Looking for dragons in Lesotho

Even though I released a book earlier this year called Here Be No Dragons, I must confess that I do enjoy a good dragon or two. So I found myself going up the steep dirt road through Sani Pass in a jeep to look for them.

The surrounding mountain range aptly named Drakensberg (Dragon’s Mountain) is said to have inspired J.R.R. Tolkien himself in his descriptions of Middle Earth, so what better place to look for dragons than this?

The road was not for the faint of heart. After an hour I felt more shaken than stirred. The 4×4 jeep was pushed to its limits but continued stoically onward through an endless number of hairpin turns of rock and gravel. Some of the sharp turns even have names, such as Devil’s Corner, Suicide Bend and Hairpin Bend. How reassuring. We stopped on a plateau about half-way up to have a drink, adhering to the local tradition.

Driving through Sani Pass to Drakensberg.

The route up Sani Pass starts at 1544 meters and it climbs up to 2876 meters at the summit. At the top of the pass we finally crossed into Lesotho, one of those tiny countries that many people have never heard of. The entire country lies entirely above 1000 meters in elevation, making it the world’s highest-altitude nation.

The border station felt like a remote outpost. As I got out of the car, the wind hit me in the face like a fist from Chuck Norris. Two sheep were lazily observing me from a few meters away. The border proceedings were fairly fast, but I recommend that you stay away from the facilities.

Off the grid in eastern Lesotho.

Only two of the roads leading into the country are made of concrete, fortunately we were driving on one of them. As I surveyed the landscape, it felt like crossing a plateau. The eastern part of Lesotho is a very barren landscape, since it is above the tree limit.

Lesotho is not a place that ends up on any bucket list by accident. It’s not a stopover. It’s a detour. A jagged mountain kingdom jammed inside the belly of South Africa, like someone carved out a chunk of Middle Earth and dropped it on the wrong continent.

We stopped at a Basotho village. The Basotho are an ethnic group who speak Sesotho. As we ate homemade bread inside a hut, they described their daily life without electricity or running water. It’s a privilege to be there and I felt so much gratitude to meet them and learn of their story.

I came looking for dragons. Not the fire-breathing kind, but something more elusive. A sense of mystery, wonder, the stuff of childhood daydreams and weathered travel books. We won’t find them in Paris or Prague. But in the highlands of Lesotho, where clouds slice across basalt cliffs and roads curl like dying snakes, the improbable becomes possible. But maybe I didn’t need to find them after all. Because sometimes it’s enough just to go. To get lost in a place high above the clouds where the map ends.