3 Days in Cusco for Couples: Andean Markets, Hidden Courtyards & Romantic Evenings

Morning arrives thin and bright, the kind of high-altitude light that makes every balcony and terracotta roofline feel etched in ink. You start in San Blas, where the streets are just waking: shutters creak open, a dog barks in the next alley, and the smell of espresso and banana cake drifts out of Barrio Cafe Cusco’s courtyard. From there, the day drops you gently into Qorikancha, the old Inca Temple of the Sun, where polished stone walls and hushed galleries feel almost monastic compared to the traffic on Av. El Sol outside. By midday you’re circling back toward the heart of the city, slipping into KUSYKAY Peruvian Craft Food just off Plaza de Armas—murals on the walls, plates bright with ají amarillo and trout, the low murmur of other travelers comparing Sacred Valley stories. Afternoon is for Plaza de Armas itself: arcades casting long shadows, shoe-shiners calling out, the texture of centuries-old stone under your hand as you lean against a column and watch the square change color. After dark you climb a few discreet stairs to Molly’s Irish Bar and Restaurant Cusco for an easygoing dinner with cold brews and comfort food, then end the night one block away at Black Cat Bar, where the lights are low, the ice clinks in heavy glass, and the playlist runs from Michael Jackson to old-school rock. You go to bed with the echo of bells and bar chatter in your ears, already aware that tomorrow the city will tilt more toward artisans and hillside streets.

The day begins in San Blas where everything feels closer to the sky: thinner air, brighter light, and streets that rise in steep, cobbled ribbons. You duck into Xapiri Ground, part gallery, part café, where the hiss of the espresso machine mingles with quiet audio from indigenous video pieces playing in the next room. Coffee in hand, you wander the neighborhood’s narrow lanes that every guidebook and forum quietly agrees are Cusco’s most compelling—whitewashed walls, hand-painted signs, and artisan workshops behind half-open doors. By late morning you descend toward Waynapata for brunch at Época Cusco, a calm corner space where the smell of pancakes and good coffee wraps around you like a blanket. Afterward, Av. El Sol pulls you back into the city’s practical spine and into the Traditional Textile Center of Cusco, where the rhythmic clack of looms and the lanolin-sweet smell of wool make it clear this is a working space, not just a shop. The afternoon stretches out in the Sagrado Garden next door, where grass, stone, and modern sculpture offer a quiet pause between traffic and temples. When the light softens, you climb back toward San Blas for dinner at Pachapapa, its courtyard warmed by clay ovens and the murmur of couples debating whether to try cuy. The night closes with a slow walk back through the neighborhood, the sound of distant music and your own footsteps on stone, knowing that tomorrow you’ll trade city textures for hilltop viewpoints and archaeological sites.

On your last morning, Cusco greets you with that same high, clear light but you’re ready to see it from above. You climb toward the hilltop, passing small tiendas and laundry lines, until the city falls away behind you and Saqsaywaman’s massive stones take over the horizon. Up here the wind carries the sound of distant horns and church bells in faint, overlapping waves, and the stone under your fingers feels sun-warmed and slightly rough. By midday you’re back in the center, trading ruins for something more indulgent: brunch at Flora, where the air smells of coffee and caramelized fruit and the tables fill with couples comparing trekking plans. Afternoon is for chocolate and detail: a hands-on session at a small workshop where cacao goes from bean to bar under your fingertips, then a quiet stop at the Twelve Angled Stone, where the city’s favorite piece of masonry hides in plain sight on a narrow lane. As dusk settles, you slip into Organika for one last dinner—plates piled with vegetables pulled from their own farm—before closing the trip in a wood-paneled bar above the square, a pisco glass catching the reflection of Plaza de Armas lights. You walk back through the cool air with the taste of cacao and citrus on your tongue, already missing the particular way this city glows at night.