The ride up to my hotel would’ve seemed more alarming if I’d been fully awake. Later I saw the complex three-point turns and backing maneuvers that even the smallest cars had to effect to get from place to place in those narrow, ancient streets. I saw what happened when cars met head on: there’d be some peaceful, unspoken negotiation and soon one car would be accelerating down the street in reverse at while the other followed closely. Makes me think that auto body shops here must make a lot of money.

But none of this registered on me in my first hours in Cusco.

By the time I got to the Encantada Boutique Spa Hotel, I’d been awake for 28 hours. I’d left from Puerto Rico, roughly at sea level, and been transported to a city 11,000 feet up. Sleep- and oxygen-deprived, I wasn’t at my observational best.

My room wasn’t ready, so I ventured out to see what I could of the town. I was definitely in a tourist district, judging from the number of hostels and coffee shops.

I walked the road downhill to the Plaza San Blas and watched vendors prepare for the Saturday morning market.

This beautiful Alpaca scarf came home with me. Adelaide, the woman in this picture, makes them with her family. Some of the colors, she said, come from an emulsion made of ground up insect wings.

In front of the wall that separated the plaza from the street above, a group of young children gathered and sang a song while their adoring parents looked on.

I took a photo of an old woman with an alpaca. She then chased me—the woman, not the alpaca—halfway across the plaza to demand money for the privilege of being my model. I was bemused and gave her five soles. Presumably she split it with the alpaca.

I chatted with some hippie artisans and bought a little petrified animal tooth while her dog looked on.

It was wonderful to be in Peru at last, but I urgently needed sleep. The hotel lay uphill from the plaza. I trudged up the road, feeling like someone had reached into my back and pulled out my batteries. Though the air was cool, the high altitude and clear blue skies felt hot to me, presumably due to the higher UV intensity. Feeling spacy and disoriented, I made it to the hotel lobby and sank into a chair. The desk clerk brought me a cup of cocoa leaf tea, which is a homegrown remedy for soroche – altitude sickness. It revived me, somewhat. Yes, that’s the stuff cocaine is made from.

My room was ready and so was I. I slept four and a half hours. When I got up it was late afternoon. I accepted a dinner invitation from Jacquie Whitt, the woman behind Adios Adventure Travel, the outfitter that did such a fine job of arranging my Inca Trail hiking permit, my Machu Picchu entry documents, my transportation, and my guide. Jacquie had been doing this for ten years and it showed in her easy competence. She’s first come to Peru with students from the Friends school where she taught. And she kept coming back. That made sense to me: the best teachers are tour guides, and vice versa. I had a whole pizza for dinner—I figured I’d need all the carbs I could get for the next day’s hike.

By the time I polished off the last piece, the blazing sun was gone and Cusco took on that Spanish colonial dolor I know and love, an admixture of unsolved mysteries and unrequited love.

Down at the Plaza San Blas, the vendors were gone. There was a kid playing with firecrackers in front of the fountain. I liked his naughtiness.

I headed back to the hotel early. The next day, I knew, would be a long one.