Lesotho - Semonkong
"There is so much to see in South Africa and your vacation is so short, why do you want to go to Lesotho? And by public transport, uncomfortable and packed with Africans; and ... you have not booked a hotel?".
Monica, the cordial hostess of Cedar Inn in Underberg could hardly comprehend it. After breakfast she dropped me off along the road to Kokstad, from where I easily reached the town of Matatiele by minibus taxi. An already overloaded Hilux was ready for departure to the border post at Qacha's Nek, and I was still allowed to join. Around a dozen men cramped together in the back of the car, children on their laps, goods filled up all remaining space, and this way we climbed to the 2000-meter high mountain pass in one hour, to Lesotho. Hilarious situations at every hole in the road or bump on our path. In Qacha's Nek I found a phone shop, or more precise a woman who made available her cell phone at a fee, and I contacted Semonkong Lodge. A friendly voice informed me that they had beds, and with some luck I might be able to arrive just before dark. Everything went well today. The previously barely passable mountain road from Qacha's Nek had recently been widened and paved by the Chinese and have since turned into true racing tracks. One moment I relaxed and enjoyed great views, with the sun setting slowly. The other moment I held my heart as we raced like crazy through steep hairpin bends and along steep walls, even during heavy rain and hail showers. Towards the evening we reached the village of Semonkong, with its much-praised Lodge at the Maletsunyane River. They rarely see guests here who arrive without booking. The guy who took me to my rondavel gave me a nickname: "The Man Who Just Came ....". Later I go to the cozy bar. On TV I see the Ajax youth playing live for the Youth League. I order a three-course dinner, drink a few beers and finally go to bed very satisfied.
Semonkong Lodge has something neo-colonial about it. The local, often poverty-stricken black farmers, passes by the elevated stone terrace of the Tavern, in order to meet daily ends. On the terrace, black waitstaff serve the lazy white clientele with relatively expensive drinks and snacks. However, the necessary effort is being made to promote the idea of equality. It involves that the waiter personally introduces him- or herself to the customer, though maybe somewhat obligatory; and they should regularly start a chat in order to improve mutual understanding. Furthermore, the Management of the Lodge emphasizes its major contribution to the local economy; the dozens of employees that make a living here, the local suppliers, the care for the environment, hence the idealistic motives of the owners. Self employed local guides run an information desk on the premises of the Lodge, which is apparently free of rent. The lodge is somehow in harmony with its surroundings, which reassures me and allows me to enjoy my time with less hesitation.
In the morning I book a guide for a hike to Maletsunyane waterfall, where the water thunders down from 196 meters. Japi is a cheerful, talkative local guy with knowledge of the area, and therefore excellent company. We walk through fields, pass villages and meet countless people on donkeys and horses commuting between remote settlements and Semonkong. In town, they will have their grains or corn grinded, fill up their gas tanks, or stock up in the mostly Chinese and Pakistani owned shops.
Many rondavels have a small flag; the color of which indicates what is currently being offered for sale. We see mostly white and yellow ones, corresponding with different types of home-brewed beer
After about an hour we reach the spectacular viewpoint opposite the waterfall, well-known from the brochure.
In the afternoon I plan to explore Semonkong town. It is cold, and then it starts to rain. I quickly return to the Lodge, warm myself up under the woolen blankets for quite some time, and in the late afternoon I make a move to the Tavern, where I will spend an above-average pleasant evening. Such a variety of people, so many special stories ....
The next morning, I am patiently waiting for the minibus to Lesotho's capital Maseru to finally fill up. Thoroughly satisfied with my time in the highlands of Lesotho, but now craving for the wonderful South African late summer.