A journey aboard the Belmond Andean Explorer reveals a side of Peru often overshadowed by Machu Picchu. From stargazing on the shores of Lake Titicaca to trekking the ancient terraces of Colca Canyon, witness the vibrant culture, natural wonders, and rich history that make this lesser-known route unforgettable.
The night is blissfully silent, and millions of twinkling lights shimmer against a coal-black sky. Everything is obscured at home in my urban jungle except for the moon and the most tenacious stars. Yet here, in the depths of Peru‘s undulating High Andes, the scene unfolds as it should—a mass of cosmic brilliance.
Only two days before, I was swept up in Cusco‘s energetic rhythm, experiencing the culture and bold flavors of the legendary capital of the Inca empire. At the Centro de Textiles Tradicionales del Cusco, I watched nimble-fingered weavers craft intricate designs on giant wooden looms. I browsed the Wanchaq farmer’s market laden with enormous organic produce—think club-sized carrots and strawberries as big as golf balls–and at Mauka’s, I devoured a succulent grilled skirt steak topped with smoky-sweet panca peppers.
Cusco is typically the gateway to Machu Picchu for travelers, but not for me. I’m headed south on a two-night, three-day train ride aboard the beautifully appointed Belmond Andean Explorer, South America‘s first luxury sleeper train from Cusco to Arequipa. From the moment I stepped on the train, all the hallmarks I expected from the brand behind the Orient Express were manifest in every detail: understated elegance, echoes of a bygone era, memorable farm-to-table cuisine––the seared duck breast ravioli, in particular, was superb––and exceptional service thanks to Miguel, my carriage steward. Along this route, a lesser-traveled Peru awaits, every bit as captivating as the North, and though flying was an option, I wanted to savor the experience with a slower, more intentional journey enabling me to immerse myself into the Andean landscapes.
Our first night we spent in Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca, the world’s highest navigable body of water. But not before stopping in the heart of the La Raya Mountains, where the flaxen rays of sunset swept across the peaks and valleys, welcoming our arrival. But it was the vendors selling their handcrafted wares that caught my attention. I snagged a Russian-style alpaca hat and two kitten-soft scarves.
The next morning, armed with my new chapeau and a scarf, we greeted the sunrise around a fire pit, braving the brisk air with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. As the deep blue expanse gave way to streaks of orange fire, we watched the reflections dance on the surface of Lake Titicaca. Later, we visit a Uros community inhabiting a floating island made by hand with totora roots and reeds anchored by eucalyptus poles. Originally, the Uros created the islands to defend against Inca attacks, but over generations, they became a way of life. Tourism now sustains the population, providing families the means to share and preserve their cultural heritage.
Later, under the stars, the Explorer is tucked in on its second night, sandwiched between Lake Saracocha and a seemingly never-ending expanse of hills. I’ve outlasted the other guests stargazing and am an unwitting voyeur. I see new friends I’ve chatted with over canapés, champagne, and other free-flowing fare, ambling single-file past the brightly lit windows toward their comfy en-suite cabins. Others are in the piano bar sipping Pisco sours, grooving to a young solo guitarist singing an eclectic set of soft classic covers like John Denver’s Take Me Home, Country Roads and Oasis’ Champagne Supernova alongside traditional Peruvian folk songs.
On our last morning, I make a beeline for the observation carriage, an open-air gazebo-style platform caboosing the train. I have spent the lion’s share of my time here braving the chilly temperatures to exercise my shutter finger. The train zig-zags through sprawling arid valleys, past turquoise waters, and the occasional rustic Indigenous homesteads drenched in golden sunlight.
Three hours from Arequipa, I disembark at a nondescript desert location, allowing the train to complete its passage without me. I will wander the city streets soon enough—first, the Colca Valley beckons. Waiting is Helmut, my broad-shouldered Peruvian guide, who ushers me into a private, air-conditioned vehicle for the two-hour drive south.
Colca Valley
“Look there!” says Helmut, pointing skyward at a condor just before its nearly ten-foot, finger-tipped wingspan momentarily eclipses the sun. “You can tell it’s an adult from the white collar and stripe across its back.”
We have come to Mirador de la Cruz del Cóndor, 12,500 feet above sea level, a popular observation spot to watch the enormous raptors search for carrion in the Colca Valley’s namesake canyon. “To the Incas, condors were sacred,” explains Helmut. “They represented Hanan Pacha, the celestial realm of the gods.” Captivated, we watch the vultures soar, wings outstretched, gliding on the thermals in slow, graceful circles.
The power to captivate, however, is not reserved for the condors alone. When the last bird vanishes, we follow the Cruz del Condor, a manicured path along the rim of Colca Canyon, a stunning jagged scar slicing 60 miles through the Andes and cradling the Rio Colca at depths twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. At its highest point, it towers 14,000 feet above sea level. Hundreds of agricultural terraces made by the Collaguas who first settled in the valley, ribbon the slopes, while mountain towns (descendants of those established by the Spanish conquistadors) dot the valley. Humbled, I put my camera away after taking only a few images, resigned to the fact that I would never be able to capture the gravitas of such a view.
By late afternoon, we find ourselves on a rugged, windswept plateau overlooking the Colca Valley. We’ve come to explore the ancient settlement of Uyo Uyo, abandoned in the 16th century. “Between all of the archeological sites around Colca, this is the important one,” says Helmut, for its representations of pre-Incan, Incan, and Spanish architecture.
Uyo Uyo is not a manicured time machine like Machu Picchu. In contrast, nature has, for the most part,been left to its own devices. Wildflowers and other vegetation flourish between centuries-old stone foundations and a cobblestone path that snakes through the site. Partially restored structures showcase the architectural characteristics of each civilization and, in some cases, evidence of cross-cultural influences. An Incan entranceway of a restored church highlights the impact of Indigenous craftsmen on colonial-era construction.
From our perch in the ruins, I can see across the Rio Colca to the taught ivory canvas of my rural retreat—Puqio— Peru’s first all-inclusive, luxury, safari-style tented camp, inspired by the cultural simplicity and beauty of its surroundings. My tent, or carpa, is as light and airy as the mile-high comforter atop my bed.
A pair of shearling slippers––a gift from the hotel staff––protect against chilly desert nights, as does the corner wood-burning stove and the comfy club chair, a cozy spot for quiet moments by the fire. From my private deck, I see panoramic views of the mountains and the canyon, Rio Colca, and the grasslands beyond.
As for food, Puqio prepares set meals served family-style, which are often roasted in an outdoor clay oven on the front patio. Puqios on-site garden or local purveyors provide the bulk of their ingredients, and themed dinners are a tasty homage to Peruvian staples. In a supper titled “Quinoa Feast,” the hearty seed takes center stage in quinoa chowder, a savory golden-crusted bread, and tantalizing vegetable risotto.
Arequipa
Leaving the Colca Valley behind, Helmut accompanies me further south to Arequipa through the Patapamas Pass. At roughly 16,000 feet above sea level, it’s one of the most remote and highest paved roads in the world.
Arriving three hours later, Misti, one of three volcanos that surround the country’s second-largest city, stands sentry 10 miles away. I can see her storybook conical silhouette and frosted summit from the Plaza de Armas in the town center. On a tour of downtown, I admire the colonial-era buildings designed in baroque, neoclassical, and Indigenous architectural styles constructed from pale volcanic stone, earning Arequipa the moniker “The White City” and coveted UNESCO designation. Yet, beyond its 400-year-old roots, the country’s second-largest city exudes a dynamic energy that stems from a burgeoning tourism industry and culinary scene. Small eateries known as chichería, like Chicha by Gaston Acuria, serve spicy traditional favorites unique to the region like Ricotos Rellenos (Ricoto peppers stuffed with meat) and Chupe de Camarones (river-shrimp soup), which have garnered international buzz despite being local treasures for centuries. The growing popularity of these restaurants is why National Geographic predicts Arequipa may be “Peru’s next great food city.”
Steps from downtown is Cirqa, my tiny, 11-room boutique Relais & Châteaux property, which embodies the city’s harmony between past and present. The former ancient monastery combines modern amenities such as walk-in showers and standalone tubs with meticulously restored vaulted ceilings, frescoes, and commanding archways without diminishing their grandeur.
In a bid to make the most of my last day, I walk a few minutes from my hotel to the Andean Sanctuary Museum. The exhibit traces the life and death of Juanita, the mysterious “Ice Maiden,” a fourteen-year-old Inca girl sacrificed on the summit of Mount Ampato 500 years ago. Her shriveled-skinned, literally freeze-dried remains discovered in 1995 are painstakingly preserved inside a transparent climate-controlled case within the haunting installation. Textiles and precious relics found on and near her body are also on display. Equally intriguing is a 3-D artist’s reconstruction of her face, bringing new life and poignancy to the long-forgotten child.
A few blocks in the other direction, a less tragic fate befell the women at the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, founded in 1579. I learn this from my guide, Gregoria, who I follow like a duckling through the modest dwellings and narrow streets of a world unto itself––not unlike the Vatican in Rome. In the early days, second daughters of wealthy families were required to enter the convent. Girls as young as 12 were confined to the walled grounds for the rest of their lives. “Today, twenty nuns live in Santa Catalina,” Gregoria tells me. “But now they come by choice.”
Leaving the Monasterio’s intriguing past behind me, I snuggle under my silken covers beneath the sculpted arches of my suite and reflect upon my journey full of discovery and breathtaking beauty. Like the stars twinkling in the night sky, I see each moment unfold in my mind’s eye, radiant and unforgettable.
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