Cold Mountain
I was bleary eyed and exhausted, and the last on the bus when I got off in the Northern Drankensburg, the mountain range that streches across Eastern South Africa.
As is the case in so many hostels across South Africa, the internet wasn´t working, most of the tours weren´t running, and the bar was not staffed, you had to enquire about a beer at reception. I was the only arrival that day, the rest of the hostel guests were in Lesotho. Colin, the guy at reception suggested i could spend the afternoon taking a walk on the property. The kitchen of the hostel provided a spectacular view of about 5 km of the mountain range, but the propety itself seemed to be flat farmland until the mountains began. "Is it scenic?" i asked.
"Depends what you'd describe as scenic," answered Colin uncommitteded. I wasn´t convinced and decided id rather spend the afternoon in bed.
Eventually Josh, an American I had met in Cape Town arrived and later Lauren from the US and Sanjata from Nepal. When the girls wanted to spend the next day walking the Apitheatureure track, and Josh and I wanted to go to Lesotho for the day we had a stale mate, as none of the trips would run unless three people are willing. I was the one that gave in and agreed to walk the amphitheatreure track.
However the next morning visibility was zero, so any chance of the vast views promised from the top were lost. But we climbed in the car and gave it a go anyway. As the mist cleared at some points through the drive, you could see the vast mountains and dams, the ground level evidence of a major hydro electric scheme that ran all over the area.
We drove higher and evidence of snow became thicker. Sentenial Peak carpark the ground was covered quiet thickly, and Colin our guide went discuss the matter of climbing the mountain with the guards.
As Colin was a trained mountain guide, the guards had no quams about our safety on the track, but more about our general mental state to be anywhere except by a fire somewhere. But Colin was keen. It hasn´t snowed on the Drankenburg for two years, and this was the first of an unusually early winter, bringing about much excitement for a mountain guide. We all had warm jackets, Colin especially approved of mine, "I just dont understand these people who set off to travel the world without a good raincoat" he said. He looked at me like i somehow understood him better now. But us girls were wearing jeans, and while a little walk was possible it unlikely that we would reach the top.
As soon as we began I froze, and was ready to run the track, but a meters away from the group you couldn´t see a thing. There had been a sign at the gates warning about theft of walking shoes during misty conditions. I dont think I could have faced bearing my toes and walking back in the snow. It snowed quite heavily as we walked along,snowdropsdrops like pelets hitting your face. My hands were painfully cold. In Melbourne my gloves had been lovely and warm, but the second i stepped out, i remembered i had bought them for $2 at dimmeys and they were no good for real cold.
Colin walked suspiously nursing a snow ball, the two other girls packed in defense. "Are you just going to stand there Courtney?" asked Colin.
"Yes, Im not prepared to get my hands wet, there cold enough" i argued.
When the snow balls flew, they tired to avoid me, an innocent bystander at first. That got boring, and about 90 seconds later i coped one pretty hard to the head. At a severe disadvantage to the snow bearing countries, my snowballs could do with perfection. Badly packed, with poor aim, they either disintergrated mid flight or disturbed no one as they flew off the thin track in no particular direction. But to my surprise, the snow was not wet. It was to cold for it to melt in my hands.
About 30 mins in Colin stopped us. "We have come quite far given the conditions, I don't know whether you would like to continue further?" This question was echoed by an enormous deafening clap of thunder. "Okay, so we are going to head back to the car now guys" called Colin.
We opted to spend the afternoon at a park at the bottom of the Berg, Royal Natal. The mist from the morning had cleared and i was taken by scenery so different to the Australian Bush. Hills and mountains were a patchwork of greens, and browns with highlights of burgundy which made the landscape seem magical.
Due to the weather we had been restricted to short walks, and we met Colin back at the car a few hours later. "Girls, are you sick of this disgusting weather yet? Your clothes are soaked. Can i take you back to the lodge and you can enjoy the lovely fire." And at that point I realised it had been raining all day.
The four of us were back at the lodge by 3pm, and with nothing to do we spent the afternoon investigating the cocktail menu. A rand a cocktail, $3 Aussie dollars, and a whole book of choices, we kept ourselves and the bartender busy well into the night.
In the morning we woke to the spectacular consolation for missing out on our walk the day before. On a crystal clear morning, every peak of the mountain was covered with snow.
We figured Lesotho would be knee deep in the stuff, but a couple of Americans had arrived the night before and were keen to join Josh and myself, so we headed out. As we drove through mountains, its was windy but the views of the peaks were wonderful.
Through the border posts, you could feel the change from the industrial Free State provence of South Africa we had driven through, to delightfully rural Lesotho. Goats and sheep wandered freely through the mountains, cows dreamily blocked our road every few hundred meters, to our delight, and our driver, Godfrey's, frustration. We past the Lesotho border post, a few abandon caravans, the area so remote, the border no longer operated.
The senery was bewildering. High snow capped mountains, and deep green valley. Despite the snow, Lesotho was a sun trap, and the day was very warm. Our first stop was the school, were a donation from our trip is made.
We were joined by a teacher of the school, Power, who once had also been a student there, the first primary school in the area. From the school we walked up to the San caves, where the original inhabitants of the area had left painting about 500 years old on the walls. About 20 years ago the paintings had told a lot about the lives of the bushman, about the animals they ate, were they hunted and finally about the Zulus who eventually drove them out of the area. But today, there's not much. Unfortunately, things like this in Africa are not easy to protect. Instead of paintings we saw the remainance of some red and browns lines, and the names and pictures of many a young child scraped in to the rocks, rubbing away all the history.
We visited other places in the town, the local Sangoma, or healing woman, the local store and a sheebee where we tried the local beer. I didn't understand what it was made of, but it was a milky colour. I sort of tasted a bit like Cotties Saline drink, but without the lemon flavour, so i suppose, sort of just milky and effervescent....
As we drove back, everyone agreed that while we were all terribly moved by the scenery of the area, its the African children that are always the most delighful part of the area. Thier presence is such a delight! Of course they are beautiful to look, thier deep eyes are so engaging, but aside from that they are about the most charming people you could ever hope to come across. Every child on the street will stop and wave at your car. When you wave back it always results in such delight and fun they all dance and squeall and laugh until they fall over. Then then they stand back up and wave again. I was standing around staring off into the distance in the village, when a little hand slipped inside mine. The little girl standing next to me didn't even look up. She just went on singing and drawing in the dirt with her feet.
Even the Africans themselves are enchanted by the glee every skipping child brings, and cant resist picking them up and throwing them in the air. Power, the serious and reserved head teacher at the school will change into a different person, his stern looks cracks, and a smile bigger than the whole world escapes at the delight of one child.
As is the case in so many hostels across South Africa, the internet wasn´t working, most of the tours weren´t running, and the bar was not staffed, you had to enquire about a beer at reception. I was the only arrival that day, the rest of the hostel guests were in Lesotho. Colin, the guy at reception suggested i could spend the afternoon taking a walk on the property. The kitchen of the hostel provided a spectacular view of about 5 km of the mountain range, but the propety itself seemed to be flat farmland until the mountains began. "Is it scenic?" i asked.
"Depends what you'd describe as scenic," answered Colin uncommitteded. I wasn´t convinced and decided id rather spend the afternoon in bed.
Eventually Josh, an American I had met in Cape Town arrived and later Lauren from the US and Sanjata from Nepal. When the girls wanted to spend the next day walking the Apitheatureure track, and Josh and I wanted to go to Lesotho for the day we had a stale mate, as none of the trips would run unless three people are willing. I was the one that gave in and agreed to walk the amphitheatreure track.
However the next morning visibility was zero, so any chance of the vast views promised from the top were lost. But we climbed in the car and gave it a go anyway. As the mist cleared at some points through the drive, you could see the vast mountains and dams, the ground level evidence of a major hydro electric scheme that ran all over the area.
We drove higher and evidence of snow became thicker. Sentenial Peak carpark the ground was covered quiet thickly, and Colin our guide went discuss the matter of climbing the mountain with the guards.
As Colin was a trained mountain guide, the guards had no quams about our safety on the track, but more about our general mental state to be anywhere except by a fire somewhere. But Colin was keen. It hasn´t snowed on the Drankenburg for two years, and this was the first of an unusually early winter, bringing about much excitement for a mountain guide. We all had warm jackets, Colin especially approved of mine, "I just dont understand these people who set off to travel the world without a good raincoat" he said. He looked at me like i somehow understood him better now. But us girls were wearing jeans, and while a little walk was possible it unlikely that we would reach the top.
As soon as we began I froze, and was ready to run the track, but a meters away from the group you couldn´t see a thing. There had been a sign at the gates warning about theft of walking shoes during misty conditions. I dont think I could have faced bearing my toes and walking back in the snow. It snowed quite heavily as we walked along,snowdropsdrops like pelets hitting your face. My hands were painfully cold. In Melbourne my gloves had been lovely and warm, but the second i stepped out, i remembered i had bought them for $2 at dimmeys and they were no good for real cold.
Colin walked suspiously nursing a snow ball, the two other girls packed in defense. "Are you just going to stand there Courtney?" asked Colin.
"Yes, Im not prepared to get my hands wet, there cold enough" i argued.
When the snow balls flew, they tired to avoid me, an innocent bystander at first. That got boring, and about 90 seconds later i coped one pretty hard to the head. At a severe disadvantage to the snow bearing countries, my snowballs could do with perfection. Badly packed, with poor aim, they either disintergrated mid flight or disturbed no one as they flew off the thin track in no particular direction. But to my surprise, the snow was not wet. It was to cold for it to melt in my hands.
About 30 mins in Colin stopped us. "We have come quite far given the conditions, I don't know whether you would like to continue further?" This question was echoed by an enormous deafening clap of thunder. "Okay, so we are going to head back to the car now guys" called Colin.
We opted to spend the afternoon at a park at the bottom of the Berg, Royal Natal. The mist from the morning had cleared and i was taken by scenery so different to the Australian Bush. Hills and mountains were a patchwork of greens, and browns with highlights of burgundy which made the landscape seem magical.
Due to the weather we had been restricted to short walks, and we met Colin back at the car a few hours later. "Girls, are you sick of this disgusting weather yet? Your clothes are soaked. Can i take you back to the lodge and you can enjoy the lovely fire." And at that point I realised it had been raining all day.
The four of us were back at the lodge by 3pm, and with nothing to do we spent the afternoon investigating the cocktail menu. A rand a cocktail, $3 Aussie dollars, and a whole book of choices, we kept ourselves and the bartender busy well into the night.
In the morning we woke to the spectacular consolation for missing out on our walk the day before. On a crystal clear morning, every peak of the mountain was covered with snow.
We figured Lesotho would be knee deep in the stuff, but a couple of Americans had arrived the night before and were keen to join Josh and myself, so we headed out. As we drove through mountains, its was windy but the views of the peaks were wonderful.
Through the border posts, you could feel the change from the industrial Free State provence of South Africa we had driven through, to delightfully rural Lesotho. Goats and sheep wandered freely through the mountains, cows dreamily blocked our road every few hundred meters, to our delight, and our driver, Godfrey's, frustration. We past the Lesotho border post, a few abandon caravans, the area so remote, the border no longer operated.
The senery was bewildering. High snow capped mountains, and deep green valley. Despite the snow, Lesotho was a sun trap, and the day was very warm. Our first stop was the school, were a donation from our trip is made.
We were joined by a teacher of the school, Power, who once had also been a student there, the first primary school in the area. From the school we walked up to the San caves, where the original inhabitants of the area had left painting about 500 years old on the walls. About 20 years ago the paintings had told a lot about the lives of the bushman, about the animals they ate, were they hunted and finally about the Zulus who eventually drove them out of the area. But today, there's not much. Unfortunately, things like this in Africa are not easy to protect. Instead of paintings we saw the remainance of some red and browns lines, and the names and pictures of many a young child scraped in to the rocks, rubbing away all the history.
We visited other places in the town, the local Sangoma, or healing woman, the local store and a sheebee where we tried the local beer. I didn't understand what it was made of, but it was a milky colour. I sort of tasted a bit like Cotties Saline drink, but without the lemon flavour, so i suppose, sort of just milky and effervescent....
As we drove back, everyone agreed that while we were all terribly moved by the scenery of the area, its the African children that are always the most delighful part of the area. Thier presence is such a delight! Of course they are beautiful to look, thier deep eyes are so engaging, but aside from that they are about the most charming people you could ever hope to come across. Every child on the street will stop and wave at your car. When you wave back it always results in such delight and fun they all dance and squeall and laugh until they fall over. Then then they stand back up and wave again. I was standing around staring off into the distance in the village, when a little hand slipped inside mine. The little girl standing next to me didn't even look up. She just went on singing and drawing in the dirt with her feet.
Even the Africans themselves are enchanted by the glee every skipping child brings, and cant resist picking them up and throwing them in the air. Power, the serious and reserved head teacher at the school will change into a different person, his stern looks cracks, and a smile bigger than the whole world escapes at the delight of one child.
posted by Courtney | 4:46 AM
2 Comments:
Your not going to do an Angelian Jolie and bring home five kids with you are you?
Hey Nonie, interesting question - most exciting as i know the answer! Lesotho is the country, Basotho is the people and the language is called Sotho. But actually they just shorten it all call all three Sotho sometimes.
Hey tess, You know if i wanted to bring home five kids then i could have just collected the ones ive been offered so far. But after a while you want to give them back - African kids are good and sweet, but they dont wear nappies... messy stuff
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