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From Cusco to Puno by RailRoll gently down the rails, through the heights of the Andes and past gorgeous green valleys to the majestic Lake Titicaca.text Vicki Stout
My newly acquired, bright-orange, woven backpack rests on the polished stone floor while I sip mate de coca, an herbal tea aimed at combating high altitude and thin air. My ride will be here momentarily; I’m excited for the adventure ahead, but reluctant to leave this serene and exquisite place that has been home for a trio of evenings in Cusco, Peru: the magnificent Hotel Monasterio. Built in 1595 on the site of the palace of an Incan king, the breathtaking monestary – characterized by arches, bloom-filled courtyards and rich Baroque interiors – became a hotel in 1965. Neither the centuries, nor the guests, have disturbed the peace. Oscar, one of the legions of bellmen uniformed in gray wool, flashes his million-dollar smile and signals to me. Reuben from the aptly named Adventure-Life tour is here. It’s a short ride in his van to the Wanchaq Station, a brief preamble to the journey of a lifetime.
The train lurches forward, then chugs slowly along, past city streets where flowers frame ramshackle structures, dogs nap in the sun and children wave. Waiters in crisp white coats deliver china cups filled with hot tea. Cusco is left behind as we plunge through emerald fields edged by the towering Andes mountains, many of which hide their heads in fluffy white clouds. The sapphire sky is bright and the shadows long. The train snakes alongside the meandering Huatanay River; neither seems in much of rush.
Though the journey began on a high note – literally, at Cusco’s 11,500 feet above sea level – we’ve climbed slowly, methodically, even closer to the sky. At the very highest point of the route, La Raya, the train stops. We get off in the midst of a small trackside market.
Cameras and wallets are tucked away when the whistle blows. All aboard and off we go. The moving picture show at the windows – to which most sets of eyes are glued – is interrupted by the waiters who, with a flourish, deliver the first of a three-course luncheon. These consummate professionals are akin to synchronized swimmers. They march in, pause, turn and set a silver domed covered plate at each place. On the unspoken count of three, voila, the dome is removed, revealing a picture-perfect first course. But then this is an Orient Express-managed train and that means first-class service.
The dancers kick it up a notch; suddenly, there’s real competition between the scenery outside and in. The landscape changes from mountains to rolling planes before approaching the edge of our destination: Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world. As night falls, we pull into Puno. The city’s streets lead to the inky waters of Lake Titicaca, the other marvelous bookend of my adventure, an adventure that has been as much about the journey as the destination. in Cusco & PunoWhere to sleep Cusco Puno Qelqatani: This small hotel is spotless. The spacious rooms have large private baths, and each room has a space heater, which can be invaluable at 12,500 feet and cold temps. The staff is very friendly and welcoming.
Where to eat Cusco Cicciolina: Mediterranean cuisine and tapas, also on the Plaza de Armas. Illariy Restaurante: The dining room of the Hotel Monasterio serves excellent cuisine presented with style. MAP Café: A small, elegant restaurant inside a glass-enclosed courtyard of the Museo de Arte Precolombino.
More information Adventure-Life: This U.S.-based tour company specializes in small tours (six to eight people) in Latin America and Antarctica. Guides are local experts. Hotel choices range from basic to luxury. Itineraries can be customized. Explorador Andino con PeruRail: PeruRail’s first-class service from Cusco to Puno.
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The royal blue train known as the Explorador Andino (Andean Explorer) wears a stripe of Incan gold and the name PeruRail along its length. Passengers present their tickets and passports and are ushered into coaches lined with dark wood and dotted with linen-laid tables along wide, spotlessly clean windows (perfect for taking photos). Every passenger has a priceless commodity: a table with a view.
On the other end of the spectrum from Europe’s raging bullets of speed, this Orient Express-run train moves to its own – slower – drummer. At waters’ edge, a flock of sheep stops to drink. A woman in traditional dress, with a knapsack of grain on her back, plods along beside them. Fields of corn wave, alpaca graze. In a field of clay, workers squat to shape red tile. The stacks resemble squares on a checkerboard. The long wail of the whistle supersedes the soothing clickety-clack as a village comes into sight. Thatched roofs perch atop cottages; dogs race to keep up with the train. A cow, tethered by a rope, raises its head.
Tables are stacked with tourist goods: woolen scarves, socks, hats and gloves; handmade jewelry; tapestries; woven bags and backpacks; small wind instruments and stuffed white llamas and alpacas. The wind is brisk and cold. Those hats and scarves look even more appealing, and necessary, than in Cusco. Passengers make purchases and take photos of a traditionally dressed woman and her alpaca.
The leisurely lunch is followed by more window gazing and photo snapping. Without warning, the air is punctured by the signature wailing of an Andean wind instrument. At first it seems distant, then louder before traditionally clad dancers and musicians sweep in, whirling and twirling. They dance their way through the coaches, ending in the observation car, where there are no tables and fewer seats. 
