After a brief bit of a wait for BIRT to get cleared, we clambered back aboard and set off for a camping destination that Hot Rock had not previously visited. Once we passed through the capital city, Maseru (where we of course got lost), the paved road immediately turned into a goat trail with holes that would swallow a Mini Cooper. That did nothing to detract from the fact that Lesotho is stunning. A small, landlocked country inside of South Africa known as "The Roof of Africa" due to its elevation, Lesotho was a visual feast for the eyes. Although Winter was reluctantly releasing its grip on the windswept countryside jammed with mountains, brilliant pink flowers on fruit trees stood out in stark contrast to the brown and beige palette. I spent most of the 4 hour journey trying to get pictures as we passed one tiny, picturesque town after another -- the local Basuto people live in round dwellings called rondavels (not sure if spelled correctly) composed of rock and a thatch roof that echo the shape of the mountains. Unfortunately, no anti-shake camera lens technology is capable of dealing with massive potholes that caused me to repeatedly nearly hit my head on the roof of BIRT, and I finally had to give up and just enjoy the passing scenery.
Due to the poor road infrastructure, let alone the state of the roads themselves, the best way to explore Lesotho is to go pony trekking. The lodge at which we were staying offered guided one to five day guided pony treks, and I decided a two day overnight trip would be a great way to see some country off the beaten path. Initially, I was the only person to sign up for a two day trek, but then Dave decided to join me. This was a brave move on his part because he had never ridden a horse before. It turned out to be one of the best life experiences either of us have had.
The morning we left, it was immediately evident that pony trekking really did mean "pony" -- as in, my-legs-are-going-to-touch-the-ground-when-I-get-on pony. The little guys were coming off a hard winter and were not in prime condition by any stretch of imagination. I suppose they will be fat and shiny in a few months once the rains come, but they were mostly ribs when we set off. And boy, did we set off. I was riding a little pony named Black Dog that clearly needed to be in the lead. Any doubts I had about him not being able to handle my weight and my pack were quickly put to rest as he powered off at a walk that would put most full-size horses to shame.The interesting thing about the horses is that the lodge rents them from private owners that need money, an effective method to spread out tourist money among many people.
A couple of hours into the ride, I decided that Black Dog was easily one of the best horses I have ever ridden in my life. Quick, sturdy, sure-footed as a mountain goat, and smooth, he practically glided over the rocky trail. Dave's pony, Chewbacca, however, seemed to be a bit more of a difficult ride. After watching Dave bounce around for a few hours, I decided he would have a much better first time riding experience on Black Dog and switched horses with him. It turned out to be a good decision and a bad decision. Good because Black Dog was not only the perfect horse for a fearless first time rider, but also because he was bomb proof on the rocky trail and saved Dave on several occasions; a bad decision because Chewbacca was not nearly in the same class as Black Dog and nearly went down several times on the trail (not to mention he was the most uncomfortable horse I have ever ridden).
The plan was that we would visit the highest waterfall in southern Africa, then ride to a village where we would stay the night and visit another waterfall the following morning before returning back to the lodge. The first part of the ride was a series of highly traveled dirt paths used by sheep herders, cow herders, and villagers on horseback and foot going about their daily business. Everyone wore bright blankets that covered the nose and mouth, the colors of which popped out against the rugged brown landscape. Turns out I wished I had one of those blankets after pushing forward into the incessant wind that sometimes kicked up choking amounts of dust.
The waterfall was beautiful, but the real ride started once we left that area and passed through a series of tiny, tiny villages hidden in the folds of the mountain valleys that stretched endlessly to the horizon. It was the real deal,
A shepherd strapping down supplies on a donkey:
unlike many other canned, "authentic" experiences offered to travelers. Kids would come out to watch us ride by, some shyly hiding in doorways, while the braver ones waved and shouted greetings at the top of their lungs in a sing-song chorus. Approaching villages was always amusing because our guide, Ephraim, would invariably give his pony a good kick, raise the stick he was using as a crop straight up in the air, and we would briskly trot through the village with as much pomp as we could muster. Once we got to the other side of the village we slowed down to a walk.
The walk was a good thing because the trail was, at times, what I would consider impassable on horseback. As in, no trail, just boulders that the horses teetered and skittered over with extreme effort. Except for Black Dog, that is. That pony was worth its weight in gold and took Dave down some very hairy descents that I woulc nwith complete aplomb. Chewbacca, however, chose to go down dropoffs with both front legs stiffly extended in front of him (ouch!!) and never seemed to be completely aware of where all four of his feet were at any one time. I wanted to get off at some points in the trail to walk him, but there was no place to dismount among the precipitous drops and I just gave him his head. Didn't always work, unfortunately, and there were a couple of occasions where I just closed my eyes and hoped for the best.
We eventually made it to our village destination, Ketane, just before sunset.
A cluster of Ketane huts (lower left), blending in with surroundings:
The pictures tell more about the area than I ever could. Suffice it to say, I was completely enamored of the place.Unsaddling a pony at Ketane:
The village chief's hut in which we slept:
Ketane scene:
Ketane girl:
Looking down at a shepherd's hut perched on the edge of a river gorge:
Shepherd putting away lambs for the day:
The ride back took us only four hours because we trotted and cantered almost the entire way (which I had to post or two-point because Chewbacca was so rough). I even got Dave up to his first gallop, another first for him which put a huge smile on his face. The entire trip was quite an experience for me, let alone for someone that had never ridden a horse.
Three wrung necks and several down pillows worth of plucked feathers later, I found myself poised over a chicken like a surgeon, knife in hand. Luckily, one of the other fellows on the trip, Dave, has butchered a few chickens in his time, and he showed me what to do. Otherwise, I would have made some very bad decisions. Without going into the gory details, let's just say that there is a surprising amount of organic material inside a chicken. It all made for a quiet campground the following morning. 
It's a little town with a great bakery (hello sweet tooth) that I went to every day. Not just for sweets. but also the meat pies which were awesome and the equivalent of $1. Steak and Onion was my favorite. The women who worked there knew me quite well by the time we left.
It was a farm/vineyard/campground/everything. A bit of a warren, there was an indoor climbing wall (small, but serviceable), stables (which had been converted to hostel type sleeping, then turned back into stables) where we cooked dinner on a gas stove while the horses munched hay (not sure having a stove in the barn is the best idea...), a kitchen for campers, rented bungalow type rooms, a separate kitchen for the paid rooms, random courtyards, etc, etc. And all very reasonably priced. I think it was the very hot showers that sold me completely, despite the fact that they had a hole cut into the wall at about head level. Definitely for ventilation and a bit of a breezy experience. 
That was certainly a first. Of course that didn't stop us from climbing. It was a little eerie, however, to look down at a corpse from the top of a crag. Bloat never looks good on any body. It was a bit like happening upon a car wreck -- you wanted to look and felt slightly dirty for doing so -- but it was unavoidable because you have to look down for feet placement when climbing. In reality, there really wasn't much to see. The body looked like a blue barrel (due to clothing, not the cold). Anyway, the authorities milled around for a couple of hours until some guys showed up and donned drysuits. I guess corpse retrieval was not in anyone else's job description. The new guys jumped in the pond, inelegantly backstroked their way to the body, and grabbed it with their glove encased hands. Once they hauled it to shore, they zipped it into a bodybag and all the authorities quickly left in a big, official looking posse. All that was left was the horror at realizing that our driver, Henry, drank some water from the stream before we happened upon the scene. Luckily, the flow was going away from the corpse, but still, huge ick factor. 
Muizenberg beach cabanas at sunset:
I did my first three person multi-pitch one day and another little three pitch climb the next day.
We were supposed to go climbing on Table Mountain, but it was too wet and the official plan was to rent a vehicle to take everyone into the city. Live everything else, we discovered it was not so easy.
