After a couple of weeks of luxury with the folks I was back on my own, and looking ahead at the long journey back up the east coast. While I still wasn't entirely clear on how I would manage to get back without driving through a war zone, that was a problem for later. Right now I was heading for Lesotho.
First though, it was time to do something about my panniers. While the bike was now ready to go again after its overhaul, my panniers we a sorry sight. Buying new ones would be the obvious choice, but with prices starting from around £700 for two for what are essentially boxes with a lid I wasn't keen. With two fingers mentally up to Yamaha I went to a welding shop in Port Elizabeth and had the guys there weld me up a couple of racks. Combined with some nylon garden sacks I had a new luggage system, and for less than a tenth of the cost!
With the bike ready to rock and actually now balanced a lot better I hit the road, heading for Lesotho. With a stop in a hippy backpacker place (with posters advertising dreadlocks despite a white only clientele - the worst!) I was in Lesotho the day after. The ride in was incredible; I arrived late afternoon into a blazing red sky, and the mountainous landscapes looked stunning. Unfortunately, I was trying to find somewhere to stay so didn't have too much time to stop and take photos, and the couple I did manage to take don't really do it justice. With the light fading I abandoned my original target and found a guesthouse in Old Hoek (I guess people who live there are known as Old Hoekers...?) and it was just as well. The next day it took me the best part of three hours to do the rest of the journey along bumpy dirt roads; the upside was that had I done it in the dark I wouldn't have got to see the views!
Lesotho (pronounced by everyone here as Less-ooh-too) is a landlocked and mountainous kingdom completely surrounded by South Africa. It owes its independence to a wily King who was good at balancing the competing interests of the Zulu kingdom, the Boers and the British, and also to a quirk of fate that meant that Lesotho was a British Protectorate when the Union of South Africa was formed and hence wasn't included (it later gained independence in 1966). The main industry seems to be cattle - they are wandering everywhere and you hear the clank of the homemade tin-can cowbells wherever you go. In fact cattle are so important that one of the sub chiefs of King Moshoeshoe threw himself to his death from a cliff when it was discovered he was unable to milk a cow! Now I'm not saying we should take Jeremy Hunt to Beachy Head and ask him to dress a wound, but...
My time in the country was short but scenic, and other than a stopover at Malealea Lodge for a hike to a rather anaemic waterfall (the hike was still great though!) the main highlight was a visit to Thaba Bosiu, the hilltop stronghold of King Moshoeshoe. With steep cliffs on all sides, it apparently never fell to an enemy. The remnants of the huts and kraals are still there at the top, as is the royal cemetery, and it is a good place for views out across the surrounding area. The rest of my time there was spent navigating my way across bumpy, dirt roads weaving through the mountains. The country is sparsely populated in the hills and there would be long stretches of emptiness, broken only by small villages of the traditional round, thatched huts. After cutting straight through the middle of the country I crossed back into South Africa via Sani Pass, a treacherously steep and winding route down from the mountains and into the Drakensberg region.
First though, it was time to do something about my panniers. While the bike was now ready to go again after its overhaul, my panniers we a sorry sight. Buying new ones would be the obvious choice, but with prices starting from around £700 for two for what are essentially boxes with a lid I wasn't keen. With two fingers mentally up to Yamaha I went to a welding shop in Port Elizabeth and had the guys there weld me up a couple of racks. Combined with some nylon garden sacks I had a new luggage system, and for less than a tenth of the cost!
With the bike ready to rock and actually now balanced a lot better I hit the road, heading for Lesotho. With a stop in a hippy backpacker place (with posters advertising dreadlocks despite a white only clientele - the worst!) I was in Lesotho the day after. The ride in was incredible; I arrived late afternoon into a blazing red sky, and the mountainous landscapes looked stunning. Unfortunately, I was trying to find somewhere to stay so didn't have too much time to stop and take photos, and the couple I did manage to take don't really do it justice. With the light fading I abandoned my original target and found a guesthouse in Old Hoek (I guess people who live there are known as Old Hoekers...?) and it was just as well. The next day it took me the best part of three hours to do the rest of the journey along bumpy dirt roads; the upside was that had I done it in the dark I wouldn't have got to see the views!
Lesotho (pronounced by everyone here as Less-ooh-too) is a landlocked and mountainous kingdom completely surrounded by South Africa. It owes its independence to a wily King who was good at balancing the competing interests of the Zulu kingdom, the Boers and the British, and also to a quirk of fate that meant that Lesotho was a British Protectorate when the Union of South Africa was formed and hence wasn't included (it later gained independence in 1966). The main industry seems to be cattle - they are wandering everywhere and you hear the clank of the homemade tin-can cowbells wherever you go. In fact cattle are so important that one of the sub chiefs of King Moshoeshoe threw himself to his death from a cliff when it was discovered he was unable to milk a cow! Now I'm not saying we should take Jeremy Hunt to Beachy Head and ask him to dress a wound, but...
My time in the country was short but scenic, and other than a stopover at Malealea Lodge for a hike to a rather anaemic waterfall (the hike was still great though!) the main highlight was a visit to Thaba Bosiu, the hilltop stronghold of King Moshoeshoe. With steep cliffs on all sides, it apparently never fell to an enemy. The remnants of the huts and kraals are still there at the top, as is the royal cemetery, and it is a good place for views out across the surrounding area. The rest of my time there was spent navigating my way across bumpy, dirt roads weaving through the mountains. The country is sparsely populated in the hills and there would be long stretches of emptiness, broken only by small villages of the traditional round, thatched huts. After cutting straight through the middle of the country I crossed back into South Africa via Sani Pass, a treacherously steep and winding route down from the mountains and into the Drakensberg region.
