Bethlehem and its
Guardian Angels

In Liphofung we spend the night in a large, open rondavel with a thatched roof. From our bed we have great views of the Milky Way and early in the morning we see how the shepherds chase the cattle out of the kraals, to go to green pastures.

Unfortunately Peters cold has increased to a light fever. Cycling, on a fraction of his lung capacity, is not really fun.
From Butha Buthe we pay a necessary visit to South Africa to buy some new parts for my bike. Via Caledonspoort we cycle to Bethlehem, where we get a marvellous room (with bathroom, fridge and television) in Birds Haven (website: www.sleeping-out.co.za/online/birdshaven) at a friendly cheap rate. Also the employees and owner of bicycle shop ‘Cycleworld’ are impressed by our long journey by bike and give a major discount on the bike parts that are essential to us. My bike is fitted with a new pedal and gear mechanism and a new mirror. For the bad gravel roads in Lesotho Peter let them tighten the spokes of his rear wheel.

For almost a week Peter keeps Bethlehem awake with his rough coughing. He produces the most beautiful coloured spits in the world. It’s only logical that the bacteria’s of at least six countries have settled in his lungs and now is the time to spit them out.

From Clarens we cycle back south and enjoy the unexpected and heart warming company of Jean and Sharon in Fouriesburg. This must at least have been the fifteenth invitation of the last three months? In their garden we enjoy a lovely and tasteful ‘braai’ and chase away a frightening black snake with reddish cheeks.

Via Caledonspoort we return to Lesotho. Half an hour later we cycle and walk in Butha Buthe, a dusty and grotty place. We’re back in black Africa: messy streets, corrugated iron shacks that function as supermarkets hooting mini buses and as always men who are shouting at us. We great everybody with the respectful “Khotso” (meaning: peace), but sometimes Peter can’t resist shouting something back to the guys that resembles their own language:
“ Eeeeeehh, abracadabra!” They always seem to understand this, according to the acknowledging nodding of their heads. On our way to the Ts’ehlanyane National Park (we won’t try to explain the pronunciation that we do not master ourselves), groups of grown up girls stop us for small talk. The first question always is:
“ Where are you going?” As a joke we sometimes say: “Butha Buthe,” the place we just came from. They look at us bewildered before saying: “But you’re going in the wrong direction!”
Once a girl walks to me and with her face very close to mine, she says: ” I love you very much!” By saying goodbye we blow kisses in the air; giggling she accepts them with a smile.
The 36 kilometre of rock-strewn road follows the river of Hlotse, where many children play and bath naked. We meet four small boys of about six years old, which are filling and fixing some potholes in the road by hand and shovel. With a happy smile they pose for a picture, and with an even happier smile they accept a small gift for their hard work. A little bit further a group of children is playing the guitar, made of oil drums and a branch. When you’re not rich, you have to be smart. Under a sudden thunderstorm we reach the park, soaking wet. And cold!

The Ts’ehlanyane National Park is located deep in the front range of the Maluti Mountains, with headquarters at the foot of the Holomo Pass. Over 5600 hectares of extremely rugged terrain is protected within this park, containing many small mountain streams and falls. On the campsite, where the water and electricity regrettably is under maintenance, we are the only guests. We bath in the cold river and do our needs in the bushes.
The small map that we received at the reception shows a four to five hour hiking trail, crossing the wild bamboo, che che and fijnbos, indigenous woods that are specific for this area. The hike leads us over two mountain edges, between baboons, crossing a dozen of fast flowing streams, through man-high grasses and some flower and plant species we have never seen before. After five and a half hour of climbing we finally reach the summit of the second mountain ridge and start to understand that the very tiny map doesn’t show the many curves of the real path. After eight hours, and climbing over eight hundred altitude metres we find ourselves back at the campsite, worn out. We just had an exquisite day of rest again!
After this I skin the dead snake we found yesterday on the outside of our tent while pitching it. By accident and without seeing it, we must have packed the poor animal into our tent package in Clarens, two days ago.

Poor animal?
Later it turns out to be a venomous snake. And we happen to be very lucky. An even bigger miracle is perhaps that the snake didn’t bite us and injected its neurotic venom when we packed the tent and he threatened to be suffocated.

Guardian angels, thanks again.