Feliz dios de san Valentin!

I spent Valentine's Day falling in love with a city. The city had flower petals strewn on the cobblestone streets for under my feet. It supplied consistent background music, whether spicy Latin beats or symphonic renderings. Red heart balloons winked at me as I passed through doorways. Cuzco's cathedral's ancient walls against a bright blue sky and children laughing at its steps sent butterflies through my stomach.

Carrie Bradshaw always claims she has a relationship with New York City; they go on dates, find themselves in unpredictable situations and have bad days, but she goes to bed every night knowing her city is right outside her window, serenading her and ready to surprise her with unbelievably beautiful moments and a day of adventure.

We didn't even start the day in Cuzco but in Pisac, a hidden city about 45 minutes outside of Cuzco in the gorgeous Sacred Valley. Annie, Julia, Lauren and I took a taxi through the Andes, unable to see the tops even as we craned our necks and stuck our heads out the windows. We saw the rocky and green but could see snow-tops in the distance. Who was it who deemed the mountains "majestic?" They must have had a key to each human brain, because that word was written on my surroundings. Pisac is a quaint city that seems like it could get lost among the mountain air. The small central plaza had two outstanding trees in the center. One is a palm tree, as if perhaps it would be a luxurious detail mentioned in a travel book on this town that literally lies below Incan ruins. We shopped in the markets and took time to sit in colorful beach chairs as Pisac treated us to coffee and Valentine's cookies. I guess Pisac was the stand-in date as Cuzco prepared itself for the evening. 

Coming back to Cuzco, it was quite chilly, but, being the perpetual gentleman, there was an array of colorful alpaca-woven socks, sweaters, hats and gloves, all handmade, at our fingertips, if we decided to spend the Soles. 

I think it is the people that really get my heart fluttering when spending time with Cuzco. Each person that passes you seem to whisper a different story. With some, you have to play the guessing game as to where they are from and where they have traveled and where they are off to. There are other faces under traditional top hats, faces that seem to have a wrinkle for each year of life and hard work and times they have walked these streets. Mothers carry babies on their backs, and the miniature faces glance out from rainbow blankets to giggle at your waves. Alpacas greet you as you round a bend and barely miss getting hit by a taxi on the narrow roads and winding hills. 

Annie and I walked these streets and, peering over rooftops into a blanket of stars, could feel the love affair this city offers to its dwellers. 

Dinner was served high up on a balcony where Annie and I perched like birds with our pollo con arroz. Everything moved fast below us--taxis, friends off to clubs, Peter in boots, tourists with monster backpacks, women trying to sell one last thing--but Cuzco gave us the time of day just to watch, breathe in the mountain air and feel slightly special and removed, even if we were in the middle of the Plaza.

We took a combie bus home, and my ride was paid for by the nice man who I sat next to and who thought I knew more Spanish than I let on; that was a Valentine's gift in itself. The slight rain that was falling were our good-night kisses from a city that, even in 2 1/2 weeks, has put us in a construction-paper heart labeled "mine."