An Ode to Cusco

I sit in Lima, a sprawling capital with high-rise anyplace Miraflores; beach-straddled Bohemia Barranco; and a multitude of no-go places, hidden from the view of tourists. Undoubtedly the food is good, and I am sure the quality of life matches it. But, throughout our short stay I couldn’t help but think of our beloved Cusco.

Cusco is a city I will never forget. Maybe it is because this is where we touched down for the trip of our lives. But I prefer to think of the magic that hangs in the simultaneously bustling but tranquilo city air. I will not here recite the history of the city, nor provide tourists-to-be with a ‘Top things to do in Cusco’ list. But rather, this is a flawed attempt to describe the feeling of the city and a series of snapshots of the place.

While the history of Peru (and indeed Latin America) is best told elsewhere, Cusco is a city where the past is felt. It is not only the numerous monuments remaining from Pre-Inca and Inca times. Neither is it the everlasting Quechua culture that can be seen and heard high in the Andes.

Walking through the streets, I felt the presence of those before me. I could feel the effort of those who had marched up the near vertical hills surrounding the city. I could taste the sacred Coca leaves that were chewed to manage the altitude and support the digestion of thousands of species of potato. I could hear the music of small communities. I could see the dances that mirror the movement of the sun.

Everyone we met had a deep respect for history and ancestry in the city. Not in a preachy or even intellectualised way (our favourite museum was one man playing a series of replicas of ancient instruments). But rather, I could feel the depth of their connection to the place.

They felt the special place. And so did I.