The weekend objective was not just to climb our way into a new country, but to horseback through several villages high up in the mountain valleys. Far from being expert riders, there were some running nerves at first. But once the sun broke through the thin air at 2000 meters and the utter beauty of the raw and almost desolate mountains of eastern Lesotho hit us, we were pumped. We met our horses after a short packed lunch and siesta. Typical of us British, I think there we had expectations meeting the steeds riding at Balaclava. Instead, we were met by short, but strong mountains climbers. Immediately the course was up down up down. Looks of scepticism and contained giggles lasted most of the afternoon as we got used to the hills, especially after our first group canter during which several of the boys (namely one [HUGH]) squealed the whole way. The naming of the horses took most of the afternoon’s thoughts and conversations, and I must say there were some originals: Freddie’s was Poppy Dog; Pippa humbled our departed Jake with her horse Jacob; there were a few named after Roman emperors; and my moody dude was dubbed Sir Muhammed Marcel Hillary Ghengis Khan. All smiles, we rode into the evening to a tiny village seated between two converging valleys.

Looking strong on Day one

Arrival at the village at sunset

Just in time for sunset, we were greeted by laughing children amused by these Westerners staggering off their saddles. With a few beers in hand, dinner was at a local family’s house, who also housed us for the night. The meal was fantastic, hearty, and all local. And then we hit bed. Time check: 8.45pm. The valleys we passed through are dotted with little round houses. Part of local tradition, most families will have at least one of these houses, where it is said ancestors of the past can be met and consulted. It is in one of these round stone buildings that all eleven Peppers slept scattered on mattresses with gargantuan wool blankets. Canopied with one of the better star nights, snug like bugs, we talked and joked into the early night. Day one in Lesotho finito.

Snug like bugs

Outside our cosy hut

The sun started to poke through our little windows about half past five. Then came the roosters. Followed by some donkey not wanting to be left out. And finally a few of the local children giggling and playing outside. Breakfast at seven was a local porridge, delicious home baked bread, boiled eggs and huge mugs of tea. By nine we were saddling up and on our way into a hot and clear day. I would be lying if I said we were all feeling 150 percent fit. I for one had several knacks in my back and far too many funks in my buttocks. But we trooped on and once past the first ridge forgot our aches. We rode all morning, mastering our uphill cantering and finally crossed the finishing line just past noon. We all decided to drop our bags and go for another short ride. But less than an hour in both horses and Peppers were limping and we called it a day – for riding. Lunch again was tremendous - three amazing bean dishes on rice – and then it was back to the Land Rovers for four more hours bumping about.

Scenes from day 2 of sore bums

Reaching the Lesotho border control at the top of the pass is a Africa’s highest pub, that has all the accompanying charm of any pub in Dorset. Looking out at a sea of fog (our luck) we had a refreshing drink before leaping into the final descent. The rest of the ride was easy, even with a bit of racing banter between the boys car and the girls. By 6pm we’re back at the lodge at the base of the hills, prepping dinner and cracking the beers. Lesotho was short and sweet, an amazing climb into the clouds. But I’m sure the memories of the hills, amazing people and horses that live up there (and the sore bottoms) will last much longer.

Eager for a drink at the highest pub in Africa

Bumping our way back into South Africa