One Happy Kingdom

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I had found the Africa I was searching for, but, until I had crossed the imaginary line in the sand, I had not found. On the South African side of the line there were towns and cities filled with a fear-based misery that seemed to affect both the obscenely rich and the hopelessly poor alike. All of the fear and all of the racial segregation instantly disappeared as we drove through the border post, received our passport stamps and emerged into the mountain kingdom of Lesotho. It was an amazing contrast! There were no signs of the fortified homes, the electrified razor-wire fences, or the killer attack dogs that were so common in nearly every city I had been in in South Africa. Instead, everywhere we looked we saw smiling, happy faces and laughing children excitedly waving as we slowly drove by. I would guess that most of Lesotho's residents live well below what we in the Western World would call the poverty line, yet I saw no poverty - Everyone seemed to be content, even happy, with what they had! The streets were filled with school children, all dressed in matching uniforms, heading home after a long day at school - I learned later that every child is obligated to go to school in Lesotho and that some of them are forced to walk a long distance every day to do so.

We wound our way through the mountainous county side, the rolling, golden hills set aglow by the warm afternoon light, and we passed through several villages of round mud and stone huts. At times our progress was slowed by a herd of cows or goats as their shepherd guided them to new pastures, or by a heavily laden donkey cart and occasionally by potholes capable of swallowing a car. Despite a long detour due to a wrong turn, we eventually came to the end of the pavement and we started to climb a well maintained dirt road, which led to a pass called the Gates of Paradise. From our lofty vantage point at the Gates of Paradise the stunning Malealea Valley stretched out before us like a lost world, bound in isolation by the tall mountains that surrounded it. A short drive later along a slightly rougher dirt road that was clinging to the edge of the mountain we arrived at the main gate for the Malealea Lodge where we found a place to stay. We whiled away our first night in Lesotho listening to two great local musical performances, one by an excellent youth choir and the other by a very entertaining 'Junk Funk' band who played traditional tunes on homemade instruments, and then we sat around a camp fire with a large and diverse group of travelers and we worked at solving all of the world's problems well into the early hours of morning - It was an enjoyable night!

The following morning we set off on foot with our guide Johnathan to explore a nearby canyon that contained some bushman paintings. Our path took us out into the undulating fields of sour-gum and maize that filled the Malealea Valley. We hiked along heavily rutted, red-dirt roads through the golden grains amid a stunning backdrop of jagged peaks and remote villages. Eventually the trail led to a deep chasm that split the valley in two and formed a formidable obstacle to anyone trying to reach the fields and villages on the other side. Our path then turned and followed the rim of the sheer canyon wall for a short distance and then it turned down into the depths of the narrow gorge. We had only descended a short distance over a patch of foot-worn sand stone when we came to a large, cave-like overhang called Echo Cave. Our guide explained how the cave got its name and then demonstrated its use by shouting a few words in his native language. His words seemed to amplify as they reflected off of the surrounding walls and shot across the canyon, returning to us in several booming echoes - Apparently the cave was used as a sort of telephone to send a message a long way quickly. We all tried our hand at sending a message to the people of Malealea Valley - From my boring and uninspired, "Hello!", to my friend's well-sung rendition of a Welsh Melody, our messages were sent out into the countryside to anyone who chose to listen.

We spent several minutes in the Echo Cave letting everyone around know that there were tourists in the area and then we headed deeper into the canyon. At times the trail was nothing more than a narrow stone path clinging to the side of the sheer canyon wall. At other times the path descended in tight, gravelly switch-backs through thick greenery and stunted stands of trees. We came to a stop at a sun-soaked, slightly overhanging cliff face hidden in the trees and there we found our first pictographs. The multi-colored paintings were of commonly hunted animals, many of which are now extinct in Lesotho, and of strange humanoid figures - There was a famous painting there of a human with very long, thin legs, which had been dubbed 'Daddy Long-Legs' by the locals. The sunlight made the slightly faded paintings on the cliff face difficult to see, but Johnathan did an excellent job pointing out and describing each of them. We left the sun-soaked wall and slipped our way down a few more steep switch-backs, scrambled over a few large boulders and emerged from the trees at the bottom of the canyon near a large pool of water at the foot of several massive blocks of stone - It was a beautiful place so we sat there for a few minutes before we moved on. The last section of trail turned steeply up the opposite wall of the canyon and ascended into the trees. We had to climb up the slippery slope using exposed roots and stones as foot and handholds, but we only had to go a short distance. The trail ended at another cave-like overhang, this time on the shadowy side of the gorge. The pictographs there were in excellent condition, depicting a large hunting scene among other things, and the shadows made them very easy to see. The overhang itself was hidden in the trees, but there was a nice view of the stunning canyon through a gap in the greenery - The sheer red walls of sandstone were glowing brightly in the warm, pre-noon sun, bound by the green vegetation and the deep cobalt sky and a lone tree with bright yellow leaves stood alone in the center to complete the stunning scene.

We retraced our steps along the same trail back out of the canyon. When we reached the Echo Cave we met two local children carrying two large bags of grain on their heads - Apparently the only grain grinder in the area was located near the lodge where we were staying and the children had to make the journey regularly. Just before we reached the village two more children, wearing tired, hand-me-down clothes, emerged from the peaceful setting of a small homestead and ran towards us waving and yelling, "good-bye!" - Their mother, who was working in the field in the distance, next to their stone rondavel hut, stopped for a moment and watched us walk by.

Later in the day we set out on a whirl-wind journey to Lesotho's Capital, Maseru, with Johnathan, our guide from earlier. We were going into town to buy some supplies for our upcoming pony trek that we were going to start the following day. It was my day to drive and I did fairly well dodging all of the obstacles during the ride into town, but, after our shopping was completed, I had a small tire squealing incident as I launched our car, up hill, into the never ending line of traffic - All ended well, but I think I scared my passengers a bit! Our ride back to Malealea was beautiful, due to the setting sun behind the mountains. We reached the Gates of Paradise after dark and then we arrived back at the lodge just in time (half an hour late) for dinner. The campfire discussions took up where we had left off the night before, but I was tired so I went to bed well before we discovered the path to world peace!

Bright and early the next morning we packed up our saddle bags and we rode out of Malealea Lodge. It seemed like the whole town had come out to see us off. In the lead of our group of adventurers was our guide proudly wearing his mining helmet, a badge of honor in Lesotho, and a colorful winter coat that was more than suitable for Antarctic Service - I, on the other hand, was wearing a t-shirt and I was hot! The rest of the group was made up of my friends Alan and Steph, two English guys with their guide (we were two different groups, but we were following the same trail on our first day) and myself - In total there were nine horses! I was riding a large, white horse, similar in appearance to the last horse I had ridden, El Blanco, in Mexico - I was soon to find out that my new horse shared similar diabolical traits with El Blanco, which was unfortunate!

It took all of us a few minutes to get used to being in the saddle again and it took a bit longer to get to know our horses - By the time we had reached the lip of the huge canyon I had learned that my horse liked (demanded) to be in the front, just behind the leader, regardless of what he had to do to get there! Our trail seemed to end at the lip of the canyon, but, much to our dismay, we could see it pick up again on the other side and we could see some horses crossing the gravely river bed far below us, which told us that our path somehow clinged to the steep walls of the chasm in front us. It was with a feeling of trepidation that I watched our guide prod his horse forward over the edge and effortlessly lead it down steep, heavily exposed switchbacks and sloping patches of smooth rock that, coupled with a pebbly, ball-bearing-like surface, was as treacherous as an icy slope above a yawning crevasse! Ignoring all of the good sense my brain could produce, I led my horse forward over the edge and down we went with a slow, lurching movement. I repeatedly cringed as I heard the abrasive, grinding sound of hooves slipping on hard rock. At times, when I looked out ahead of me, all I could see was white horse and clear air and the river bed far below, generally, probably just to spite me, my horse would throw in an unwanted stumble or slip just to let me know who was in charge - I, of course, knew that the horse knew what he was doing and that he wanted to live as much as I did, so I trusted him enough to let him choose his own path down, for the most part. It seemed like it took an adrenalin filled eternity to reach the gravel banks of the river, but we all made it down without incident. At the bottom we let our animals get a good drink from the river and then we headed up the other side - It was difficult to believe that we were on the main highway in the region! The climb up the other side of the canyon was much easier, possibly because the gaping chasm was to our backs, safely out of view, but it still took us a while to reach the top and safe ground.

With the canyon behind us we all relaxed a bit - It had, after all, been a lot of fun! The trail again turned into a flat, rutted dirt path that weaved its way through village after village and the lovely planted fields of golden grain and red soil that separated them. It was nearing lunch time and we were all ready for a stop. I was especially ready for a break, mainly because, ever since we had reached safe ground, the two English guys had been repeatedly trying to pass me just to see my horse take off. They were doing it to get a good laugh and it really was a bit funny, but, just like clock work, every time they got beside El Blanco Segundo, as I had started calling him by that point, he would take off running and I would start pleading with him to slow down - Everyone else would get their laughs and then they would fall back a bit and wait in the shadows for their next opportunity. We rode through a lovely section of road that was lined on both sides with massive, green agave plants (our guide called them century plants) that had their huge stalks towering over our heads like a green colonnade - The plants added a well needed burst of green to the otherwise brownish-orange landscape, which had a beautiful effect! The path, now as wide as a road, turned down a gradually sloping grade and entered a lovely arm of the valley. El Blanco Segundo took off running down the hill, prodded on by the laughing English guys, and I had had enough! The horse payed no attention to the commands I was trying to give him through the reins and I started having visions of a similar occurrence in the Copper Canyon in Mexico - In a desperate attempt to head off another El Blanco-esque out of control gallop, I swung my leg over the saddle and I leaped off of the horse onto the ground, keeping a hold of the saddle until I had my footing. This caught the horse (and everyone else) off guard and he slowed down and became manageable again - I walked the rest of the way to our lunch spot and my horse walked beside me.

The canyon-like valley we were in was beautiful and the gently sloping patch of grass we had stopped at, coupled with a bit of shade, made our lunch stop wonderful. After what seemed like an hour, our guide hinted that we should collect our horses and get back on the trail. Over gently flowing streams and dusty fields, where ever the trail led us over the remainder of the day, I walked in front of my horse and led him by the reins. The local villagers looked at me with wide eyes and children laughed and pointed - All of them seemed to be wondering the same thing, "Why is he walking when he has a perfectly good horse?" Towards evening, when the sun had started its descent towards the western horizon, I started wondering the same thing. I decided that any bad memories that lingered from my experience with El Blanco in Mexico would not go away by walking beside my horse, so I climbed back into the saddle and there I stayed for the rest of the day - Of course, the rest of the day ended up only being an hour or so!

All along the trail children would continuously run up to us and ask us for sweets, a habit started by careless travelers no doubt. In the last village we rode through that day one of these begging children ran up to us, but he took it to a new level when he said in a forceful tone, "Give me Money!", much like you would expect a mugger to do - It was one of the funniest things I had heard all day, but only because it was so unexpected! We rode into the village that we would be calling home for the night about an hour before sunset. We stowed our things in an empty rondaval hut that we were directed to and then we set off on foot along a narrow path that led to a big waterfall in the area.

We walked quickly along the poorly developed trail so that we could make it back to the village before dark. The trail itself, though in bad shape in places, was one of the most beautiful I have followed in a long time. It was only shoulder width and, for most of its length, it was hacked out of an extremely steep mountainside, winding in and out of ravines as it slowly sloped down towards the river below. At times we were hiking in the warm early evening sun light and at other times, mainly in the ravines, we descended into shadow. Eventually the tail left the sunlight and we stayed in the shadows for the remainder of the hike. The waterfall ended up being well worth the effort. Its narrow stream of white water poured over the side of a tall cliff and crashed down onto the rocks in front of us. The whole canyon we were in echoed with the roar of thunder and mist filled the air. We sat for a few minutes on the cool rocks and took in the wonderful scene and then, after I filled my water bottles in the cool, clean water, we headed back down the trail. The sky had turned a deep, purplish-red, which told us that darkness was near. We got on the trail and ascended a little ways up to where the last rays of the sinking sun struck the path and we watched as the fiery orb fell below the horizon - Our march through the darkness proved to be a bit treacherous, but, in the end, a lot of fun. We arrived back in the village beneath and amazing canopy of stars - It was one of the few times I had really noticed the stars since I left the bark Europa and they were a welcome sight!

We set off early the next morning and we retraced our steps for a while. Eventually we reached a slow flowing stream, one that I had gotten my feet wet in the day before, and we parted ways with the English guys and their guide - They were following the familiar trail all the way back to Malealea, but we were taking the path less traveled! Our guide had not led us astray yet, but the path he was leading us down, which went up the side of a mountain, seemed to be seldom used, like an ancient, overgrown path to a forgotten land - In a way, I suppose, that was where we were heading!

Our path gradually climbed in a series of steep switchbacks towards a long, grassy ridge. We repeatedly had to dismount and lead our horses across perilous sections of trail that were too dangerous to attempt to ride across, but eventually we reached the ridge and the riding got easier again. The view across the rolling valley was wonderful. The early morning sun was warm and bright. It seemed like we were in a remote wilderness, but, as we rode, cultivated fields started appearing on the ridge and in the distance we could just make out a tiny village about half way up a huge, rock-crowned mountain that the ridge ended at. Our guide pointed at the mountain and he said, "We are going to the other side of that mountain today." The distance seemed vast, but, before we knew it, the ridge came to an end and our trail turned and followed the steep contours of the mountain. Several of the children from the village had come out to see us and they all laughed and waved as we rode by. The trail leveled out and we all decided to stop for a while to allow our horses to eat a bit and rest - We had to be very vigilant with them while we were riding through the farmer's crops on the ridge, otherwise our gluttonous beasts would have devoured the village's livelihood! We wound our way along the undulating path that skirted the mountain we were on. At times the scenery was wild and beautiful and at others it was filled with the joyful sights and sounds of small village life. We came to a fork in the road, near a beautiful old oak tree, and we turned towards the left and a high mountain pass. We toiled our way up the rocky, boulder-strewn path on foot and in the saddle and, when we reached the pass, we were rewarded with stunning views of a beautiful hidden valley of green and gold. We followed the long, gently sloping trail down towards a small cluster of stone huts that had been built on a small level shelf that had been carved out of the steep slope. We were greeted by a friendly old man wrapped in a blanket who was clearly the 'man' in charge. He showed us to an empty hut and we started unpacking and taking the saddle off of our horses. Our guide then pointed out the things in the area and said that the big, rock-capped peak behind the village made for a nice climb if we felt like it. Then he took the horses and went in search of good pastures for them, away from the village's crops. We went into the hut and prepared our lunch.

There we sat on our small grassy ledge in the mountainside and we ate our small, but filling, lunch while the peaceful day to day life of the village unfolded before us. There were chickens roaming around us picking at the ground, trying in vain to get close enough to the huge piles of grain on the ground, but they were guarded well. There was also a very friendly one-eyed dog that was constantly looking for affection. The 'chief', as we called him, sat in front of the hut next to ours and watched as the women of the village ran around attending to their chores. An old lady, his wife presumably, was tending to the huge piles of grain - There were two piles on the ground and, with a big bowl, she was getting a scoop from one pile and slowly shaking the grain into the other pile while holding the bowl at about the height of her head. As the heavy grains fell to the ground the breeze carried away the husks, leaving only the usable grains in the second pile - This process is called threshing the grain. The three of us were sitting there watching her work and then, suddenly, we were thrust into a situation that was both comical and uncomfortable at the same time - The old lady came up to us and asked Steph to help her with her task. It was clear that Alan and I were to remain seated and watch, being men, but in our experience that never ends well! When in Rome... For our part, we did our job well - We sat comfortably on the grass and we watched as Steph tried to get the proper motion down to effectively remove the husk from the grain and, of course, we laughed as she occasionally poured too quickly necessitating a 're-do'. Not wanting to be rude, we waited until Steph had become a pro grain thresher and the pile of grain had been greatly reduced before we rescued her from her servitude and we set off to climb the mountain.

Our guide had told us before he left that there was no trail to the summit and that we would have to find our own way, so that is what we did. We climbed straight up the steep slope behind the village and then we turned a bit to avoid a beautifully terraced field of green stalks. The slope started getting steeper and we had to be a bit careful of the path we took since the grassy slope fell off, in a sheer cliff, to the valley below just beside us. It was late afternoon when we reached the rocky, plateau-like summit. We found a lovely bench formed of natural rock and we sat there on the edge of the abyss and we looked our over the vast Malealea Valley with its rolling hills and jagged peaks - The whole valley was glowing a bright golden orange and there was a slight, warm breeze in the air, yes, it was close enough to perfect up there for me! We decided that we didn't want to try the descent in the dark, since we didn't have a flashlight, so, after about an hour on top, we took a few pictures and headed back down towards the village. We ate dinner under a beautiful blanket of stars and then we were off to bed by seven - Having no electricity meant that we had to adjust our schedules to the sun, just like the villagers did!

It was still dark when my alarm clock screamed, "Cock-a-doodle-doo!", but there was enough light streaming in through the tiny windows of the small, round hut to remind me where I was. Apparently I had been sleeping very well, the kind of deep sleep where you wake up face down with your mouth open against your drool-dampened pillow, only, in this case, my pillow was the corner formed between the floor and the rounded wall of the hut - Did I mention that the rondaval huts are coated, inside and out, with a plaster of cow dung and straw? I ate a generous helping of oatmeal and coffee to get rid of the strange, 'pillowy' taste in my mouth and then, after breakfast, we packed up the horses and prepared for our journey. The morning sun was just peaking above the mountain tops into the valley when we said farewell to our gracious hosts and mounted our noble steeds and headed towards Malealea, which was a long way from where we were.

We retraced our path up to the pass and down the other side, back to the old oak tree where we took the other fork. El Blanco Segundo had been fairly good for most of the previous day and I thought our problems were over, but some strange demon possessed him on the way down the rocky trail below the pass and he threw all caution to the wind and decided to start running! I managed to get him under control as he flew past the other horses, but, once we gained the well maintained path near the oak tree, he tried to start running again. With my well practiced swinging dismount, I was out of the saddle again and standing on the ground beside my stubborn friend and that is where I stayed for the next several hours.

The trail followed a wide dirt road for the whole morning, at times dipping low into a ravine where it crossed dry stream beds over concrete fords. There were villages and cultivated fields all along the road and it seemed that we were never far from the excited, waving children who all shouted the same word as we passed - "Good Bye! Eventually we turned off of the road and followed a narrow foot path that led us down into a stunning river gorge that was lined with healthy fields of crops. The slope down to the river was fairly gradual, but I quickly realized that there would be no way for me to lead my equine friend up the sheer walls on the other side on foot. Reluctantly, I made a deal with El Blanco Segundo that if he would behave and get us up through the two canyons safely then I would walk the rest of the way to Malealea and then I climbed up into the saddle again.

The path up the other side of the canyon was rugged and would have been a difficult climb on foot. My horse didn't seem to be all that happy about having a passenger again and he was not keen on ascending the steep trail. In a last ditch effort to get some cooperation, I started humming the theme to Indiana Jones and, much to my surprise, it worked - Up we went, horse and rider, along the narrow, pebbly path clinging to the side of the sheer wall of rock. The strong sense of adventure was all around us and we had the proper music to prod us on. The climb up was far steeper and much more treacherous than the previous canyon journey, but this time I sat loosely in the saddle and let El Blanco Segundo do his thing, which I think he liked much better!

We put the first canyon behind us and then the second loomed up in front of us. We rejoined the familiar path just before we began our descent into the formidable canyon from our first day of riding. The canyon seemed smaller and the trials less daunting and before we knew it we had made it down to the river and up the other side, stopping for lunch along the way. As promised, I was on foot again at the rim of the canyon and I walked the rest of the way to Malealea - We quickened our pace at the end and El Blanco still got to finish in the lead!

Lesotho is well known for its pony treks and ours was a phenomenal experience despite our stubborn horses. We passed through a magical landscape of stunning beauty and we got a glimpse of life that, in most places in the modern world, is now just a forgotten thing of the past! With the end of our trek came the end of our time in Lesotho. The following morning we packed all of our gear back into our small car and we headed towards the mountainous south, following less traveled dirt roads for the first several hours of the journey. Our chosen route was technically a short cut, but, as is normally the case, it took us a good bit longer to get to the good road, even if it was shorter. We were racing the clock, because we had a lot of road to cover before the border post we were going to closed and it looked like it was going to be close. We wound our way through village after village. At times we had to slow down to avoid huge groups of school children or a herd of animals in the road and once we had to back track a long way to pick up a dropped wallet that had been left on the side of the road where we had had a bathroom break - Luckily that particular stretch of road was lovely and we didn't mind seeing it a few more times. The road started following an undulating path and eventually climbed steeply towards the high peaks that form Lesotho's southern border with South Africa. The scenery was simply stunning. In fact, I will go out on a limb and say that it must rank near the top of the list of scenic drives in the world! We were having a lot of fun in our quest to reach South Africa, but when we finally reached the border crossing at Qacha's Neck and passed through the gate, a little bit of sadness filled my thoughts. I will miss the happy mountain kingdom of Lesotho!

We left the wonderfully paved roads of Lesotho and we emerged from the South African border post onto one of the worst roads I have ever experienced - We were definitely back in South Africa!

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Photos

One Beautiful Kingdom
The valley of Malealea was where I spent most of my time.

A Junk-Funk Band
These guys showed up with a bunch of handmade instruments, but they had a great sound and a lively show!

Lesotho
Most of the airable land in Lesotho has been planted and scenes like this are common.

Explain it Johnathan
Johanathan took us out to see the San rock paintings near Malealea.

A Hunting Scene
The San rock paintings near Malealea.

A Strange Scene
The San rock paintings near Malealea.

In the Canyon of the Paintings
That's not the real name, but it was a beautiful canyon.

Children
These two children were takeing the ground grain back home from the valley's only grinder.

The Good Life
The people in Lesotho seemed to have less than the people in South Africa, but I don't think I saw a single unhappy face while I was in Lesotho - They have everything they need.

Pony Trekking (1)
We did a three day pony trek that took us through some of the more rural areas of the Malealea valley and beyond.

Pony Trekking (2)
This is the view we had from our lunch stop on the first day after my deranged horse started misbehaving.

Pony Trekking (3)
Our first night's accomodations.

Pony Trekking (4)
Our first night\'s accomodations.

Pony Trekking (5)
A break for the horses.

Pony Trekking (6)
This was our hidden valley. We stayed here our second night.

Pony Trekking (7)
This is a view of the Malealea Valley from a mountain we climbed on our second night.

A Recliner at the Edge of the World
This is me looking over the Malealea Valley from a mountain we climbed on our second night. The rock made a perfect recliner.

Pony Trekking (8)
One last view of my hidden valley.

Pony Trekking (9)
This was the small village we stayed at our second night.

Pony Trekking (10)
On the way home. I had to hum the tune to Indiana Jones to get my horse to behave on the ascent of this canyon.

A Remote Cafe
This was a remote cafe at the entrance to Malealea Valley.