From Cusco to the Crown Chakra: My First Day in the Sacred Valley

We woke up in Cusco (which I keep accidentally calling couscous, which frankly sounds like a much softer place to land altitude-wise). The plan for the morning was simple: meet our fellow retreat friends, load onto a bus, and head down to Samadhi Sacred Valley, north of Cusco. The good news: it’s lower altitude. The bad news: “lower” still means about 9,700 feet, which is roughly the elevation where your lungs start sending strongly worded complaints to your brain.

But before we could leave, I had an important mission. — I needed a hat.

So back out into the city we went, wandering through the Sunday markets, unsure what would actually be open. As it turns out—everything. Apparently Cusco does not believe in sleeping in, even on Sundays.

Now here’s the thing about alpaca hats. A baby alpaca hat will set you back about $100. A sheep hat, however, runs closer to $25, which felt more aligned with my “I’m going to wear this for four days and then lose it in my closet forever” budget.

Thankfully, I had brought along Jonah, who turned out to be a secret weapon because—surprise!—he speaks fluent Spanish. Suddenly we were negotiating like seasoned marketplace professionals. One minute I’m just browsing, and the next thing you know Jonah has me bargaining for an alpaca band to sew onto my sheep hat, which frankly felt like a clever compromise between luxury and common sense.

While we were wandering the markets, I noticed something else about Cusco: dogs everywhere. And not a leash in sight.

But they weren’t stray in the sad, skinny way you sometimes see. These dogs looked… fine. Not thrilled with life, not miserable. Just sort of mildly satisfied, like middle-aged accountants. At one point a man was standing at a crosswalk and suddenly turned around and said, “Come on, Scrappy.” Out from behind another pedestrian trotted a dog who had apparently been waiting for his cue. Owner and dog reunited. No drama.

I did see two dogs on leashes, which caused us all to pause and stare like we had just spotted someone wearing formalwear to the grocery store. I couldn’t help wondering if the free-range dogs mocked them later.

Eventually it was time to go. With my new hat and what I will generously describe as an alpaca-adjacent wardrobe with my new jacket, I headed to meet the rest of the retreat group. I was feeling very Sacred Valley chic.

We loaded into two large vans and began the drive out of Cusco. This was not a highway situation. This was a two-lane road with potholes that appeared to have their own zip codes. Every few hundred yards we’d hit a cluster of houses, which meant speed bumps. The result was one of the bumpiest rides I’ve had in years, like someone put a yoga retreat at the end of a mechanical bull course.

Inside the city I had noticed surprisingly little trash, but once we got outside town there was… let’s call it creative storage. Piles of things that might be trash. Or might be items someone plans to use someday. Now to be fair, it reminded me of a few yards back home on Sutton Road, where a broken wheelbarrow lives permanently on the side of the yard because “you never know when you might need that wheel.”

We stopped for a bathroom break at what was clearly a tourist gift shop. Ali immediately fell in love with a beautiful shawl, but we all knew the first price offered was more of a suggestion than a fact. So once again I deployed Jonah, our Spanish-speaking negotiation specialist. We walked away dramatically, and within minutes the shopkeeper came back ready to meet Ali’s price.

I do love a good haggle. It’s like a tiny international sport.

Back on the road, the scenery changed to fields and flowers lining the hillsides. Alpacas were tied casually to nearby buildings like oversized decorative lawn ornaments. There were pigs, sheep, and at one point a cow lying in the grass looking like it had absolutely no appointments that day.

Eventually we turned onto a dirt road and climbed up about a mile until we reached Samadhi.

The retreat sits on a hillside with a central building for dining and gathering, and little cottages cascading down the slope surrounded by lush gardens and flowers. Birds everywhere. Mountains rising in the distance. It’s the kind of place where even your phone seems to whisper, “Maybe don’t check email right now.”

Our host is Fernando, who may or may not own the place—I’m still not totally sure—but he clearly runs it with a calm authority that suggests he knows where the good tea is stored.

The retreat definitely leans yoga-spiritual. The rooms are named after chakras and earth elements, and there are two beautiful yoga studios—one near the top of the property and one near the bottom. They grow much of their own food on the farm here, and after several meals I can confirm: the food is spectacular.

My friend Ali is helping lead the retreat, and when I signed up I casually chose the middle chakra room, which seemed like a nice, balanced place to land spiritually. But after hearing feedback that climbing the hill between buildings was leaving people gasping for air like fish on a dock, Ali moved me to the very top room. At this point I owe her a very large bottle of wine.

My room is the White Crown Chakra, which sounds very enlightened but mostly means I have a fantastic view and slightly fewer stairs.

The whole place has a bit of a hippie vibe, but honestly what do you expect from a yoga retreat in the Sacred Valley? Another wonderful thing is we have the place to ourselves. Grace, who leads the retreat, runs programs all over the world and has clearly done this before. Her teaching style is lovely. I’ve done two flow classes so far and they’ve been different from my usual practice—less intense, which is actually perfect because altitude is already doing enough work on my lungs. 

The first night here I woke up with my feet tingling so painfully that I was convinced something terrible was happening. Naturally I did what any calm, rational person would do: I consulted Google MD to determine whether we needed to arrange a helicopter evacuation.

Turns out the altitude medication can cause tingling in your hands and feet. — Good to know.

Now that I’m aware of that little side effect, I’m far less concerned and will happily keep taking the pills that prevent my brain from swelling like a balloon animal.

This morning after yoga and breakfast, Fernando led us through a meditation and discussion about harmony with our past and grounding ourselves in what he calls “the black dirt.” The dirt is black, he explained, because it contains all the shit—literal and emotional—that life piles on top of us. You can imagine the metaphors.

Then we walked through the gardens where he pointed out the flowers, the farm plots, and finally the potato beds. At the end he invited us to dig potatoes with our hands and walk barefoot through the soil to connect with the earth.

I participated. Because when in the Sacred Valley, you do Sacred Valley things.

But I will say the absolute best part of that experience was returning to my room afterward and taking a long, glorious hot shower—washing off both the black dirt and, possibly, a few lingering metaphors.