Honestly I almost skipped Cutimbo entirely. Saw some blurry tomb pics online while planning this Peru trip, thought “eh, more old rocks?”. But my hostel mate Marcos insisted – “bruh, you want weird history? It’s all there.” So I grabbed my half-dead camera and hopped on whatever bus looked vaguely southbound from Puno.
The journey itself was chaos. Missed the first colectivo ’cause I was hunting empanadas. Second one dropped me at some random dirt crossroads where a toothless abuelita pointed uphill muttering “piedras, piedras”. Started walking through sheep fields thinking “great, totally not lost right now”. Took an hour just spotting those first chullpa towers poking the skyline.
First surprise hit me straight away. Those towers are HUGE up close. Like three-storey-high giants made of stones stacked tighter than my ex’s emotional walls. Touched one rough block – instant chills imagining who put it there centuries back. Felt kinda disrespectful standing where bodies once chilled inside these things. Spent ten minutes just staring like a slack-jawed tourist.
- Got pestered by a kid selling “ancient llama necklaces” (probably made Tuesday)
- Stepped in actual alpaca poop scrambling up a hill
- Altitude made my head pound like a drum solo
- Realized I brought ONE water bottle like an idiot
Then sunset happened. Holy crap. Blood-red light slamming those towers while shadows crawled across rock carvings of snakes and pumas. Found this collapsed chullpa filled with wind-whipped wildflowers – snapped my fav pic of the trip right there. A rusty local caretaker materialized from nowhere, grinned toothlessly and said “fantasma” (ghost) pointing at the tombs. Cheeky bugger scared me proper.
Why actually go? Forget the shiny brochures.
Cuz it’s raw. No velvet ropes, no gift shops, just moody towers judging you from above a silent valley. Saw two other humans all afternoon. Felt prehistoric wind slap your face while seeing Inca AND pre-Inca stuff mashed together. Peeked inside a vandalized tomb, saw ancient bones still chilling in rubble. Real history ain’t always pretty behind glass – sometimes it’s windy, empty, and smells like sheep dung. Worth every shaky bus ride back. Just pack extra damn water.
