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"Where are you heading?" asked the border official. "Malealea," I replied nervously.....
.... She smiled, "You'll enjoy it there." Here in the heartland of mountainous Lesotho where blanket-clad shepherds watch over their flocks, the Jones family have created a fascinating environment through a combination of their own personal warmth, native knowledge and a wealth of natural and cultural attractions. Malealea thrives on its genuine interaction with the neighbouring village and I arrived just as the choir was starting up, followed by a band playing home-made instruments with wonderful exuberance. The pony trekking centre is run entirely by the locals, who will take you on treks for up to six days (you stay in the villages you visit), and children lead you to waterfalls and rock art. Communal suppers are served canteen style - backpackers and ambassadors rub comradely shoulders – before the pub and Glen's singing around the fire lure you away. When the generator stops, your torch guides you back to thatched rondavel or farmhouse-style accommodation. I woke to the unmistakable cries of peacocks ringing out of the early-morning mist lying low in the valleys. I loved this place. For the adventurous, the family have recently opened chalets in the south of the country dramatically positioned beneath the sheer flanks of Mt Mooroosi, the scene of a fierce siege of the Maphuti by the British. As you make your way up the mountain, still strewn everywhere are cartridges, mortar and graffiti from 1879. Suddenly your trip just got longer.
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