Cusco: Am I in England?

I barely managed to stumble into this sanctuary just 1 block from our hotel/hostel—not because I was pleasantly intoxicated, mind you, but because my intensifying altitude sickness was about to hurl me to the floor pleading for mercy (really!). My paper-white face huddled in my shaking hands, Danny had to ask for coca tea, a supposed cure-all for the gringo sickness.

Before our concerned waiter, Yuri, could eagerly deliver the tea, he brought a handful of muña leaves; I was supposed to crush the leaves and inhale their scent. After doing so, the color came rushing back to my normally pink cheeks. I would have graciously greeted Yuri’s concern with smiles and thank-yous (even if we were the only customers) if I hadn’t felt like the Incan gods were exuding their full wrath upon my head.

Since I only managed a few spoonfuls of vegetable soup that day, A Mi Manera called for another visit… well, two more visits. Actually, our second visit occurred that very same day for dinner. And although I wasn’t my normal happy-go-lucky self yet, I did manage to look somewhat less possessed.

On doctor’s orders for light food intake, I ordered the subtly spiced chicken dieta soup and a side of pollenta grillada, grilled polenta with softly cooked bell peppers and capers. I didn’t finish my tiny meal, but it was hard to leave the delicately soft polenta behind.

The third time, always the charm, we arrived for our last dinner in Cusco. By this time I was almost bright-eyed, but now Danny was suffering from a sketchy turkey sandwich at Machu Picchu. Of course, now that I was feeling more like myself, I ordered more than my stomach could handle.

First was the chicha morada, the purple-corn juice we had gulped in Lima. This chicha, though, was slightly different—a frothy blended version that was much tarter than the sometimes too-sweet chicha of Lima. For my course du jour, I opted for the chicken with two sauces, one chocolate and one a plasma-green concoction, topped off with sublimely fresh grapes. The practically florescent sauce lightly flavored the perfectly done chicken with subtle notes of herbs, while the chocolate one had a much thicker flavor than, say, Hershey’s syrup.

Again, the service was astounding. Our waiter, sadly not Yuri, swapped the chicken topping from red peppers to grapes without raising an eyebrow, and the cooks dished up some superb yucca frita, even though it wasn’t listed as a side dish. At the end, we were offered a tequila-like drink on the house, which we quickly declined due to our beer-and-wine-only mentality.

The food was first-rate, subtly spiced, perfectly cooked, and truly inventive. Yet, we came three times in 3 days for the cheerful friendliness, gracious service, and Yuri, who flashed a beaming smile upon our second return, greeting us like old Peruvian friends.

Searching IgoUgo’s Cusco pages for useful tidbits, I came upon a review of David by Offthecouch. She and her son had used him as their tour guide during their Cusco outings, and overall the review exuded confidence in his abilities. Contacting him through his website was simple, and, with the exception of Machu Picchu, he offered to personally be our guide within the city and to the various ruins directly outside Cusco, including Sacsayhuaman and Tambomachay.

While a colleague who had been to Cusco months ago scoffed at the prices, the tours are private, meaning no crying children dragged along by their parents and personalized attention to boot. In fact, I would have solely paid for his organization of our transportation, hostel, and trip to Machu Picchu, which would have been one big ol’ pre-trip pain in the butt had we done it ourselves.

The extent of David’s abilities as a personal guide actually became visible when we weren’t touring at all. This is where the "crying home to mommy" sickness comes in. After arriving in Cusco and meeting David (who was on time and waiting) and his wife, we were told to rest for a while to ward off altitude sickness. We laid about in our hostel for an hour, sadly watching cable TV. I say "sadly" because I, in what is considered the greatest city in the world, do not even have cable TV.

After we started to wander the streets, though, I could barely make it half a block before starting to black out, legs wobbling beneath me while I gasped for air. Apparently my body didn’t like this whole high-altitude thing too much. It took me, a long-time StairMaster veteran, about 20 minutes up the two flights of stairs to our room. Then Danny called David and David called a doctor… to make a house call! I thought those had been extinct since the early 1900s.

FYI: There may be a 10% charge added to the initial price for office fees.