This is a detailed account of my surprisingly rewarding journey through Lesotho, one of the most isolated and intriguing nations in the world.
The fact that a country called Lesotho exists is likely known only to a fraction of the world's population—possibly not including Donald Trump, and very few but Chinese enterprises. Although it appears a tiny speck, often overlooked on the African Continent and is completely encircled by South Africa, it is the same size as Belgium.
The 'Kingdom in the Sky', as it is popularly dubbed, is one of the last frontiers of travel, abundantly rewarding whomever dares make the effort of getting there.
The entire kingdom is composed of spectacular mountainous terrain, with its lowest point at 1400 metres—the highest lowest point of any country globally. The forbidding geology and natural barriers created by the mighty Drakensberg and Maluti ranges have helped keep the outside world at bay, allowing the 'Basotho' people to establish their mountain stronghold, all while playing a role in the many wars the white invaders have waged on the plains surrounding them in present day South Africa. Although Basutoland became a British protectorate, gaining independence in 1966, the colonial influence is negligible. There are currently no visible signs of political strife or instability— just the recent juicy gossip about how the current first lady has been charged with the alleged murder of her husband's ex-wife…
A journey here is truly like no other!
As an Indian national, I unfortunately needed a visa to enter the kingdom, which sounded pretty straightforward. After all, this was not the United States or Pakistan! My travel agent applied for an e-Tourist visa and deposited the hefty $150 fee for a single entry, with the assurance that the process takes three working days. I had applied over three weeks in advance of my intended entry into Lesotho, and took off for South Africa as planned. Lo and behold—eighteen days pass, and still no sign of my electronic travel authorisation! Having traveled to over 50 countries, I never anticipated that this would prove to be my biggest consular challenge! An Afrikaner lady guide in Durban suggested that I simply bribe the immigration official at the land entry post. It was certainly a proposition I considered for a few hours, wondering if these things still really worked there. But ultimately, I abandoned it when her suggestion was dismissed by my 'native' African travel agent as the Afrikaner's "white privilege" talking! I now had four days (including a weekend) left before I was supposed to depart by road from Durban, so I requested a close family friend in the Indian Ministry of External Affairs to put in a word with their Foreign Ministry, at the very highest level. With every passing hour, I was losing hope that I would ever be able to go to Lesotho. I pictured a sole consular officer sitting at a medieval desktop somewhere in a dusty back room in their capital Maseru, processing one visa application a day: Seriously, how much traffic could they possibly have?! True enough, my visa arrived thanks to said pulled strings, but unfortunately, it was a day after I was originally set to depart! Thoroughly organised as I am, I started fretting over the changes to my itinerary and prepared to depart the next day.
After I got up at the crack of dawn to undertake the journey by road with an informative driver cum guide originally from Lesotho, I passed the South African city of Pietermaritzburg, as well as the spot where Mahatma Gandhi was famously thrown out of an all-white first class train compartment: This was the defining moment that triggered his Satyagraha. I should point out that it is almost impossible, and definitely unadvisable, to access Lesotho by air: There is only one daily scheduled flight, which is to and from Johannesburg. Luggage is regularly lost, and there is no reporting system. There are also no taxis or public transport from the airport. So all in all, my decision of hiring the 4x4 and driver was the best way to go.
We crossed over into Lesotho via a stunning road that brought us to Qacha's Nek. Border controls on both the South African and Lesotho side were fairly quick—though as expected, it was literally one lone official in a hut stamping passports. I seemed to be the only foreign tourist entering at that particular time, as there was no queue for us—only a rather long, separate one for locals.
After half a day of driving through some of the most extraordinary landscape underneath the clearest blue sky I have ever encountered—with just one toilet en route— we passed numerous solitary shepherds in their iconic Basotho hats herding their flocks of sheep across the highlands, and arrived at the magnificent Maletsunyane Falls at Semonkong (meaning "site of smoke") by lunch. I thought we would stop at a distance and hike down, but to my immense shock, my driver casually veered off the road, almost off the edge of a cliff… that is, until he abruptly hit the brakes. Then, we were directly opposite the breathtaking sight of the plunging falls. We stopped here for a packed lunch (vegetarian sandwiches in my case), enjoying the reverberating echo the water creates as it cascades over the edge and hits the ground 192 metres below. Local legend holds that the sound comes from the wailing of people who have drowned in the falls since the beginning of time.
The same evening, I arrived in Maseru—the capital and main city. The name means "red sandstones", and it was set up by the British as a police camp. Later, it became a market town. The city is fairly quiet, but it is evident that economic activity is picking up—there is a fair amount of construction happening. A quick look around and a conversation with my guide made it apparent that pretty much every significant structure you can see has been built by the Chinese—be it the Parliament, King Letsie III's palace, or the very road I had been driving on all day. In fact, that road is the main artery connecting the key parts of the country—not at all bad for a land that had only one short motorable street in the capital when it became independent in 1966! The only major structures in the capital not funded by the Chinese seem to be the Catholic Cathedral and many large hoardings raising awareness about HIV, which has affected a huge chunk of the population.
Whether the Chinese-financed infrastructure development is good for the locals or indeed neo-colonialism is an endless debate that cannot be addressed appropriately here. It is clearly good for business in Maseru, though: I checked into the fine new Mpilo hotel, and found myself to be the only non- Chinese individual in the dining hall that evening! The suit-clad Chinese businessmen were as surprised to see me there as I was to find myself in a room full of them. I took full advantage of the high speed WiFi and availability of imported food and wine as I prepared for another rough day on the road.
Another very early start took me first to Subeng river, near Leribe, where I saw incredible dinosaur footprints preserved on the fossilised Jurassic riverbed. You can see the footprints of three different dinosaurs, as well as fossilised worm trails, shown off by local children in return for some change. We then proceeded to Liphofung, where I delighted at the sight of other-worldly bushmen rock paintings by the San people, who were hunter gatherers in prehistoric times. The paintings depict hunting, religious rituals, rainmaking ceremonies, antelope, and stick-fighting. There is also a beautiful rock overhang, where King Moshoeshoe I sheltered once upon a time.
We also stopped at Afriski, a stunningly located Ski resort, and one of only two in Southern Africa. Here, I had a leisurely lunch and some local Maluti beer at the highest restaurant in Africa. The ski resort had just become operational for the season, as in mid-June in the Southern Hemisphere, it was early winter. The days were very pleasant but the nights chilly, with snow expected later in July.
My last stop for the day, after driving past the rich Latseng diamond mine where some of the world's most expensive diamonds by dollar per carat have been found, was a lovely little Basotho village (accessed once again by bumpy dirt roads that I was convinced we couldn't actually drive on). Here, my guide escorted me to a traditional local home. The huts in the village are made in a circular shape, which I am told has a simple practical explanation—if a snake enters by the front door, it circles around the room and exits the same way it came in. It doesn’t cross the floor, where the owners are sleeping—therefore, they are left unharmed!
Some of the village women introduced me to their way of life, including how they cook and grind grain, as well as their singing and dancing. Interestingly, the names of all the women bear the prefix 'Ma', which indicates they are married. Their names are changed by their husbands post marriage, which makes me wonder whether it really is the 21st century here…
I initially thought this village excursion would be touristy and awkward, but it turned out to be a great experience, and offered a glimpse into the highly content, simple lives of friendly locals inhabiting one of the poorest countries in the world. For them, the world beyond this village, with its motorable roads negotiated by both 4x4 vehicles and sturdy ponies, is but a rumour.
I settled for the night at the Sani Mountain lodge, all set to cross the Sani Pass at sunrise and return to South Africa. The lodge turned out to be an absolute treat. I watched perhaps the most glorious sunset of my life; the sky turning all shades of orange, pink and purple, overlooking the winding zigzag mountain road beneath. I then dined at the in-house pub, again the highest in Africa, followed by some time spent underneath an exquisitely clear sky with millions of stars visible in its vast dark expanse, devoid of any light pollution. Never have I ever wished I knew more about astronomy and how to identify constellations, for if there was a place for that, this was it. My room at the camp was basically Hagrid's hut, with simple amenities and an authentic wood fireplace to keep warm, along with a complimentary decanter of sherry thrown in (thankfully) for the same purpose.
One final early start later, we crept down the Sani pass with scintillating views at every turn as the sun rose over the Drakensberg or "Mountains of Dragons". Possible theories for this strange name include the pointy tops of the mountains which resemble mythical dragons, legends of dragons that once roamed here, and even the dinosaur fossils which have been confused with dragon remains! Once again, we crossed the two national borders, but this time, I left with memories that will remain etched in my mind (not to mention iCloud) forever. And just a couple of hours later, I found myself back in the thick of civilisation as we know it, boarding a flight at hectic Durban airport.
