WHITE WONDERLAND

IN JULIA'S WORDS

11 April, Thursday

Elemental – there’s a word for our Sani Pass stay. 
Water (running and frozen), Air (thin and ka-ka-ka-kold), Earth (a flower friendly, part-thawing, part-frozen marsh), and Fire – now warming us in the Sani Pass Lodge Backpackers’ lounge.

The night before

The morning after

Thinking of Scotland ... and Jenny

The mist chased us indoors

Elementary, too, are our backpackers’ quarters. Or so would say us creatures who are used to inhabiting THAT world of comforts. En suite, en tertained, en tap, that kind of thing. Nod if you know what I mean. 

It’s all good here, though, elementary in the elements – the blankets are supreme – but here’s a thing. The doors outside each of the backpacker’s rooms – there are four rooms – all have a bolt that can be secured from the OUTSIDE. IE in a trice you can be locked IN.  Same goes for the door to the whole building, and the door to the ablution block next door (resembling a cattle barn). Troubling…

The generator’s out now, it being past 10pm, and in the backpackers’ lounge Rehana considers the fire. How the tiniest of blue flames tickle at a wooden block – a tree, still so generous in its warm last moments – and flares into orange or else dies black, depending on its fortune. 

Piccca, exhausted after being the most exuberant mountain dog (liberated finally from the shackles of soft suburban life) is flopped here on the couch between us. On the dark couch opposite snores the old Big Black Dog who lives in this village, whose massive wise old head seems too big for his starved body to carry. But carry it, he does.

IN PIKACHU'S WORDS

Thursday, 11 April

I am also on this trip so I should get a chance to have my say. I’ve been very anxious for more than a month, there was so much change at home. My humans packed all their things away. They left my bowl in the same place. Zarina arrived, with her children and my parents and my brother. 
Then my humans went away and they didn’t take me with. I was worried, I tell you! I was asking myself am I going to sleep outside, with my family? But my humans came back again and I slept in my usual place, under the duvet between their feet.

I have a big English vocabulary. I understand what it means when humans say they are going. Go and going were the first two English words I learned. When they put all their new stuff into that big car, I knew immediately what was going on. They were going. I had to go with them.

They put me in the big red car and they kept me with them when they started their going. I found a spot on the backseat, in my bed with the sheepskin cushion, and fell asleep in the warm sun shining through the back window.

I'm going with!

The first place they took me to wasn’t bad, but it was busy. There were seven dogs; ranging from a ridgeback to two small things with ears that were almost as cute as mine. There were sheep. I felt an urge to tell them where to go. But they’re much bigger than me, and they smell funny, so I kept my distance.

We went for a walk, as usual. My humans are well trained. One of the dogs jumped the fence to join us, but he was okay. There were a lot of new smells on this walk. I could smell cold scaly things on the rocks. And warm fur in some of the holes in the clay, but nothing fresh. Still, I love pushing my nose down holes to breathe in the potential of snapping away at a warm furry thing. I think I like that second most, after going with my humans.

We slept on top of the car that night, on a mattress much thinner than the one at home. But my humans brought our duvet and when I crawled under and down to the bottom, I found a softer place; there was a narrow soft layer under the mattress. I reclined full length on it all night long; pushed the human next to me out of the way and to the edge of the room on top of the car.

The next place we went to was better. It was like a park. There were no fences and walls. I could go anywhere, anytime. I checked out the holes between the rocks. They smell of fresh warm furry things. I push my nose deeper. Could they be here, now? They’re not. I’ll come back later.

There’s horses. I tell them where to go, but they don’t listen to me. They don’t even look up when I bark. There’s one man here that I don’t like. My growl comes from deep in my gut every time I see him. I sleep at the foot end of the bed nearest the door. I growl when the stray comes scratching at the door. She’s skin and bones, she scares me.

When we go on walks, and we do that a lot in this place we came to, there’s no leash, no “be careful Pikka!” There’s no pavements and no cars, but you must look out for the horses and the donkeys. You're not allowed to chase the chickens, but it's too much fun. 

The next place we went to had lots of furry warm things. They kept popping up from their holes, I didn’t even need to sniff them out. They drove me crazy. Whenever I ran towards one of them another would pop out of another hole and I would spin around and lose my sense of direction. A few times the tip of my nose nearly touched one. What a place we’ve come to!

 Julia and Pikka enjoying the freezing wonderland, Rehana is trying 

The next day the place was completely different. After we woke up and went outside there was a big grey wet thing that rolled up towards us. We went back inside, my human made a fire and put my bed right next to it. When we went outside the place had changed again. This time, wet white things came down on the ground. My feet were freezing but the rest of me was warm under my yellow Bafana Bafana coat. We went inside and I stretched myself out, full length, next to the fire.

When we went out again the white stuff was crunchy under my feet. I like the sound it makes. It’s not so cold on my feet, and anyway who cares, I’ve just seen a warm furry thing nodding its head at me. I’m off! For once I pretend I don’t understand English when my humans call me to come back inside to the warm fire, where they’ve been sitting all day.

IN REHANA'S WORDS

I SAY DANKIE

One thing I did expect from this trip was campfire hospitality. And boy, are we getting it. I wanted to buy a two-tone shirt to fit in with the Tokkies and Sarels I expected to meet along the way; fellow members of the Landcruiser family. I knew I would have to improve my rusty Afrikaans and Julia was relishing an opportunity to practice her hanswors, stukkende taal.

From our very first 4x4 campfire, at St James Lodge, there were eager manne ready to share their knowledge. They had come down the road we were going up, Sani Pass. They had done what I was dreading. Words failed us as we tried to explain our dilemma in die taal. Julia asked, so sweetly, “how do you say beginner in Afrikaans?”

They shared their braai coals with us so we didn’t have to make a fire, and their tongs so we didn’t have to search for ours. They shared their knowledge of roads in Lesotho and the tyre pressure needed to tackle certain sections. 
I wanted to ask them how to get to Sani Pass, because our Garmin wouldn’t recognise where we were, but managed to restrain myself. I didn’t want to show them just how little we knew – we didn’t know the way to where we were going next.

We got directions to Sani Lodge at the Mokhotlong Hotel – in a small town down and up the gorge from St James on an awful, awful road. On the main road of Mokhotlong, the Garmin sprung into action and said the only meaningless phrase it is capable of uttering right now: “Continue on highlighted route”.

At Sani Mountain Lodge we’ve been inundated with essential information about our car and its capabilities. We’ve been asking every one who comes up the pass what we need to do to get down. They all ask what we’re driving then say the same thing: “Your car will take you down the mountain”. One of the tour guide drivers said: “just put it H4 second gear, cross your legs on your seat and steer.”  People came up and down the pass all day despite the snow piling up outside.

I doubt very much that there’s been anyone better prepared – theoretically at least – about driving down Sani Pass than Julia and I.

Everybody who steps into the pub at Sani Mountain Lodge came because they wanted to drive the pass. Some come up and down a few times a week, bringing tourists from all over the world to Lesotho where all they see is a very Welsh-looking pub before they leave the country again.  
The 4x4 drivers help us with relish, and most comforting is their admiration, without exception, of our big red car.

I expect to find such generosity at every campfire we find. As soon as I figure out everything our car can do, I’m going to help other novices at campfires.