Losing My Religion and Finding My Humanity on a Peruvian Ayahuasca Retreat

This is part of Reason‘s 2025 summer travel issue. Click here to read the rest of the issue.

As the second ceremony commenced and I was handed my half-dose of the plant medicine, I took a deep breath and thought, “This is going to be an amazing night.”

I was transported to a cathedral-like space, and all around me were shapes and colors I can’t rightly describe. It was beautiful. I couldn’t stop looking around at these things I had never seen before. As I marveled, one shape seemed different. Somehow, I knew that I was going to be pulled into that shape.

Indeed I was, and was taken to a new room with new shapes and new colors. It was scary at first, this new room. But I soon acclimated and returned to enjoying the view. Then another shape appeared—a scarier shape—and I was again pulled through.

The sequence continued, each pull into a new shape taking me deeper into a realm of unfamiliar sensations. Time was distorted; I couldn’t grasp whether minutes or hours had passed. Each new “room” brought more fear than the last, as if I were moving further away from reality and into a world where everything familiar was unraveling.

After several of these transitions, the fear became more acute. When a new shape pulled me in, I said in my mind, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” I heard a voice respond, “You said you wanted to heal for those who couldn’t do it themselves.”

It was true. One of my intentions for this trip had been to help heal the generations of women before me who hadn’t had the opportunity for such an experience. Grounded by the response, I found the strength to keep going.

Again and again, a new shape pulled me into what felt like a new dimension. It was too scary. I said I wanted to be done. I was reminded of my plan, and so I continued. On and on. It began happening faster.

As I was pulled into another shape, my legs went numb. The sensation spread upward, leaving my neck and head without feeling. Finally, my arms fell, lifeless and heavy, as if they no longer belonged to me.

Then it hit me—like a jolt of cold realization: I had just died.

A Journey to Death and Rebirth

My path to this harrowing moment began when I escaped nearly a decade of abuse from a pastor. I got a new job, packed my belongings and what was left of my faith, moved across the country, and spent months in a puddle of tears on the floor of a 700-square-foot Washington, D.C., apartment. One SSRI, two therapists, and about a dozen books on abuse and trauma helped me stand up again. But I felt untethered from everything I thought I knew about the world, and I craved a deeper reckoning.

Thanks to D.C.’s Entheogenic Plant and Fungus Policy Act of 2020, which decriminalized recreational psilocybin (along with ayahuasca and mescaline), I was able to start exploring psychedelics. My mushroom trips had been beautiful, tear-filled, and cleansing, and I was eager to further explore the interior of my mind.

Ayahuasca in particular fascinated me. But while its legal status is the same as psilocybin—federally illegal and a Schedule I drug under the Controlled Substances Act, but decriminalized in a handful of places—it is harder to get your hands on than mushrooms, which you can grow in your home or easily purchase online. I also wanted an authentic experience that took me away from the everyday distractions that, for better or worse, prevented me from addressing the pain I was still holding.

I arrived in Cusco, Peru, about 48 hours before my first ayahuasca trip—a requirement to acclimate to the altitude of 11,152 feet. My plane touched down just after midnight, and I paid an Uber driver 13.60 sol (about $3.70) for the 12-minute drive to my hotel. Watching the city through my rain-speckled window, I felt an odd familiarity in this unfamiliar place.

In my teens and early 20s, I went on several short-term Christian mission trips, mostly to the Philippines. Peru is a very different country, and yet seeing the rows of densely packed homes, small bodegas, internet cafés, and people walking arm in arm transported me back to my 16-year-old self: nervous, exhausted, hoping I remembered every word of the Gospel presentation I’d rehearsed on the flight.

Over the 14 years since my last mission trip, I have reexamined the proselytizing we did. I no longer hold to most of the beliefs I proudly declared then, but I don’t regret what I learned from the missionary trips of my youth. Traveling to new countries—first in groups, then alone—became a lifelong love. More than anything else, I learned to see my fellow human beings as unique individuals of incalculable value.

The next morning, I wandered around the city and practiced my Spanish by declining offers to peruse jewelry, knickknacks, artwork, and alpaca clothing. An artist named Manuel (though he jokingly introduced himself as Pablo Picasso) spoke better English than anyone else I encountered, and so I took him up on his offer to show me around. For an hour we spoke in each other’s languages, and before we parted I bought a few of his paintings—spending more than planned but happy to repay his easy friendship.

I joined a more formal pay-what-you-want walking tour and met a Californian woman named Annette. She was dressed more appropriately than I was for the alternating cold, rain, and sun. As we climbed Cusco’s steep streets, I felt the effects of the altitude and had to break for air.

Annette was better adjusted to the environment; she had been in the country for a week already. I soon learned that she had just returned from an ayahuasca retreat herself. She was not new to psychedelics but sought out ayahuasca after losing her son to suicide. Her son, she told me, had visited her during her second ceremony and brought her the closure she longed for. Tearing up, I hugged her and thanked her for sharing such an intimate moment.

In the afternoon, I impulsively got a tattoo. My artist, Zilver, and I quickly realized that neither my Spanish nor his English was strong enough to carry the conversation, so I downloaded the first translation app with decent reviews, and we took turns typing questions as needed. The drawing came together, and I left with a keepsake on my ribs: three celestial beings framed by the words Unbound, Untethered, Unfettered.

Back at the hotel, the effects of altitude sickness grew worse. Aided by another app (Pedidos Ya, a Latin American app similar to DoorDash), I got some dinner but barely touched it before curling up and shivering to sleep. I awoke drenched in sweat (pro tip: Alpaca blankets are absurdly warm) but feeling much better. After a breakfast of watermelon and coca tea, I packed my bags and headed to the plaza where the van to the retreat was waiting.

Choosing the Right Retreat

Ayahuasca is a decoction of the stems of the Banisteriopsis caapi vine and the leaves of the Psychotria viridis shrub—two plants native to the Amazon—which are boiled down for several hours, sometimes even more than a day. The active ingredient in P. viridis (known as chacruna in Peru) is dimethyltryptamine (DMT), the compound that provides the hallucinogenic effects and earns the concoction its Schedule I restrictions, but it only becomes orally active when combined with B. caapi or a similar plant.

In 2006, the Supreme Court unanimously ruled in Gonzales v. O Centro Espírita Beneficente União do Vegetal that the U.S. federal government had to allow the União do Vegetal—a Christian Spiritist religion that originated in Brazil—to import and consume ayahuasca for religious ceremonies. Since then, five cities, three states, and the District of Columbia have made legal carve-outs for entheogenic substances, but ayahuasca remains federally prohibited. In 2018, a 22-year-old Colombian American and a 42-year-old Canadian citizen became the first known individuals convicted of possessing ayahuasca, both caught separately smuggling small batches of the tea into the U.S. in shampoo bottles.

I don’t believe the government has the right to dictate what we ingest, let alone what parts of our minds we may access. But prohibition increases user risk by making purity impossible to guarantee, which made me wary of a stateside retreat. I reached out to a few retreats in the Atlanta area, where I now live, to ask if they were exempt under one of the past court rulings. Most didn’t respond, though one cryptically replied, “While I don’t thoroughly understand the premise of your question, I can share that our church has been holding retreats in Georgia for the past seven years.” That was not reassuring.

I sought retreats that were upfront about who should and shouldn’t participate. A good retreat should list medical conditions, medications, and lifestyle factors that are incompatible with ayahuasca. They should also emphasize the risks—even for healthy, sober individuals—and strongly encourage a preparatory diet. I wanted a place that prioritized safety and responsible guidance over cashing in on the podcast-fueled surge of seekers chasing a psychedelic adventure.

For these reasons (and because they had availability at a reasonable price point), I chose Etnikas Integrative Medicine in Peru. After signing medical forms and waivers, I paid $50 for an on-site EKG upon my arrival—cheaper and more convenient than scheduling one back home. All that was left to do was stick to the strict diet (abstaining from red meat, pork, alcohol, cannabis, refined sugars, dairy, caffeine, and any sexual activities) for the next three weeks. “Practicing dietary discipline is seen, from a shamanic perspective, as showing respect to the medicine,” according to Etnikas, “and is believed to lead to more insight and less difficulty” during the ceremony.

The Road to Etnikas

On the 90-minute bus ride from central Cusco to Etnikas, my new acquaintances and I were captivated by treacherous cliffs, lush jungles, and the occasional alpaca. I saw elementary-aged children laugh and play near the street, a barefoot man on a homemade ladder passing construction materials to another barefoot man on a roof, and countless roadside markets selling hats, ponchos, and trinkets. A brick wall in a small village had “FREE PALESTINE” spray-painted messily across it. Such snapshots reminded me how universal the human experience is, regardless of geography.

I felt reverberations of the call that once stirred in me to be a missionary. In 2011, I tested that call by spending three months working at an orphanage on the Filipino island of Mindanao. Afterward, I never considered a lifetime of missionary work again. But I understand why it once appealed to me: Beyond Jesus’ directive to “go therefore and make disciples of all the nations,” I longed for a life among tightly knit communities in a place of wild beauty. But romanticizing that life ignores important considerations, and too many missionaries with distorted motives do more harm than good. I think what many of us really want is a simpler, more connected way of living, even if we don’t know how to name it.

Passing through impoverished areas, my emotions shifted again. I saw people surviving with so little, facing struggles I couldn’t begin to fathom, even as the second Trump administration was promising to shut down avenues for immigration and violently remove undocumented immigrants. All I could think was how these people should be welcomed if they ever made it to the United States, and what an immeasurable benefit my homeland could be—and used to be—to those who have known hardship.

Etnikas turned out to be both expansive and tucked away, nestled in a valley split by a raging river. Towering mountains—lush, green, impossibly alive—rise on all sides, as if the earth itself is holding you in a place of safety.

My fellow companions came from around the world: Hawaii, Ohio, Virginia, Maryland, Florida, New York, Argentina, Canada, Costa Rica, Trinidad and Tobago, Romania. Just as varied were the reasons that had brought us here. In a group meeting, we shared what led us to embark on an ayahuasca retreat—processing death and divorce, healing from abuse, preparing to start a company, recovering from addiction, searching for meaning. We also got an intimate glimpse into the spiritual beliefs of our hosts.

Teddy, one of the founders of Etnikas, told us about his experiences with ayahuasca—30 to 40 journeys so far—and why he started this healing center. His English faltered at times, but his message was clear: Everything comes down to love. “If I do not love a stranger as much as I love my spouse, I do not really love,” he said. “If I don’t love an enemy like I love my mother, I haven’t learned to really love.”

I couldn’t help but hear the words of Jesus I had memorized as a child: “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you….If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that?”

We then took part in what felt, to me, like a baptism. Standing in the freezing river, our maestro dipped a bundle of flowers and reeds in the water and sprinkled it over our heads while whispering a blessing. We were told to focus on forgiveness.

As I looked down at my feet and the current rushing over them, my mind drifted, briefly, to the man who had hurt me for so long. But just as quickly as the river carried itself downstream, the weight of him, and what was before unforgiven, washed away.

My First Ayahuasca Ceremony

Ceremonies differ, depending on where you are and who is leading you. Etnikas works with healers from the Shipibo-Conibo, an indigenous Amazonian tribe, and healers from the Q’ero tribe, descendants of the Inca who live high in the Andes mountains.

The first ceremony is preceded by a medical exam and a psychological evaluation, which help the retreat nurses determine your first dose. The ceremony itself begins with a meditation.

Ceremonies take place in a maloca—a large, round structure typically constructed from natural materials—with small cots or beds lining the walls. Next to each bed is a bucket, a roll of toilet paper, and a small dish (for placing your ayahuasca cup after partaking). Ayahuasca is a purgative medicine, which means that, for most people, its use is accompanied by vomiting or diarrhea. Or both. (Another moment of connection among the group was realizing we all had one goal in common: not to shit our pants.)

We took our seats, propped up on pillows and covered with alpaca blankets. Staff brought each of us our medicine, most of us beginning the first night with a quarter or half dose. With a raise of our glasses and a timid “salud,” we threw back our first shot of ayahuasca. It did not taste pleasant. The viscous substance is dark brown and opaque and tastes like a tragic combination of Vegemite and prune juice, with an earthy aftertaste that lingers. Once the medicine is taken, you aren’t supposed to drink anything for at least an hour (or until you start puking—whichever comes first), so we rinsed our mouths, spit in our buckets, and relaxed into our cots.

For an hour, we sat in the silence and the dark. Occasionally, someone would stir or sound like they were experiencing some light discomfort. Eventually, we were checked one by one and asked if we wanted another dose. I started the night with a quarter dose and had not yet felt any effects, so I chose to take a second quarter dose.

Within five minutes, the nausea hit. That same thing seemed to be happening to the others: The sounds of puking—and of people being escorted to the restroom—became consistent. I felt terrible but kept reassuring myself I’d soon feel the relief of purging.

Another 30 minutes later, our main facilitator, Rosie, checked on me. I reported feeling miserable but unable to vomit. Rosie said something I couldn’t hear through the fog of my own discomfort. When I looked at her indignantly, she simply said, “Bekah: Focus.”

With this instruction, I picked up my bucket, placed it in front of me, and got on all fours. Staring into the bucket, I commanded myself: “Puke.” Whether it was my instruction that did it or just the effect of jostling myself around, I did begin to vomit, immediately and a lot. It was intense, but it passed quickly enough. The nausea gave way not simply to the expected after-puking relief but to such a feeling of comfort and peace that I lay back down and reveled for a while in gratitude that I no longer felt ill.

Not all of my companions were experiencing that relief. The room was a cacophony of retching, moaning, crying, and guttural grunting. We had been told it’s good to send loving energy to our friends when we hear them struggling. I found that this made me feel connected to my fellow voyagers and pulled me deeper into my own experience.

After a while, our Shipibo maestra began to sing over the room—hypnotic lines that I can still hear clearly in my mind. Then she moved from bed to bed and sang over each of us individually. The maestro and maestra take ayahuasca along with the group, and the songs are improvised based on the feelings between singer and participant.

Between very mild visualizations and some sensations not too different from what I experienced on psilocybin, I found myself spending time with each of my siblings. Remembering the focus on forgiveness, I expected I was going to forgive them for things I might be holding against them. Instead, I found myself asking for forgiveness for the times that I had not been the sister I wanted to be. I saw them each in a new, beautiful light, and the night passed with some tears of happiness before I fell asleep.

I woke around 2 a.m., had another medical check-in, and walked back to my room. I lay in bed for a while thinking about the experience, which was, overall, far less extraordinary than I had anticipated. But the feeling of connection was so strong. I felt connected to myself and my companions, to the mountains, to the dewdrops sliding off a leaf and watering the earth. Everything felt like a part of me, and I felt like an infinitesimally small yet vital part of the whole. This was in stark contrast to my typically American (and typically libertarian) sense of individuality.

I thought about the value that is so often put on self-sufficiency and individuality. We innovate, develop, and create new tools to achieve this sense of freedom. Undoubtedly, some things are better because of this. Most of us in the United States have easy and consistent access to electricity, clean water, and, often, better roads than you may find in Peru. We can order groceries and buy clothes and have them arrive at our front door without ever interacting with another person. We also have a loneliness epidemic and popular Christian figures arguing that having empathy for others is problematic or even sinful. What really makes for a more idyllic human experience: fewer provisions but deeper connections, or convenience aplenty without a close friend in sight?

What would our society look like if more of us saw others as part of ourselves? What if our lawmakers felt this, even once? I recalled an old episode of The Joe Rogan Experience when journalist Graham Hancock said psychedelics can “elevate us away from our war-like ways” and, later, said that anyone who wants to run for president should “have at least a dozen sessions with a powerful psychedelic. It can be DMT, it can be ayahuasca, it can be LSD, but they got to go through those dozen sessions. They should be guided by experienced practitioners.” At the end of those sessions, he hypothesized, “I very much doubt if those individuals would be the same individuals who went into the application for the job in the first place.”

Still under the lingering spell of the mind-altering medicine, I drifted to sleep, pondering this idea anew.

My Second Ceremony and First Death

We spent a portion of the next day at an orphanage that Etnikas supports. The language divide was easily bridged with a game of soccer, and the kids easily schooled their visitors handicapped by age and change in altitude.

Throughout the day, I felt a little anxious about having another pleasant but mild trip; I had come all the way here for something extraordinary. But as the second ceremony commenced and I was handed my half-dose, I thought, “This is going to be an amazing night.”

I had no idea.

Not seven minutes after swallowing the brew, I thought I saw something; not a vision I could describe, but something I knew wasn’t familiar. “Already?” I asked silently. I was prepared for another slow start like the night before. Instantly, though, I heard my question answered. “If you’re ready,” a voice said. Confidently, I closed my eyes and said, “OK.”

What transpired over the next hour or so will never be fully understandable to anyone who wasn’t experiencing it, and honestly, perhaps not even to me. But after I was pulled from shape to shape and room to room, I suddenly became convinced that I had died.

Facing death is a common experience on psychedelics. “Of all the phenomenological effects that people on psychedelics report, the dissolution of the ego seems to me by far the most important and the most therapeutic,” journalist Michael Pollan writes in How to Change Your Mind. “It is this that gives us the mystical experience, the death rehearsal process, the overview effect, the notion of a mental reboot, the making of new meanings, and the experience of awe.”

I was aware of this phenomenon, having read Pollan’s book twice, but that knowledge was nowhere to be found when I entered my own death rehearsal process. Then I truly believed that my body had died—and that if I didn’t do something quickly, the rest of me would die as well. I panicked. I wasn’t safe, I knew it, and I had to get out.

I had to do something that is hard for me under normal circumstances, thanks to anxiety about being an inconvenience: ask for help. And I did. “I need help. I need help. Please. Please, somebody help me.”

Help came. Rosie was at my side again, offering some encouragement. I began to cry. Sob. Wail. I repeated my cries for help and said, “I have to be done.” As Rosie and another nurse whispered to each other in Spanish, I still wasn’t convinced I had been heard. With every bit of strength I had left, I sat up and looked Rosie in the eye: “You’re not listening to me. I have to be done. You have to let me be done.”

A few minutes later, I was told they were going to take me to the adjacent medical room. After I argued that I was unable to walk (I was dead, after all), a staffer on either side escorted me out of the maloca. I saw the distant light coming from the open maloca door and thought that if I just got through this, I might still have a chance to live.

My trip was nowhere near done, but I passed the rest of it in the medical room. Rosie became my own personal shaman that night. Purging came, but this time in the form of deep and heavy sobs accompanied by confessions that flowed from my mouth without my consent. “He hurt me. He hurt me for so long. I was only ever kind to him, but he hurt me so badly.”

Rosie held me gently as my body trembled, each sob releasing a wound from eight years of silence. It felt as though a younger version of me—one who should have felt safe to speak up—was finally allowed to tell her truth. Every word was an exorcism, every tear an offering, and with each confession a weight was lifted.

My body ached for sleep, but closing my eyes brought back the scary visualizations. Almost instinctively, I began to sing the lullabies that had comforted me as a child. As I drifted off to sleep on the mattress in the medical room, I felt a shift. The emotional storms had passed. I was reborn.

What I Learned From Ayahuasca

If I had been told beforehand that I would be taken out of my second ayahuasca ceremony and spend hours crying on someone’s lap, I would have considered it a personal failure. Maybe I hadn’t followed the instructions correctly, I would have thought; or maybe I just wasn’t strong enough to endure the experience. But that is not how I felt when I woke up the next morning.

“Mother Ayahuasca does not give you what you want,” the saying goes. “She gives you what you need.” I now knew that to be true.

For years, I was slowly dying, trapped in a labyrinth of lies and manipulation and abuse. If something hadn’t forced my silence to break—in my case, the resignation of this pastor after another victim (and then several more victims) came forward—I would still be trapped. Or perhaps I wouldn’t be here at all. Ayahuasca gave me exactly what I needed: the chance to again feel that wretched hopelessness, that dark loneliness, that hurt. But this time, I went through it with the strength to ask for help; and this time, someone answered my call. On that floor of a maloca in Peru, I felt the strength, not weakness, that it takes to be vulnerable and admit I couldn’t do it alone.

I look back on my ayahuasca trips with happiness and gratitude. I think the world could be a better place if more people felt the deep connection to our planet and its inhabitants that can come from an ayahuasca experience. I also still firmly believe that no government has the right to restrict that option from those who want it.

Yet I don’t think I could ever personally advise someone to do it. We all have our own unique hidden pains. Without knowing what Mother Ayahuasca may uncover for someone, I couldn’t possibly say whether this would be wise for them. What I can say is that ayahuasca should not be taken lightly. I healed some soul-deep wounds, but I also passed the hardest night of my life in the hands of someone who was trained to care for me, in a place dedicated to that very healing. Without the proper mindset and physical setting, and without Rosie, I would have had a very different kind of trip. Anyone considering an ayahuasca retreat should do so with respect for the powerful medicine it is.

Ayahuasca is not the only agent for creating a sense of connection with our world. International travel is cheaper and easier than ever. Flying was once considered a luxury, but it has become commonplace as airline prices have decreased. New technologies have made travel not just cheaper but easier to navigate. Apps such as Duolingo, Babbel, or Pimsleur allow us to learn a new language before leaving the country, and Google Translate and iTranslate provide instant translation assistance. The global availability of apps from Airbnb to Lyft to food delivery platforms makes travel far less mysterious and onerous. As the rhetoric demonizing people outside our borders grows more heated, those who do not want to outsource our thinking to politicians should try to put ourselves in new places, take ourselves on new adventures, and meet the people with whom we share this rock.

As I learned with ayahuasca, the greatest healing often comes from the most challenging experiences. True connection—to ourselves, to others, to the divine—requires a willingness to step beyond the familiar and embrace the unknown. Whether through travel, conversation, or plant medicine, the path to understanding starts with a choice: to see, to listen, and to open ourselves to transformation.

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7-Day Ayahuasca Experience in Peru Day 1
Flight to Cusco

International flights mostly connect through Lima before continuing to Cusco. Once you arrive at the Alejandro Velasco Astete International Airport in Cusco, you can use Uber or Lyft to get a low-cost ride to your hotel.

IMPORTANT: Untreated water in Cusco is not safe to drink. Purchase or refill water bottles in Lima. Your hotel concierge can direct you to where you can buy bottled water nearby.

Stay in Cusco for two nights.

Standard hotel: Hotel Cusco Plaza Nazarenas

High-end hotel: Palacio del Inka by Marriott

Day 2
Free day in Cusco

Use today to start acclimating to the altitude. Many hotels provide coca leaves, which you can make into tea to help with symptoms of altitude sickness. Pace yourself and drink lots of water.

Optional activities: Free walking tour, Cusco Cathedral in Plaza de Armas (after morning Mass), Museum of Pre-Colombian Art

Day 3
Transfer to Etnikas

Etnikas will provide you with the time and place to meet your bus for the 1.5-hour drive to the retreat. Eat a light breakfast before you leave, remembering to follow the diet restrictions Etnikas provides you.

When you arrive, you will be taken to your room to drop off your luggage before rejoining the group for a meeting and preceremony rituals. If you opted to get your electrocardiogram done on site, that will happen this afternoon, along with a psychological evaluation to determine your first dose.

First Ayahuasca Ceremony

Dress comfortably and don’t forget your water bottle. You do not need to bring anything else with you. Phones and recording devices are strictly prohibited during ceremonies and should be left in your room. Ceremonies begin with an hour of meditation and can last until well after midnight. Always listen to your facilitators and medical team for the best possible outcome.

Stay at Etnikas for four nights.

Day 4
Second Ayahuasca Ceremony

Breakfast is provided this morning. There is no lunch or dinner on ceremony days, but fruit and tea are available throughout the day. The staff will tell you about group meetings and volunteer opportunities.

You will have opportunities to share your experiences and hear what others experienced in the first ceremony. Ask questions and prepare your mind for another trip.

Day 5
Free day at Etnikas

There’s no ceremony tonight, so breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all provided. The staff will tell you about group meetings and volunteer opportunities. You can also spend time exploring and hiking around Etnikas, playing with the many pets on the property (dogs, cats, and alpacas), painting or doing yoga in the little maloca, reading, writing, or napping.

Day 6
Third Ayahuasca Ceremony

Breakfast is provided this morning. Tonight will be your final ayahuasca ceremony. Remember that there will be no lunch or dinner, so eat fruit and hydrate throughout the day.

Day 7
Transfer to Cusco

Breakfast will be provided this morning. The staff will tell you when you need to be ready to leave. You will be taken back to central Cusco, where you can call an Uber back to the airport for your return flight or to a hotel if you are extending your trip.

The post Losing My Religion and Finding My Humanity on a Peruvian Ayahuasca Retreat appeared first on Reason.com.

Source: https://reason.com/2025/07/28/cusco-peru/