The Real Adventurista Guide to Cusco, Peru

72 Hours in Cusco: The Real Adventuristas Guide to Blissing Out, Buying Rugs, and Becoming a Shoemaker’s Muse

Ah, Cusco. My heart still throbs like a lovesick llama when I think about it. I came for the altitude training (read: laying in bed with coca tea and a headache) and stayed for the artisan markets, alpaca everything, and, yes, the dangerously charming shoemaker who whipped me up a custom pair of kicks in 48 hours flat. I went full rabbit-feral for the handicrafts—the pillowcases, the rugs, the fabric goods—so much so that I bought an entire extra bag just to haul my curated loot back home.

And then… my friend casually shattered my delusion by telling me that most of it was actually made in China. Insert sound of a pan flute playing a sad song. But was I deterred? Not even slightly. I would do it all again—buy the same goods, fill ten more bags, and aggressively ignore the tags. Why? Because it was joyful. Because the colors slapped. And because sometimes you just need to pretend your throw pillow is authentically whispering the stories of Quechua elders, even if it took a shipping container to get to you.

Here’s how to max out 72 hours in the most beguiling city in the Andes—and leave with a suitcase full of “authentic” treasures and zero regrets. This might seem like slow travel on steriods, and thats sort of the point. Your body needs a full 72 hours to acclimate, might as well enjoy yourself, and don’t push too hard. You may find that walking up even the slightest incline leaves you wheezing. Totally normal.

Day 1: Settle In + Shop Like a Possessed Colonialist (But Ethical!)

Stay: Drop your bags at the JW Marriott El Convento Cusco. Yes, it’s a Marriott, but it’s built into a literal convent. Stone walls, oxygen-enriched rooms (bless), and the kind of inner courtyard that makes you want to wear flowing linen and whisper about chakras.

Morning: Start with coca tea in the courtyard, then head straight into the San Blas neighborhood, Cusco’s artsy quarter. Picture cobblestone streets, blue balconies, and shops overflowing with vibrant textiles, ceramics, and woven tales of heartbreak and triumph (or, okay, table runners).

Afternoon: Book yourself a massage. They’re everywhere, often upstairs from a shop with a sign written in glitter pen, and usually cost less than your airport Starbucks. Will it be the best massage of your life? Quite possibly. Will it hit the spot after shopping-induced shoulder cramps? Absolutely. Will you return every day like a loyal cat? Also yes.

Evening: Dinner at Cicciolina, because nothing says Andean highland culture like a sexy little tapas bar perched above an old Inca wall. Order the alpaca carpaccio and thank me later.

Day 2: Learn Something (Then Shop Some More)

Morning: Take a free walking tour—but not the generic kind. Find the one led by a local architect/historian. Mine unpacked 3,000 years of urban design, Inca masonry precision that would make your contractor weep, and the heartbreak of colonization. I left equal parts furious and enlightened.

Lunch: Head to Green Point, a beloved vegan Peruvian spot (yes, that’s a thing). Quinoa ceviche? You bet. Amazonian mushrooms? Absolutely.

Afternoon: Back to San Blas, obviously. You’re not done. This is when you buy the second suitcase. Pro tip: find one of the custom leather workshops. I had a pair of shoes made for me in 48 hours by a guy with a sewing machine, a radio, and undeniable shoemaking swagger. Definitely not made in China. A rare unicorn.

Evening: Hit up Limo Cocina Peruana & Pisco Bar for dinner with a view over the Plaza de Armas. It's Peruvian fusion done right—octopus in miso sauce, anyone?

Day 3: Sacred Chill + Cultural Soak

Morning: If you’re not trekking out to Sacsayhuamán (aka Sexy Woman, go ahead and say it like that), then grab another slow wander through the city. Visit the Museo Inka if you want to sob quietly over gold artifacts, or the Convento de Santo Domingo built atop Qorikancha, the most sacred Incan site. Nothing says colonization like a literal church on your temple.

Lunch: Chicha by Gastón Acurio. Legendary chef. Beautiful food. Try the trout. It’s basically Andean sushi.

Afternoon: Find a sun-drenched plaza bench and people-watch. Everyone here is either a tourist, a local selling you something you want, or a tiny child dressed as an alpaca shepherd who will melt your icy capitalist heart. Take a breath. You’re at 11,000 feet and you’ve never felt more grounded.

Optional Add-On: Learn to Cook… and Try Not to Gag at the Market First

So here’s what I did not expect when I signed up for a Cusco cooking class: a pregame stroll through a traditional food market that could double as a set piece from a horror film called The Revenge of the Cow Heads. I mean, I love authenticity as much as the next adventure-chic traveler, but nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for the things I saw being done to those fly-swarmed bovine skulls. I am still spiritually unwell.

Anyway.

We escaped the carnage and ducked into the warm embrace of a tiny colonial house where salvation awaited in the form of a professional chef, endless pisco sours, and the kind of ceviche that makes you forget you ever dry-heaved in public. For four glorious hours, we chopped, stirred, squeezed, and giggled like slightly tipsy culinary witches. We learned the secrets to Peruvian cuisine and left with recipes, memories, and a renewed appreciation for refrigeration.

10/10 would do again. Market trauma and all.

Final Word: Skimp on Lima. Not on Cusco.

Let me be clear. I am begging you—from the depths of my alpaca-sweater-clad soul—do not skimp on Cusco. Skimp on Lima if you must (go for a 15-course Japanese tasting menu that will spiritually rebirth you, and then leave). But Cusco? You stay. You linger. You acclimate. First of all, you physically need to—you’re at 11,000 feet, and pretending otherwise will land you horizontal with a headache and a cup of coca tea. But more importantly, this is one of the cutest damn cities I’ve ever visited. It’s charming without being schlocky, touristy without being hollow, vibrant without feeling like a theme park.

You’ll walk cobblestone streets lined with ancient Incan stones and colonial balconies. You’ll meet shoemakers and historians and the occasional alpaca on a leash. You’ll eat like royalty, shop like a possessed Victorian aunt with a trunk allowance, and maybe even cry at the beauty of a well-executed ceviche.

So take the extra day. Or three. Or seven. You won’t regret a single second.