Off-roading in the Kingdom of the Clouds

Robb Pritchard drives a new Isuzu D-Max around Lesotho. Part 1 of 3

4y ago
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Most travel stories start with the border crossing or airport but that's not the case for Lesotho. Coming from Johannesburg the experience starts about an hour away down at the bottom of the Sani Pass. But for me it almost didn't start at all... The pristine tarmac road I'd been powering along on for a couple of hours went over a dip and I had about 20 metres to take off 80km/h before hitting the deep potholes at the start of the gravel. The impact was so hard I was sure I'd just ripped all the wheels off but a cursory inspection of linkages and ball joints on the front end revealed that everything was still properly attached. It seemed that the new Isuzu D-Max was a lot tougher than I thought. Another screech of tyres and a bang behind told me I wasn't the first or the last to make that mistake. Maybe someone will put a warning sign up soon.

I'd heard a lot about the Sani Pass but it's nothing too hard, just a few patches of mud that would stop any 2wd car but the views were incredible and got more and more breathtaking the higher up I wound. The switch-back hairpins at the top, with the sheer drops behind, are no place to make a mistake and I got to the surprisingly pristine tarmac road on the plateau with a big smile on my face.

After the perfunctory border crossing the tarmac lasted all of about 40 metres because if you come up the Sani Pass you have to stop at the famous Sani Top cafe/restaurant/hotel overlooking the cliffs. It's just the done thing. The pass opened in the 50s and there's some fascinating history plastered all over the hotel walls. I was taken with the legend of the guy in the VW Beetle who made it up in the 1950s. In the snow. And at 2876 metres it's also the highest pub in Africa so that evening a Castle's milk stout just had to be consumed. Just the done thing. The huts, or Rotundas as they are called here, are amazingly cosy. Round walls, thatched roofs, a big bed in the middle and a coal fire stove to take the high altitude chill off. And if that wasn't enough, leave the window open and maybe you will have the Sani cat come in to curl up on your lap.

A little excursion here is a 4x4 drive or about an hours walk to a cleft in the mountains called the Saddle. After a long drive in the Isuzu the day before I chose to stretch my legs and walk. The surrounding mountains are so immense that they create the sensation that no matter how much trudging through the soggy moorland you do they don't seem to get any closer. Something that did get closer though were the three shepherds. Waving their sticks and blankets and screaming in a way that seemed a little threatening and certainly not like any greeting I'd experienced anywhere before. I even contemplated a bit of a battle plan, trying to see if all of them had a big stick, which might reduce my chances of keeping on to the 200 rand I had in my pocket... but apparently that's just how they herd sheep here, and they were all perfectly polite and friendly when we met and posed for a photo. Shiny rubber boots, boxer shorts or speedos, ski masks and a dark blanket seems to be the height of fashion for Lesothan shepherds these days. I do think though that if someone imported some border collies and taught the locals how to whistle at a dog instead of shouting at sheep they'd have a thriving business.

The view from the Saddle is well worth the hike up. It's seldom I have stood taking in a view utterly untouched by the hand of man. In the rocks untold millions of years of sedimentation, tectonic upheaval and erosion was written into the landscape, all creased and wrinkled like the crows feet of a happy old man. I spent a couple of hours up there, just me and the wind thinking about what other adjectives than stunning, breathtaking or magic I could use for the country I'd be exploring for the next week and a half.

With the devastating illegal trade in ivory and rhino horn I understand why the Chinese are not exactly the most popular nation here, but it has to be said that they so make damn good roads. Apart from the armco barrier supports on the hairpins being made of wood the one from Sani over the Black Mountain Pass to Mokhotlong is picture perfect, although the only ones using it are local sheep and donkey herders. In their boots, ski masks, big sticks and blanket capes I couldn't help thinking that they look like they're on their way to a third world Darth Vader convention. I'm not one to cast childless aspersions through the window though, so I stopped to pick up one guy hitch-hiking. Well, I say hitch-hiking but it was more like standing in the middle of the road weaving his arms and saber/stick until I stopped. I helped him put his seatbelt on which seemed like a new experience, especially as he couldn't work out how not to get his stick caught in it. We got it fastened but I couldn't help laughing when he cried out in shock when the GPS loudly announced out of the speakers, “In 100 meters turn…”

If I had any notions of Lesotho being a sweet little country billing itself as a friendly backwater playground for tourists they were dispelled about 500 metres off the tarmac road that was so well signed it had lulled me into a false sense of security. Being from a Western country I am rather conditioned to expecting clear warnings for any life-threatening hazards ahead, such as a hairpin on a gravel road with no barrier or concrete blocks to catch wayward vehicles. I caught it just in time, thanks mainly to the sideways grip of the General Grabber tyres, but it was close. And, still having palpitations, on the very next corner I almost got forced off the edge again by a minibus driver on completely the wrong side of the road. Lesotho is definitely not for beginners.

Tranquillity was restored when I eventually found Momulong Lodge though. The house is a hundred-year old trading post built by a Scotsman, so was cosy, had gloriously squeaky floorboards, a bed covered in thick blankets and a big steaming bath. And a wood burning stove in the corner. Perfect! The host Noma is also a great person to talk about the local culture so while the rain fell on the tin roof we had cups of tea and talked about blanket fashion and thatching skills.

The views from the front garden out over the mountains were also spectacular and everything I imagined this country would be. In a gap between showers I sat watching the constantly changing light playing over the landscape. Squalls of rain over one valley, beams of light from over another, rolls of clouds coming up from below. To shelter from the drizzle I sat under a gnarled willow tree and watched the girl next door take water from a stand pipe and carry it back over a swampy patch to her little round hut with a thatched roof. Little wisps of smoke wafted out between the reeds just as it did in stone-age round houses in Britain so that it felt as though I wasn't just looking across cultures but across the centuries as well. Living in Lesotho is no simplistic or romantic ideal though, it's a basic, hard and harsh life here. This country of mountains began its existence 170 years ago as an impenetrable natural stronghold for people fleeing wars in the lowlands and thanks to the political wiles of Chief Moshoeshoe managed to maintain its independence, although in my opinion that comes at a great cost. The infrastructure and investment of South Africa, which completely surrounds Lesotho, stops at the cliffs to leave the people eking out a subsistence living just so they don't have to suffer the indignity of having to call themselves South Africans. Or maybe that's just my slightly less than positive Brexit musings clouding my vision and I should just shut up and go to find some good off-road routes.

Read more in Part 2: drivetribe.com/p/off-roading-in-the-kingdom-of-the-DH8c6cSdQ8WcZzgDfCe9kA?iid=J_eSgwiNRaW1jVmZuJoM7g

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Comments (1)

  • Fantastic trip, story and pictures!

      4 years ago
1