Fresh off a few particularly horrific travel days that involved multiple ten hour bus rides, gastro intestinal distress (I’ll spare you the details on that one), sprinting between border crossings at 13,000 feet to collect forgotten passport stamps and nearly getting left in the middle of nowhere - we were pretty stoked to check out Peru - and stay in one place for a bit. N’let me tell ya, Cusco, certainly didn’t disappoint. 

I mean what’s not to love about a city whose flag dons rainbow and whose name literally translates into “the bellybutton of the world?”

Built in the 13th century, Cusco served as the geographic center and capital of the Incan Empire. And it’s still got all that old world feel. With a little Spanish colonial vibe mixed in and a dash of hippy flare. Artsy little coffee joints and yoga studios line the cobblestone streets and Starbucks and McDonalds disguise themselves well enough behind the ancient cathedrals as to not ruin the beautiful time-worn energy that engulfs the place.

Cusco also serves as the gateway to Machu Picchu and The Sacred Valley - and although it had not been on our initial ’to do’ list - we soon learned we would be committing an offense comparable to backpacker treason if we did not visit. So we signed ourselves up for a two day tour and braced for the tourist assault that lay ahead. 

Getting there was the worst of it. We were cheap and decided to bus it instead of take the train. And my god did we regret not spending the extra hundred bucks. The road was anything but straight. One 180 degree turn after the next, over and over and over and over. Enough to make you want to hang your green little head out the window, despite the risk of decapitation via sharp edge and unexpected pothole. 

We then hiked it - another couple of hours to this surprisingly large, restaurant-and-hostel dense town in the otherwise wild Andes called Aguas Calientes. Slept a few hours in a muggy hostel, dragged ourselves out of bed at 4am in the pouring rain and joined the ten thousand other soggy, groggy, sleep deprived people to make the hike up to Machu Picchu.

And despite our general crankiness about the lines, the crowds, those obnoxious idiots who think it’s a dandy idea to stop right in the middle of the trail to take selfies - we made it to the gateway and entered a world that sucked you into it’s mystery and mind-bogglingness and all out, absolute awe. 

I mean you’ve seen the pictures of course. But to be there - at the top of a cloud covered mountain - deep in the dense jungle - looking over this ancient city. With it’s perfectly trimmed farming terraces cascading down the side of the cliffs and the pristinely built houses made of massive granite boulders and the little “parks” and the stone fences and the sacrificial altars. It’s all just too much to comprehend. And it makes you realize how smart and strong this architecturally genius Incan society must have been. 

So in short it was worth it. And it didn’t scare us away from signing up for another Sacred Valley tourist attraction - The Rainbow Mountains, which were like - pretty much - my favorite thing. 

Again getting there totally sucked. A long bus ride. A lot of annoying people. A huffing-and-puffing-and-occasionally-stopping-for-fear-of-heart-failure hike. Up to 17,000 feet (nearly the altitude of our Everest Basecamp debacle). Most of the people that visit opt to to ride horses to the top, but of course we decided we’d rather suffer and hoofed it on our own accord. But holy cow, good golly. When we finally made it - it. was. spectacular. This giant mountain range that looked like somebody melted a bunch of crayons (that kindergarten coveted Crayola 100 pack) right over it’s peaks. Brad - being Brad, thought the view of the 24,000 foot giant in the distance was more impressive. But I was in art meets mountain heaven. 

So thus far Peru’s been pretty flipping fantastic. Good people, great food (although I’m opting to steer clear of the infamous “locally sourced” guinea pig) and take-your-breath-away beauty. Next we’ll be heading north to spend a few weeks to a tiny little surf town called Mancora. And I cannot wait to plant my toes in the sand and not have to worry about packing my suitcase for a whole twenty-one glorious days. 

Until next time.

-Kenz