Ask me which Pacific island has the most to offer hikers and I’ll probably answer Easter Island. Here on an island 11 km wide and 23 km long you’ll find nearly a thousand ancient Polynesian statues strewn along a powerfully beautiful coastline or littering the slopes of an extinct volcano. Getting there is easy as Easter Island can be included in Oneworld’s round-the-world Explorer airpass, and a fine selection of inexpensive places to stay and eat awaits you.

The legends of Easter Island have been recounted many times. What’s less known is that the island’s assorted wonders are easily accessible on foot from the comfort of the only settlement, Hanga Roa. Before setting out see the sights, however, visit the excellent archaeological museum next to Ahu Tahai on the north side of town (the term “ahu” refers to an ancient stone platform). Aside from the exhibits, the museum has maps which can help you plan your trip.

The first morning after arrival, I suggest you climb Easter Island’s most spectacular volcano, Rano Kau, where Orongo, a major archaeological site, sits on the crater’s rim. But rather than marching straight up the main road to the crater, look for the unmarked shortcut trail off a driveway to the right just past the forestry station south of town. It takes under two hours to cover the six km from Hanga Roa to Orongo, but bring along a picnic lunch and make a day of it. (If climbing a 316-meter hill sounds daunting, you can take a taxi to the summit for around US$6 and easily walk back later in the day.) Once on top, you’ll find hiking down into the colourful crater presents no difficulty. It may also look easy to go right around the crater rim, but only do so if you’re a very experienced hiker and have a companion along as shear 250-meter cliffs drop into the sea from the ridge.

Another day, rise early and take a taxi to lovely Anakena Beach at the end of the paved road on the north side of the island (you should pay under US$10 for the 20 km). A few of the famous Easter Island statues have been restored at Anakena and you could go for a swim, although the main reason you’ve come is the chance to trek back to Hanga Roa around the road-free northwest corner of the island. You’ll pass numerous abandoned statues lying facedown where they fell, and the only living creatures you’re unlikely to encounter are the small brown hawks which will watch you intently from perches on nearby rocks. If you keep moving, you’ll arrive back in town in five or six hours (but take adequate food, water, and sunscreen). This is probably the finest coastal walk in the South Pacific.

Almost as good is the hike along the south coast, although you’re bound to run into other tourists here as a paved highway follows the shore. Begin early and catch a taxi to Rano Raraku, the stone quarry where all of the island’s statues were born. This is easily the island’s most spectacular sight with 397 statues in various stages of completion lying scattered around the crater. And each day large tour groups come to Rano Raraku to sightsee and have lunch. However, if you arrive before 9 am, you’ll have the site to yourself for a few hours. When you see the first tour buses headed your way, hike down to Ahu Tongariki on the coast, where 15 massive statues were re-erected in 1994. From here, just start walking back toward Hanga Roa (20 km) along the south coast. You’ll pass many fallen statues and enjoy some superb scenery. Whenever you get tired, simply go up onto the highway and stick out your thumb and you’ll be back in town in a jiffy.

An outstanding 13-km walk begins at the museum and follows the west coast five km north to Ahu Tepeu. As elsewhere, keep your eyes pealed for banana trees growing out of the barren rocks as these often indicate caves you can explore. Inland from Ahu Tepeu is one of the island’s most photographed sites, Ahu Akivi, with seven statues restored in 1960. From here an interior farm road runs straight back to town (study the maps at the museum carefully, as you’ll go far out of your way if you choose the wrong road here).

A shorter hike takes you up Puna Pau, a smaller crater which provided stone for the red topknots that originally crowned the island’s statues. There’s a great view of Hanga Roa from the three crosses on an adjacent hill and you can easily do it all in half a day. A different walk takes you right around the 3,353- meter airport runway, which crosses the island just south of town. Near the east end of the runway is Ahu Vinapu with perfectly fitted monolithic stonework bearing an uncanny resemblance to similar constructions in Peru.

Easter Island’s moderate climate and scant vegetation make for easy cross country hiking, and you won’t find yourself blocked by fences and private property signs very often. You could also tour the island by mountain bike, available from several locations at US$10 a day. If you surf or scuba dive, there are many opportunities here. A minimum of five days are needed to see the main sights of Easter Island, and two weeks would be far better. The variety of things to see and do will surprise you, and you’ll be blessed with some unforgettable memories.

David Stanley is the author of Moon Handbooks Tahiti: Including the Cook Islands http://www.southpacific.org/tahiti.html which also contains a full chapter on Easter Island. His online guide to Easter Island may be perused at http://www.southpacific.org/text/finding_easter.html

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I decided to go on a safari in Africa – not so unusual. However, all of the travel information I was able to dig up in preparation for this life experience talked about the game drives during the day and the typical you’ll see this many giraffes, this many zebra, this many lion, etc. I was not able to find information on what it was like being out there in your tent in the middle of the night. But I went anyway – not knowing. As it turns out that was my favourite part of the trip.

It’s October, we arrive in Tanzania and eventually make it to our camp deep in the Serengeti – Kusini Camp run by Fred and Carol, who are two of the coolest people my husband and I have ever met. We go out for some game viewing which is great fun, as expected. Evening starts to roll around, we have a great dinner, and then relax by the fire. As we are sitting around the fire listening to Fred’s crazy hunting stories we hear a slight noise to our right. As we look over, the Masai tribesman, who is monitoring the perimeter of the camp for wild animals shines a light on the stone bird bath not but 10 feet away. There is an enormous Cape Buffalo drinking from the birdbath. A magnificent sight up so close. This is when I knew that night time was going to be the best.

Shortly after, the Masai tribesman with rifle in hand, escorts my husband and I back to our tent – fully equipped with a small walkie talkie in case of an emergency. As we settle down for sleep we notice the unbelievably unique quiet surrounding us. It’s deafening quiet, however amongst the quiet you can hear the sounds of Africa. I can’t stand it anymore. I jump up, grab the spotlight provided, and start to survey the land around us through the thin mesh windows of the tent that separate us from them. Under the magnificent light of the stars in the black sky I am able to see an elephant slowly moving toward our tent. He arrives in only a minute or two to graze on the grass surrounding our temporary canvas residence. He is loud when he eats and a bit clumsy fooling around in the bush. But graceful and so close I could smell his dank leathery breath. I know he could charge at any minute if I went out and got in his way, but I feel safe inside and am able to watch him from only a few small feet away.

Later, I wake up to what I consider a roar, and it wasn’t my husband! This immediately provokes me to get out the spotlight again. This time I cannot see anything, not even a set of yellow eyes, but I can hear the roar from time to time. You just know he’s there. I set up shop by the opening to my tent waiting for him to emerge. I slept right there on the wooden floor but never saw him. In any case, this was surreal enough.

The next night I could barely wait to head back to the tents. This time I was ready and wanted the entire wild kingdom at my doorstep. While I lay there I could hear a lion again. I think he came back – maybe he liked it there as much as I did. I kept listening until I finally fell asleep. Fred was able to confirm my suspicions in the morning – there were lions in our camp.

We headed on the 4^th day to a different camp in the Western part of the Serengeti – Kira Wira camp on the Grumeti River. During the night at Kira Wira I was also able to feel the excitement of being out in the wilderness. Again I awaken halfway into the night. This time to watch a hippo casually stroll by our tent and then head over to my Aunt’s tent nearby. The big fellow sauntered through the bush. I couldn’t believe it – up until this point I had only seen their heads in the water.

In the morning our Kira Wira friend came to wake us up with our usual coffee and tea just at sunrise. As he began to leave our porch he was confronted by a small herd of about 10 Cape Buffalo that came to graze by our tent or try to stay safe from the lion and lioness that may start to get hungry again. We were able to watch these buffalo in the faint morning light. They were only a few feet away looking falsely harmless and eating their breakfast.

Our last night we began our tent ritual by sitting on the bed with all of the tent windows zipped open looking out at the darkness. A large bat landed on the meshy “front door”. As it hung out there we watched its quick tiny movements. All of a sudden a long very furry blob leapt up on the door and grabbed the bat, whisking it away into the night. It all happened so fast we are still not sure what kind of 3 foot Civet or Janet it was that had been lurking nearby but it was an amazing close to our last eerie evening.

While the game drives were awe-inspiring across Tanzania, as I am sure they are all over Africa, I have to say that by far the most exciting part of the trip was not knowing what kind of visitor I would have each night and how close they would venture to mingle with this crazy New Yorker.

Kusini Camp info:

P.O. Box 427, Arusha, Tanzania

tel: +255 27 2502143

fax: +255 27 2508273

kmkjmz@optonline.net

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The town of Knysna in the western Cape of South Africa lies a scenic 500km east of Cape Town along the Garden Route. There is the option to drive all the way into town, but a far more interesting way is to take the Outeniqua choo-Tjoe train that departs from George. If you are lucky your train will be pulled by a steam engine. Once you have left George’s shanty towns behind the scenery is wonderful, sweeping curves where if you peer out of the window you can see the engine going round the bend ahead. At Sedgefield the line passes over a scenic bridge, under which flows an inlet from the Indian Ocean on your right. The train takes a couple of hours and costs approximately 120 rand.

Knysna itself has much to offer including trips into the surrounding countryside where you can hike, abseil and go mountain biking amongst others. At the waterfront area there are lots of touristy shops and restaurants to while away some time. From a jetty at the waterfront it is well worth taking a trip out to the Knysna Heads. Knysna itself is in a lagoon protected from the ocean by a narrow inlet where the surrounding hills almost meet. The trip out is on one of the worlds most advanced ferries, even though it does have the appearance of a bathtub!

The boat actually has three legs that can be put down on the sea floor so that it is lifted up like an oil platform. This can be used in rescues and also to drop passengers off at places where there is no jetty. The “Heads” are a raging torrent even on a semi calm day, they have claimed hundreds of ships and thousands of lives over the centuries, so much so that if you intend to take a vessel through them you have to inform the shipping insurers Lloyds of London. The boat staff keep up an interesting flow of information as you cruise, not only about their very interesting boat, but also about the nearby nature reserve and about what you are seeing.

After all this activity it is hard to beat a meal at “Bosuns” a pub come restaurant, which does excellent bar and sit down food for around 80 Rand, including a drink.

East of Knysna is the Tsitsikama National Park, which is located right next to the ocean. From the beach you can follow a lovely boardwalk through the forest called the “Mouth Trail”, which eventually comes out at the spectacular Hangbrug suspension bridge, from where you can gaze onto the crashing Indian Ocean waves. On the way back to town you can take in the adrenaline junkies Mecca of the Bloukrans bungy jump, this is currently the world’s highest bungy with a drop of 216 metres, reputed to be the longest seven seconds of your life as you free fall, are there any Globies out there who can confirm this, as this one has no intention of finding out!

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Having been nothing but impressed with the way the Mikindani Sports Club or ‘Klabu ya Uboreshaji’ (the club’s Swahili name which means improving oneself through sports) was been run, I wanted to reward the club’s members along with others in the village with a day of competitions. Thanks to the efforts of those volunteers with me and several willing helpers on the day, the 26^th December brought memories to a vast number of people, both spectators and competitors alike. We held a sports day which included a Bao competition and a football six-a-side taking place on the football ground on Mikindani’s biggest football team.

Bao is a traditional Swahili board game played on a board on which seeds are moved around a series of carved out dishes, the object of the game being to take your opponents seeds achieved by finishing moves adjacent to an opponents seed. Without explaining the ins and outs of the game a skilful play is made through experience, strategic play and being able to think moves ahead of the game which may be compared to chess or draughts. In Mikindani the older generation of males are the most respected group of players so we invited three players from each of the village wards to join up for a knock-out style competition. Proceedings took place under a mango tree and organisation took care of itself as there was a competitive but friendly atmosphere and players were self-affiliating and all joined together, rather enjoying playing along side the best players in the village. As the rounds went by, large crowds were drawn in and the final was quite a spectacle with two players surrounded by a sea of onlookers, both competing for the prize money placed underneath the playing board. The champion was delighted with his title but all players were very humble and delighted with how the competition took place.

While the Bao players ate complementary lunch, final preparations were being made to the football pitches which were small with full sized goals promising lots of scoring and the eight teams (made up from two sides from each of Mikindani’s four football teams) were warming up and stretching off. Matches commenced and those who were not players gathered on the sidelines with large numbers of spectators to watch who was on form and for any nominations for the man of the tournament who would receive some golden football boots! Games were fast and furious as any decent six-a-side should be but again collectiveness and good spirit between teams was evident throughout.

The crowds cheered as we were treated to some dazzling touches and outstanding play from all teams but the final was eventually contended (after both semi-finals going to penalties, the hero goalkeepers held above heads by the rest of the team and a few passionate supporters!) between Cigara F.C and Beach Boys who we were told were the equivalent to ‘Arsenal and Manchester United’; long standing rivals keen to get one up on the other. In a closely fought final Beach Boys won by a single goal and their followers ran on the pitch to congratulate their team just as though they were professional sports men. A presentation ended the day’s proceedings and a team photo of the 2003 winners.

Later that day and the next, several comments from teams and supporters gave their thanks for the day. I was told by some it was ‘the best public holiday ever’, ‘never to be beaten’ and ‘the village was awoken with delight and happiness’. These are exactly the feelings I hoped to bring about and numerous groups in Mikindani were fulfilled, old men, young footballers and families of supporters all had a brilliant day.

For more information about Trade Aid, volunteers and their work, please visit their website: www.mikindani.com

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U. S. Soldiers Home, Washington: during a century of travel (well 78 years!) both in and out of service I have travelled to over 150 countries (I count both North and South Dakota as countries) and for some reason have jotted signs and happenings that I thought funny at the time (and now wonder why). So here is the perfect opportunity to share some of my anecdotes.

I admire those that speak many languages. I don’t. This reminds me of the guy that spread out the blanket for his girl friend and noticing the wet grass said: “some dew”. She replied “I don’t”.

The Japanese are very polite. You can be murdering their language and they will say: “You speak very good Japanese”. You then know you don’t. The French sneer at me if I don’t get the pronunciation right. I would try out a few words of French and would get the sneer.

In India and the Philippines because there are so many languages their leaders sometimes give their speeches in English. This surprised me but I was told they reach more people that way. In Mexico, I don’t speak much Spanish, but I am a very good guesser. I have a booklet that has pictures in it of different objects and no matter what country I am in when I want something I point to the picture. I am a good pointer.

I envy those that speak French as it sounds so sophisticated to me. My French is limited to: “Come and tie my shoe”, “Mow de lawn”, “Chevrolet coupe”. I was asked to leave France. I met some French people individually on a one to one basis having been introduced by someone and even was invited to a French couples’ home (both were school teachers.) They had a copy of newspaper printed the day after D Day when the Germans were printing the paper and gave me a copy, interpreting it for me. It said such things as The Terrorists (allies) have arrived but they will be pushed back. I had copies made and gave one copy to French embassy here.

While we Americans don’t speak very many languages, at the same time I think American are a friendly lot and are apt to invite foreigners into their homes or help foreigners on the street. I also lived in a French couple’s home right after the War. It is a long story but they were very hospitable to me. This was in Biarritz, France and the townspeople did not like us. We thought Hitler was going to go down to Spain to meet Franco and go thorough a train station in Biarritz. Our airplanes were meant to hit the train station but travelling so fast they bombed a path from the ocean right though the town.

On the other hand when the Germans occupied Biarritz they had the elite of their troops there and the French told us so they were so neat when they went to the beach lining their equipment up nice etc.

Next month, Mac discusses his 1990’s travel trip to Malaysia, Singapore, India, and on komodo dragons .

If you would like to contact Mac, he can be e-mailed on: macsan400@yahoo.com

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With a shuddering sob Helen collapsed on the ridge and burst into tears.“I cannot take another step,” she sobbed. “Oh, I know it’s all vanity and pride!”

She was referring to the summit, looming in full infuriating view an hour’s slog above us. “You go on,” she said with quivering lip, “I’ll wait for you here”.

“Forget it, I’m not going up without you and frankly I’m not that bothered about the summit. And for goodness sake stop crying. You’ll need that energy for the descent”.

So that drew a line under our climb of Stok Kangri in Ladakh, surely one of the Himalayas most accessible 20,000 foot peaks. The error that day was to have taken the summit head on across the moraine from our advanced base camp, which was set up on the wrong side of the glacier. Had we crossed the glacier and pitched our tent on a platform below the start of the climb, and then headed off diagonally left across the moraine towards the ridge… who knows?

It doesn’t matter: I repeated the mantra to myself on the silent trek back to base camp and down the trail to Stok village at the road head, the last stop before picking up the jeep to Leh. Success, failure – every mountaineer knows these are mere words, devoid of significance. The summit is a trap cunningly laid by our ego, designed to keep us bound to the wheel of samsara.

What’s that, you failed to summit Stok Kangri? There it is, the very word of shame and humiliation, enslaving us to our egos. It’s all rubbish, of course, we reassure ourselves. What really matters is the camaraderie, the days spent with good companions in the inspiring environment of the high mountains. The summit is a bit of icing on the cake. It adds nothing to the experience apart from a false sense of prestige, derived from the Latin praestagium, meaning illusion. The summit, in fact, is a mere illusion.

Oh yes.

So it was that the following August found us starting off once more from advanced base, this time camp properly sited on the far side of the glacier, plodding manfully across the moraine straight towards the summit ridge.

Two hours into the climb and “Oh, God,” Helen moaned, collapsing once more on the ridge, in fact the very same spot as the previous year. “It’s such a long way…”

Not again, I thought with inner rage, an eye fixed on the beckoning summit.

“All right, have a little rest. Have a drink of water, catch your breath, count to ten – but we’ve got to carry on because the weather is looking pretty naff.” Bands of mist rolled up from the valley, intermittently obscuring the snow-capped summit. It was obvious we would have to move smartly if we were to enjoy any view at all from the top. Helen began rummaging in her day sack and what happened next left me gaping in stunned disbelief.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing with that?” “It’s all right,” she smiled. “It’ll boost my morale”. But – lipstick! We’re nearly twenty thousand feet up in the Himalayas and you… “There we are.” She zipped up her sack, smacking her brightly rouged lips. “Let’s go.”.

Helen is six feet tall and she is maddeningly unaffected by altitude. Once suitably made-up off she marched at a sprightly quip, unheeding of my protests about the importance of keeping a slow and steady pace. We negotiated the handful of slightly exposed spots on the ridge and three and a half hours after leaving out tents we found ourselves on the top of Stok Kangri, with just enough sunlight left for a couple of snapshots of K-2 on the horizon, before the mist billowed over the summit.

Jules Stewart is leading a Ladakh trek and ascent of Stok Kangri on 17th-31st July 2004. Details are available on 0207 2294774 or e-mail: Jjulesstewart@aol.com

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Ryanair has carried out its threat to scrap services between London and Brussels’ Charleroi airport, in an escalation of its battle with the European commission over illegal state aid from the Belgian authorities. In its summer schedule, it was revealed that its eight daily flights between the two cities would end on April 29. Ryanair blamed the EC’s ruling this month that the airline’s landing deal at Charleroi was illegal. Rivals say that the route may have been hit by competition from rival airlines and Eurostar.

Ryanair has banned eight passengers for life for compromising passenger and crew safety by smoking on board. The eight people were on different flights, and all cases have been referred to police.

Never let it be said that we are always horrible about Ryanair. Here’s a website where you can see some positive comments about our friend: http://www.ciao.co.uk/ryanair_com__77254 This website allows you to enter your views, pros and cons about using Ryanair. All three of the pros that the Beetle saw when she looked at it were to do with price – it’s cheap, the cons say impractical deals, no meals on board and a slow website.

For the sake of balance, here’s another website where you can record your own Ryanair misery story: Stories include luggage not being on the same flight as the passenger and all the hassle involved in getting some sort of recompense from Ryanair, money taken without confirmation and comments about the way Ryanair operate – little things, like using premium rate telephone numbers if you want to contact them and lack of e-mail address. It’s sober reading.

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That night the local tribe was going to perform a ceremony that would involve singing and some sort of dancing, and Adam Baines and I were invited go along. The tribe held hands and formed itself into two circles, one inside the other, both facing inwards.

One circle moved to the left and the other moved in the opposite direction and at the same time started moaning. This singing or sort of moaning continued as the circles moved slowly in opposite directions. I started the tape, the moaning continued, the bullfrogs joined in, the jungle added its chorus, the circles turned.

Adam and I stood there bemused, as the minutes went by, with nothing more happening other than the continuous circling and moaning. I joined the tribe, held hands and moaned with everybody else, circled with everyone else and, I think just like everyone else, wondered what the hell was going to happen next.

I was beginning to think that this whole ceremony was being put on for our benefit, as a sort of show for these strangers from the outside world. I stepped out of the circle and stood back with Adam whilst continuing to watch this ritual. Adam asked me what the ceremony had done for me. I replied that I had always dreamt about holding hands with strangers, walking in circles, moaning out loud under the stars in the Amazon rainforest! Adam tried everything to stifle his laughter.

We both concluded that this show was being put on for our benefit and, deciding to call it a night, thanked our hosts and walked back to our hut, leaving the tribe still moaning under the full moon. As we reached our hut the moaning stopped and we smiled at each other as we went in, but the last laugh was to be on us. We slipped into our sleeping bags being careful not to let any mosquitoes under our nets and I fell gently asleep after such a busy day.

I awoke to my shoulder being shaken by one of my moaning friends who said it was Party Time, and that this hut was the party hut. We were to sleep in the next hut with others that did not want to dance the night away. I looked at Adam stumbling about when he was woken as I had been. We grabbed our belongings in our arms, everything falling out of everywhere, and moved huts in pitch darkness.

We staggered to the next hut, which was totally full off about fourteen hammocks, mostly containing a couple, to find the only place we could sleep was under someone’s hammock. The music started, not the moaning of a couple of hours before but the loud music called Forro, which was coming from a ghetto blaster running off a car battery and which was overlaid by the noise of dancing feet.

The Forro, a corruption of the English ‘For All’ came from the North East of Brazil,. As the British who built the railway there sometimes had parties for which the invitations were ‘For All’. It was now my turn to feel like moaning as the music blasted into the night from all of twenty yards away.

The Indian in the hammock above Adam started to do the horizontal samba with his woman and the swaying and groaning made me see the funny side of life. Or would have, if the mosquitoes hadn’t been eating me alive and something I’d rather not know about slithered over me. A hellish night, to end a near perfect day.

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Meeting news from our branches around the world.