From their mountains to their drizzle and their pride in their national brews, the Kingdom and Lesotho have more in common than you might imagine, as HOLLY HUNTdiscovers
‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN this is the only petrol in the whole country?” “Well,” said my boyfriend with a shrug, “there might be some farther west, but we won’t make it that far.” At that moment I spotted a dusty vision galloping towards us. Wrapped in a flowing blanket, and brandishing a long stick, like some terrifying highwayman, he scattered children, goats and chickens in every direction. Great, I thought, we’ve finally found the only petrol in eastern Lesotho and we’re going to lose it to a mounted bandit. I gulped as the thundering hoofs approached. But the horseman charged past in a cloud of choking brown dust, not giving us a second glance. The attendant manning the one rusty pump and the women squatting around us with baskets of sweets and stale biscuits didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Galloping bandits seem to be an everyday phenomenon on Mokhotlong high street.
Stranded in eastern South Africa, Lesotho is in large part more than 1,800m above sea level, a Wild West kingdom in the sky. King Moshoeshoe I, the modern country’s founder, who is widely hailed as the diplomatic genius of 19th-century southern Africa, saved the Basotho, as the people of Lesotho are known, from cannibals, bandits, Boer guns and British rule. Unexpectedly, perhaps, this mountain kingdom’s official twin is our own mountainous kingdom of Kerry.
The twinning, which took place in 2006, involves both communities in development objectives and cultural exchanges in support of the United Nations Millennium Development Goals. And, unlike many other twinnings, Lesotho and Kerry have a lot in common. Their rolling mountains look alike, their soft drizzle and fresh temperatures feel alike, most of their populations own a fine pair of wellies, they are proud of the national brew and everyone has an ingenious way of making a buck or two from a tourist.
But Lesotho has one very obvious difference: it is one of the poorest countries in the world. Forty per cent of the proud Basotho population lives under the poverty line, surviving on less than $1.25 (90c) a day. One in four of these poverty-stricken people has HIV, resulting in 70 HIV- and Aids-related deaths every day. It is an island of mountains and poverty in a sea of dramatically more prosperous plains.
As a country we are Lesotho’s largest bilateral donor, giving just under €28 million to the country in the past few years. Irish aid supports Lesotho’s flying-doctor service, education, sanitation, water, Aids work and many other development projects. It is Ireland’s longest-running aid programme.
But in spite of its problems the country is beautiful and the people are resourceful. To rival Fungi, Lesotho hosts the world’s highest commercial abseil, down a towering waterfall; the opportunity to ski in Africa; endless hiking trails; fly-fishing; thousands of ancient bushman paintings; and the highest pub in Africa.
Our plan was to traverse the eastern side of Lesotho, crossing the Drakensberg, or Dragon, Mountains, to reach the high pub, then descend to the fertile plains of South Africa and, eventually, the Indian Ocean. It is a road trip that can be incorporated into an exploration of the famous Garden Route, just enough off the beaten track to feel like a real adventure.
We entered the Kingdom in the Sky over the Moteng Pass, climbing a twisting tarmac road that dropped to misty green depths. The stark contrast between where we had just spent the morning, sipping aromatic coffees from designer cups and wandering past extravagantly priced art to the tunes of Vivaldi in the town of Clarens, was almost too much. Only a few kilometres apart, not even an hour’s drive, they are different countries economically, culturally and climatically.
Purple and yellow montane flowers hugged the sparse soil. Bleating lambs and the ringing of cow bells echoed through the thick mist, the sun turning weaker the higher we climbed. By the side of the road a man stood tall and proud, wrapped in a ragged blanket and wearing oversized wellies and a woollen hat. In his hand he held an ornate bead- encrusted stick. Behind him his flock of ribby cattle mouthed on the bare earth. His wrinkled, toothless smile was our first welcome to Lesotho.
By early evening we reached New Oxbow Lodge, a traditional fishing lodge overlooking a river that, I was assured by a receptionist wrapped in a woollen hat and scarf, is full of trout. The rivers, though they may not be as prolific as in Kerry, offer similar fly-fishing opportunities. We met a couple who were planning to take two Basotho ponies, a guide, camping equipment and fly-fishing rods in search of rainbow trout and an authentic adventure.
As the sun dipped behind the horizon we arrived at Afri-Ski, one of the continent’s only ski resorts. As this was the middle of summer the resort was deserted, but we managed to locate the Swiss-French hotel manager, who led us to a cosy wooden chalet. We spent the evening with him, sipping Amarula – Africa’s answer to Baileys – surrounded by tinsel and cotton-wool snowmen. Not your average African experience. We woke to a view of mud-scarred hills and chairlifts swinging in the snowless skies. “It’s a full kilometre of skiing in winter,” the manager proclaimed proudly as we said our goodbyes.
The road rapidly deteriorated as we drove south. Wisps of smoke rose from round-roofed stone huts into a cold blue morning sky. The landscape of rolling brown mountains, dotted with hardy sheep and scattered with small stone ruins, looked just like . . . Kerry. Children waved from every seemingly wild and abandoned corner, dressed in thick, colourful Basotho rugs and screaming a pleading chorus of “sweeeeeeeeeeeetiiiieeees” as we passed. I had been warned that if you don’t deliver the goods, children throw stones at your car, but we didn’t experience that once.
We stopped for lunch overlooking the mountains, with not a soul in sight. But within minutes a snotty-nosed herdsman appeared in red wellies. No more than nine years old, he boasted to us in stumbling English of the power of his chief, of the size of his chief’s house and of his chief’s many horses.
The Basotho pony is the transport of choice in Lesotho. Your horse is a source of pride and status – so much so that rustling is common. One horse-trekking operator, based on the border, told me that in one night 20 of his horses vanished, ridden over the mountains to some remote village. With very few roads and so much unpopulated wilderness he will be very lucky ever to find them. “It’s true Wild West country up there,” he said with a sigh and a shake of his head. He now brands all his horses and employs Basotho guides who keep their ears open for any rustling plans.
After filling up our four-wheel drive with the only petrol in eastern Lesotho, and avoiding the galloping horseman, we took a dirt track to Molumong Lodge, which offers self- catering high in the Maluti Mountains. We heated up our baked beans, grilled our bread and then ate our meal under one of the clearest starry skies I’ve experienced. The lodge was basic but clean, run by an enthusiastic local woman and her deaf smiling helper. We were woken in the morning by an old man cajoling three horses into grazing around the house. Children peeked over the wall, chiming “sweeties” hopefully.
By that evening we had reached the highest pub in Africa, at Sani Top Chalet, overlooking the spectacular Sani Pass. We ordered a beer and took in the view. The pass is steep, rocky, slightly hair-raising and the only way down to South Africa. We arrived at Sani Lodge, at the bottom of the pass, exhilarated and in need of another drink.
The lodge was wonderful, run by welcoming people and hosting dozens of nationalities. I learned to sing Happy Birthday to You in Swedish while my boyfriend discussed the pros and cons of BMW motorbikes with an Afrikaans teacher. Not too different from an evening in Dingle.
Posters displayed walking routes all over the walls, and by our third beer we decided a two day-hike to uKhahlamba Drakensberg National Park, would be a great idea. This 243,000-hectare World Heritage site, which borders Lesotho, is dotted with caves. You can spend the night in any of them as long as you are careful: “You may leave your footprints but nothing else,” say the rules.
We had taken a hard look at a map on the wall (after another beer or two) and decided we could easily find our cave – just follow the river. So the next morning, armed with sleeping bags, roll mats and noodles but no map, we headed into the wilderness. We didn’t see another soul all day. Only the barks of startled baboons disturbed the air. We hiked through a sun-drenched landscape, skinny-dipped in clear pools and gradually made our way along the river.
But we didn’t find the cave. It seemed our photographic memories had failed us. We walked on and on, searching for our elusive accommodation. Eventually, as the sun dropped and dark clouds gathered, we found a small cave high on a cliff over the river gorge. We lit a fire and watched the world turn to water. It lashed with rain.
I made my bed on a midden of porcupine and bird dung. Although the smell was rather strong, I slept soundly. I woke to a scene that could have come from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon: mist whooshed past our cave and along the gorge, momentarily exposing the forest opposite us, my boyfriend seated, in silhouette, on an overhang. Swallows chased their breakfast around him, darting back and forth, and the tumble of the river below echoed against the cave walls. I lay in my sleeping bag on my pile of dung, loving every minute of it.
We made our way back along the river thrilled by our evening. I noticed a small black plastic bag filled with Lesotho’s most prevalent export: marijuana. Water and diamonds are its significant natural resources, but I have been assured that marijuana, carried illegally over its mountains throughout the year, is the main money earner for its people.
Back at Sani Lodge we washed off the smell of porcupines, packed our car and headed to the Indian Ocean, leaving behind Kerry’s Wild West African twin.
Where to stay and where to go in Lesotho
Where to stay
New Oxbow Lodge. Oxbow, 00-27-51-9332247, www.oxbow.co.za.
Afri-Ski. Mahlasela Valley. 00-27-11-8888881, www.afriski.net.
Molumong Lodge. Near Thabang, 00-27-83-2543323, www.roofofafrica.co.za.
Sani Lodge. Near Underberg, 00-27-33-7020330, www.sanilodge.co.za.
How to get there
Although the Sani Pass is due to be tarmacked, for now you will need a four-wheel drive to cross it. You can rent one from Avis (www.avis.ie, 1890-405060). Sani Lodge organises day trips up the pass in its four-wheel drives. It also has information on hiking (but buy your own map, too).
Where to go
To go on a Basotho pony trek contact Jacob at Molumong Lodge (see above). Choose from hourly rides or one-night to one-week treks (about €25 per person per night).
For a chance to hook migrating yellow fish, barbel or rainbow trout contact Oxbow Lodge (see above).
The highest pub in Africa is open all year round. 00-27-33-7021305, www.sanitopchalet.co.za.
Twinning
To find out more about the twinning of Kerry and Lesotho, see www.twinningkingdoms.ie.
Go there
British Airways (www.ba.com), South African Airways (www.flysaa.com), Air France (www.airfrance.ie) and KLM (www.klm.com/ie) fly from Dublin to Cape Town or Johannesburg via their hubs.