09.06.2010 - 10.06.2010 -2 °C
A lot of people were discouraging when they heard we were going to Lesotho. "There's nothing to see there", "The South African side of the mountains are much more beautiful", "It's so poor", etc.
And really, Lesotho itself seemed to discorage us from visiting – it presented us with a huge pothole that blew one of our tires within our first half hour in the country. Unable to fix the tire in Lesotho, we returned to South Africa to get a new tire, and so crossed the South Africa/Lesotho border three times in one day.
We barely made it to a guesthouse before sunset, and slept in a mudmade rondavel hut in a tiny village. The only thing going on in that place was a football match between the local boys, and a store that only sold canned beans, crackers and cigarettes.
The next morning it was raining hard. But when the rain subsided, we continued up the mountains. I was set on making it to the highlands, the part of Lesotho that is supposed to be the most dramatically beatiful.
Eduardo swore. The whole way. Those roads are not for sissies. It was like driving on a roller-coaster ride, the hills are just as steep, and the curves just as sharp. Me, in the passenger seat, held my breath and hoped the brakes would not fail.
On one of those sharp and steep curves, a tanker had broken down, the cargo too heavy for the truck to pull. And it was just as impossible for the driver to back up, so he was stuck there. For hours. Maybe forever.
When it started to snow, we decided to give up. No matter how fantastically beautiful these mountains were, and how cool all the people were, it wasn't meant to be this time.