The holiday break is a time for me to unwind and charge my batteries. The only way I can do that is by getting as far away from L.A. as possible. That’s why I’m writing this column from the most remote island on the face of this planet. It’s called Rapa Nui, but you probably know it as Easter Island.
Getting here isn’t easy. You have to fly all the way down to Santiago, Chile, and then hop on a second flight that carries you 2,000 miles out to the middle of the Pacific Ocean. But hey, it’s worth the effort because Easter Island is a small but magical place that doesn’t attract many tourists. And as I’m sure you know, the island is covered by giant heads called moai that are made of rock and are supposed to be mystical in nature.
Right now, it’s almost midnight and I’m sitting at the foot of several moai. The moon is full. I can hear the ocean. Everything is right in the world.
(This would be the perfect time to light up some mind-altering weed, but despite what you’ve heard, there’s no such thing on this island. Seriously. It doesn’t exist. So don’t bother coming. Just stay where you are.)
Anyway, I’ve asked these giant heads to endow me with
Leave a Reply