A Few Thoughts on Tourism in Peru

Note: This post comes from a journal entry I wrote in May 2018.

As I sit in the cafe where I’ve decided to spend the afternoon relaxing with a beer and decompressing from the past two weeks, I’m thankful to have a jacket. Cusco sits at 11,000 feet—twice as high Denver—and while it’s sunny and clear, the air is brisk. All the while, a middle-aged man is waving a small guitar at me as I sit in the cool midday shade, hoping that I’ll buy it from him.

He’s not the only one out to make a buck in Cusco, the historical capital of Peru widely regarded as the epicenter of the Inca Empire before Pizarro arrived and, well, destroyed the whole thing. A woman across the square has a small, colorfully-dressed goat, with which you can pose for a small fee. She stands next to a man decked out in Incan attire, spray-painted gold to look like a statue, who is running a similar hustle.

Surrounded by stunning mountains, Cusco sits in the middle of a valley in the Andes where people have lived for thousands of years. Yet these days, its prime economic driver is tourism and the disparity between tourists and the sun-weathered locals hawking multi-day treks, restaurant services, and trinkets is apparent.

Most people that come here are looking for outdoor adventure—Cusco is, after all, the gateway to the Peruvian Andes and the Amazon Basin. The tourists are tall, strong, fit, ready for adventure, and well-dressed in Columbia, Jack Wolfskin, and Kühl, toting Berghaus bags and sporting Ray-Ban sunglasses. They are well-off in their home countries with enough disposable time and income to adventure on their holiday, and the Cuscans I’ve seen are all too happy to capitalize on this eager-to-spend demographic.

The blocks surrounding Plaza de Armas, Cusco’s main square, are packed with well-to-do businesses; the restaurants are clean and the prices are high, at least by South American standards. But walk a little farther out of the city center, and the character of the city changes: the infrastructure is less polished and the businesses cater to locals. Restaurants have plastic deck chairs and paper napkins and lunch costs 4-5 soles (about $1.50), instead of the 20-30 soles you’ll pay in the city center.

It’s a scene familiar to most tourist meccas: the streets and shops are better-maintained in the districts where foreigners go for an after-dinner stroll. It’s no different from New York or Berlin.

Most excursions into the wilds of Peru leave from Cusco, which requires crawling up steep mountain passes in a minibus, giving one ample time to gaze out at the city sights. Some of the roads are paved but most of them are not, and driving through the outskirts of town provides a unique insight into Peruvian life unlike circling the city blocks around the Plaza de Armas.

The infrastructure outside of Cusco is less well-maintained.

The streets are littered with rubble and potholes, while buildings sit in varying stages of construction. Men and women chat at roadside food stands, as the occasional dog begs for a scrap. While my impression of Cusco is that of a vibrant city, it also sorely needs investment in its basic infrastructure.

I must admit that most of my time was spent in rural Peru, and not in Lima. The only time I laid eyes on Peru’s capital—a modern culinary hotspot—was through the giant glass windows of its international airport. I didn’t spend any time there because I, like my Patagonia-wearing brethren, have only come for outdoor adventure. Most of my time in Cusco was spent idly acclimatizing to the altitude before embarking upon a four-day trek along the Inca Trail.

The Peruvians I met are incredibly proud of their Incan heritage. I was stopped several times and instructed to admire the stonework of various structures left over from empires past: how perfectly cut they were, and how smooth they still are. It confounds me how craftsmen carved such intricate blocks of stone and moved them to the city center to build alleyways and corridors through which commerce was conducted.

Incan walls still stand in the city center of Cusco.

Yet every time I stop and stare, I remind myself that the Inca Empire reigned supreme only 500 years ago. While their architectural achievements are noteworthy, they were not made before the dawn of modern history: Incan architecture, relatively speaking, is a recent achievement.

It’s paradoxical to visit a place where the primary driver of economic activity appears to be showing off the ruins of times long past. Don’t get me wrong—the stonework is impressive, their irrigation system was novel and complex, and the 70,000km network of roads throughout South America surely gave rise to an unprecedented level of commerce—but the Peru I experienced had few paved roads outside of the major cities. The fanciest hotels I stayed in wouldn’t let me flush toilet paper down the drain lest it clog the plumbing, forcing me to deposit the remains of my business in a small trash can.

The modern infrastructure we are so used to in the developed world, which includes courts of law but also functional toilets and drinking water for all, allows people like myself the opportunity for advancement: if I work hard enough, I can be whatever I want to be. I’m always reminded of how lucky I am when I travel abroad.

Our guide, Edoardo, teaches us about Incan architecture.

The guides I befriended in Peru cherish teaching others of their history, culture, flora, and fauna. They are proud of their heritage and they are proud of what they’ve become. Yet to be a guide and work in the tourism industry, one must speak English. Such opportunities are not available to all Peruvians: for many, Spanish is a second language, after the native Quechua.

While I admittedly avoided the less savory parts of town, Peru was a country where I felt warmly welcomed, which could be entirely due to the entrenched nature of the tourism industry and the money that it generates.

The people I encountered are friendly, hard-working, humble, and hospitable. Everyone greets each other with Buenos dias, hola, or just a smile and a nod. The culture of hospitality runs deep, and it makes Peru a wonderfully attractive destination—a place where you can come to pursue adventure and marvel in the beauty of the lowland Amazon, or climb above the treeline and see the snow-peaked caps of the Andes.

It’s likely that these are nothing more than the naive musings of a monied traveler, enjoying the benefits of an industry all too happy to accept a few dollars for a smile, a photo opp, and a comfortable place to sleep at night, but I earnestly feel that the hospitality is genuine. At times, the Peru I experienced lacked basic facilities and, like most travelers, this made me thankful for the comforts of home.

Yet while reliable running water and flush toilets might be a prerequisite for a developed society, I can’t help but think that such a narrow-minded focus on infrastructure and advancement makes me lose sight of just how enjoyable it can be to while away an afternoon chatting with neighbors next to a roadside stall—regardless of whether or not the road could use a little work.

After all, traveling helps me live life with a renewed perspective, even if I’ve just come for the adventure.