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.

Group bus tours are about as appealing to me as joining a religious cult. It’s just not going to happen, especially when the oversized buses are roaring awkwardly along Cusco’s small ancient streets. But David Choque saved us from navigating Cusco and its surroundings all by our lonesome when he started Cusco Top Travel & Treks. (He also provided comfort when I thought death was almost certain after one hellish day, but I’ll get to that later.)

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.

The handsome (oh, and extremely competent, intelligent, and English-speaking) doctor determined I had some kind of stomach virus made exponentially worse by the sudden altitude change. David, who had found time to accompany the doctor, sat in a chair looking genuinely concerned. Our city tour scheduled for that day was graciously moved to the afternoon of our last day, and he even mangled a later departure time for Machu Picchu the next day, although I still opted for the earlier one. Plus, he made sure the hostel’s staff brought me their reviving oxygen tank, in addition to ensuring the presence of the good-looking, I mean, intelligent, doctor.David does not accompany you to Machu Picchu, leaving you to partake in the dreaded group tour, but we saw few private tours at the famed jungle ruin. And on the tours of the city and ruins bordering Cusco, it was David, Danny, and I. While the tourists we saw floating around in Cusco looked dissatisfied and bored, Danny and I were engaged in back-and-forth banter with David. Danny seemed particularly impressed that if David didn’t know the answer to a question, he would say so, not make up some lavish tale. Equally memorable was how he powered his sentences with phrases insinuating that nothing was fact, unlike our guide at Machu Picchu.Puttering along in David’s spacious van swarming with traditional decorations also allowed for spontaneous stops roadside. During one such break, we spotted the bull figurines, symbolizing strength, that top the houses around Tambomachay. The abundant eucalyptus trees, native to Australia, not Peru, were other curiosities easily pointed out from the van. We may have had less time at each site with two tours crammed into 1 day, but we could always nudge in a suggestion about our next destination, or ask to stop at yet another Cusco ruin.David’s laid-back attitude and flowing English are necessary for a memorable private tour, but it’s the unexpected things that impressed more. Aside from his attentiveness throughout my tortuous first day, he obviously grabbed the best room in the hostel for us. The other $40/night rooms, which I peeked at during cleaning, were just okay compared to our top-floor abode, complete with a shuttered window that encompassed the shimmering lights of nighttime Cusco. Even on my deathbed I could enjoy the refined beauty of Cusco, thanks to David.

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