and shelter crops from the wind — the enclosed spa area is a marvel of tiny interconnected buildings, each home to massage rooms, soaking tubs, or small saunas. Surrounded by white sand, volcanic boulders, and an assortment of blooming hibiscus trees, the spa is almost like a hotel within the hotel — a tiny zen bubble within what is already an impossibly zen bubble.

Given the remote nature of Easter Island and difficulty of traveling there, it stands to reason that most travelers aren’t coming this far to simply lounge at the pool or sun on the rocky beaches (which are renowned for snorkeling and scuba diving, less so for swimming). Rather, people come here to experience the famous mystique of the island firsthand and to get up close and personal with the iconic moai, the giant stone statues for which the island is famous. The island’s national park is a UNESCO Heritage Site, and aside from all the archeological wonders on display, the entire landscape is both fascinating and remarkably pristine — dormant volcano craters, banana farms, acres of rolling grasses, and pastoral farmland.

As it turns out, the most incredible views I had on the island (and there were many) were from the resort itself. Every night after dinner, as soon as the sun started to set over the Pacific, I’d walk just past the property’s edge, mere steps away from the bar, where the path gives way to a volcanic beach. The kaleidoscopic sunset — a nightly panorama of Day-Glo colors playing against the huge waves smashing against the jagged black rocks — remains forever etched in my mind as the Platonic ideal of a sunset. On my last night, as I did my usual post-sunset stroll back to my room, I passed the hotel bartender who, while no doubt accustomed to seeing visitors have their minds blown by this very same sight, stopped me to say, “Amazing, isn’t it? Thankfully, it never gets old.”