And what a glorious thing trust is (although we did confirm our reservations with the hotels). Yes, we had reservations, and no, no one had run away with our money. Even more reassuring was the stately, spic-and-span appearance of the La Paz Apart Hotel after a neck-breaking red-eye. The sky was cloudy, as should be expected, but the tall, narrow building in front of us exuded a warm welcome, not least through the doorman who scampered over to carry our bags.

Such was my introduction to Peruvian friendliness. By the end of that day, we no longer had to give our room number to get our key; it was already memorized. Plus, with the exception of a somewhat scowling night man, the people manning the front desk went out of their way to make our stay a bit more comfortable. They even offered to confirm our flight to Cusco before we had remembered such a thing as responsible traveling. Everyone spoke English well enough, but they obviously preferred to speak to Danny in Spanish, joking about the multitudes of calls we received from Danny’s very Catholic, and therefore very large, family. But hey, if you worked at a U.S. hotel, would you really go out of your way to stumble out some, say, Burmese?

Of course, though, even the friendliest staff cannot compensate for a dreadful room, so it’s a good thing our suite was spotless and cozy. Although the living-room area was small and had some tiny downfalls, like an obviously worn armchair, it had a mini fridge, microwave, and stove more modern than my own. Down the short hallway was the highlight—the softly lit bedroom. With threaded blanket of yellows, reds, and greens, it made me want to cozy up next to the nonexistent fireplace and read bedtime stories to my nonexistent child. And you can’t forget the bathroom, a cavernous entity with a shower exuding the pressure of a strong-armed Swedish masseur. My own shower has just not felt the same since.

Absurdly expensive $15 wake-up calls aside, I guess it’s okay to be a totally trusting, gullible broad sometimes, huh?