I’m going to be honest with you. Up until a few years ago, I was unaware that the beautiful, mountain country of Lesotho (pronounced Leh-Su-Too) even existed. It’s location within South Africa is a bit bizarre, by geo-political border standards, making it one of three countries to be landlocked by another country. This fact alone was enough to make Lesotho instantly drop into my ‘unlike anything I’ve seen before’ category. But that little tid-bit proved to be the first of many "firsts" for me on this 72 hour road trip.

Some quick facts about Lesotho:
  --The lowest point above sea level in Lesotho is 1500 metres, making it the country with the highest low point in the world.
  --Lesotho is nick-named "The Kingdom in the Sky".
  --The Katse Dam (our intended destination) is the highest dam in Africa (the surface reaches 2050 metres when full). The dam is the result of the Lesotho Highlands Water Project, a cooperative project between the governments of South Africa and Lesotho. The water is pumped into South Africa and mainly used for the province of Gauteng.
  --Lesotho has no other major natural resources aside from diamonds and water; hence the selling of water to South Africa.
  --The terrain of Lesotho is mountainous and formidable resulting in a strong tradition
of horse riding.

Windy roads and waterfalls. Lesotho, 2016

Thankfully Chris was allowed inside the warm grey, linoleum office room with me. We stood beside the border guard as he continued to shift his weight, shake his head, sigh, and occasionally look up to eye me with a look of sheer disappointment and dubiousness. He continued to flip through my passport. There was an elderly woman sitting on stool behind me that looked to be upwards of 90 years old. Her face was worn and forlorn. She sat there, unmoving, with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. How long had she been here? Was this my fate staring back at me?
The guard ran my visa as well as the ID page through a scanner numerous times then ordered one of his subordinate workers to do the same, only now with a magnifying glass. His message was now clear. He was trying to communicate to me that he thought my documentation was fake. Finally the silence was broken, "How much did you pay for this?", he said as he toyed with my passport. Searching my head for a logical answer, I tried to think back to what I payed for my South African visa in Chicago.

"About... $35USD I believe? I can't really remem-"
"No, what did you pay for THIS? WHERE did you get this?", he said prodding at the visa sticker with his forefinger.
"That's it. In Chicago. It was a part of my application fee for-"
"No."

And with this "No" he turned away from me and helped stamp other people's passports that were still lined up outside of his window. He wanted me to sweat. And I was sweating. But I truly had nothing to hide. I just spent the past few months running around, gathering up documentation, and heading to the South African, Chicago consulate to obtain my student visa. Legally. It must have been ast least 10 minutes before he finally explained that he thought my visa was a fake and that I payed for it illegally. He motioned to a fabric board on the far wall of the office covered in old, sun exposed documents and print outs. One of them was supposedly an "updated" version of what student visas look like. He said my font was wrong. I shrugged and told him that perhaps the consulate made a mistake. With a big laugh he shook his head and turned back to the little window; a bit more sweating on my part, and a few more people were allowed into Lesotho. *stamp stamp*

I pleaded with him. I began running through all of the hoops and time and documents and money that it took for me to obtain my South African student visa legally. But he was still severely unimpressed. "What kind of documents?", he finally asked. I began to list, "Notarized birth certificates, bank statements-"
"Yes, that is what you need..", eyes rolling, smiling. It seemed that pleading with him was in vain and that I should just wait for him to propose his "monetary" solution. But Chris was stubborn and thankfully he warned me about this. He's seen this before and knew that if you stood your ground there was ultimately nothing they could do. They could however hold us at the border, claiming there was an issue, and ruin our long weekend plans. They knew this. Hence the sweating. (We'd already been detained for what seemed like upwards of 45 minutes.)

Finally the border officer turned to me and asked for me to write down my address. "USA? or South Africa?", I asked. He shrugged then settled for both. I scrawled both addresses on a very official scrap of white paper torn from the corner of another document and handed it back to him. He took the paper and leaned into me, "Now, if I find out there is a problem with this..", motioning to my passport, "..you will be hearing from me personally. Do you understand?"
He took my passport and, with some theatrical reluctancy, he gave me my exit stamp. *stamp stamp* I thanked him, purely out of the need of the situation, and clutched my passport in my sweaty hands. My beautiful, beautiful passport. Chris and I walked out of the office and headed to our car with a confident facade and veiled urgency. We got our clear to leave, let's go before he changes his mind.

South African exit stamp: Unlocked! South Africa / Lesotho Border, 2016 __________________________________________

We were finally on our way into Lesotho, one more checkpoint stood in our way. But it would seem that the Lesotho border post must of been taking tips from the South African side because their border experience was comparably as strange. We were motioned to a small, post-office looking building where inside sat a lady at a desk behind thick glass. The interior of the building had little else. It was bright, empty, and extremely dated. A few signs with script reminiscent of old hospital, block lettering pointed to a few empty desks and vacant corridors. It reminded me of the mental ward in One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest.

We walked up to the lady and slid our passports through the 2 inch opening below the frame of glass. She looked up, pushed them back at us and, in one fluid motion with her pen, grunted and gestured to a side table covered with scattered customs slips and forms. After sifting through the pile to find two that were not already half written on, we felt as if we were making some progress. After completing the forms to the best of our knowledge, we re-slid our passports under the glass frame. Our passports were then stamped with such a force of anti-enthusiasm I felt as if this was the worst possible thing I could've asked the woman to do that day. (There was some anger in that stamp.) But, we had the stamp! Success! *stamp stamp*

Lesotho housing. Lesotho, 2016

We made our way back into our car feeling uniformly anxious and a bit mentally exhausted. We were both a bit unsure of what to expect next as we approached the gate equipped with another border official. Were we all set? Would they let us cross? Are they going to search our car? Are they going to turn us back to South Africa? (It had already been a 4+ hour drive and we still had 3+ more to go.) Our luck was pointing to 'yes'. But, surprisingly enough, our final encounter with border security upon leaving South Africa and entering Lesotho had been our most pleasant exchange yet. We pulled up to the gate and rolled forward, slowly and cautiously, into Lesotho. There was no car search. No questioning. Actually, they barely even glanced at our passports!

We sped away and left that border in the dust. Our weekend had finally begun. Spirits were high and we were feeding off of adrenaline. A new country. Sites! Exploring! Freedom! We made it! We were ready and felt like we'd dodged quite the weekend-derailing bullet. That is...until passing through our first major town, we were stopped by a police road block...


Lesotho: 72 Hours in the Mountains (part II) coming soon~

     My past three birthdays were spent in South Korea. The first birthday I was 3 weeks-new to the expat game, yet somehow managed to find myself on stage winning a Gangnam Style dance contest. That night raised the stakes pretty high in terms of world-wide birthday celebrations, I must admit, as it fed some serious fuel to the expat-lifestyle-fire. I feared it was to never be outdone. 

     Fast forward three years to now, 2015. I’ve since left Asia and currently find myself in the diversity and complexity of South Africa. Transitioning here has been bumpy, and sometimes I can’t help but fantasize back to the neon glow, safety net of South Korea. But alas, love makes you do silly things…

     Turning 27, or as I like to call it Three Away From Thirty, in my current surroundings was leaving me feeling a little bit irked. I’ve felt quite out of place in South Africa and seem to constantly be struggling for a foothold. Perhaps the fish-out-of-water feeling has finally lost its honeymoon, trial run appeal. Maybe the suitcase needs to be put in the attic for a wee bit...

     With all that being said, I’d always thought when growing up that I’d be well “settled” and “established” by my mid-20s. Whatever that means… Ha! That mindset has since evolved obviously, and it’s one that I’m completely fine with throwing to the wind nowadays in chase of a plane ticket. I’m really usually not too concerned about getting older, I swear! I don’t mind finding new smile lines. That is, until September 15th creeps up on the calendar and I find myself feeling older and disjointed and disconnected in a foreign country; a sure cocktail for gloom. 

But don’t you worry! This quarter-life crisis, self pity party has a happy ending. :)

__________________________________________________________________

     The Sunday of the weekend before that dreaded calendar day, Chris, my partner in crime, travel, and drinking too much, woke me up at 7:30am. He said we needed to leave around 8:30am to “get there in time”. I had no idea where we were heading off to but I could clearly tell by his kind eyes and smirk on his face that he was quite proud of himself. 

     We started driving out of the city and by my round-about sense of direction, I noticed we weren’t heading towards Joburg. So that ruled out the Johannesburg Art Fair, which was finishing up that day, our friends photography studio, and the Johannesburg Lion Park. We kept driving and the red dirt grew higher and narrower making its way onto the road and upwards to form hills and cliffs. We drove until the red dirt grew then receded back to give way to a more lush countryside with a lone ostrich running along its fence line. We drove further and met the base of mountain surrounded by small towns, fever trees, and eventually a large dam giving off the feeling of a small oasis. We were in Hartbeespoort. 

     Still not sure of our end destination we continued through the little touristy town full of bead shops, boutique accommodations, and hat vendors. We curved around a slight bend when I saw a slender, pale yellow sign: Elephant Sanctuary. I gasped and welled up. “Is this where we’re going? …Is this where we’re going!?” And that’s when I ugly-cried.

     This is something that I’ve always wanted to do! And Chris knew that. He’s the best.

I’d seen and been around elephants before. My first jaunt here in South Africa I was lucky enough to be taken to Kruger National Park where I saw African elephants for the first time in the wild. It was a stunning experience and one that I wont soon forget. Prior to that, I’d only seen elephants in zoos or being wrangled for tourists in South East Asia; neither of them being treated very well I’m afraid. And this is why I’d wanted to visit a sanctuary so badly. 

     The sanctuary facilities and surrounding areas were beautifully kept and ornamented. Wood carvings, playing to every tourists wants and needs no doubt, packed every space inside the welcome center. The backside of the center, prior to elephants, was a large forest area that dropped off and bled seamlessly into the center itself. This was the monkey sanctuary. 

     We followed our charismatic and knowledgable guide, Simba, down the pathway leading through the trees. Branches flicked above announcing the presence of macaques and lemurs. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lemur before in a zoo, let alone one in the wild. Simba pointed out a long black and white tail fluttering amongst the branches. “Look, there’s King Jullian himself!”, he recited. 

Simba also explained some interesting flora in the sanctuary. There were these trees that if you looked at them starting at their trunk, they looked to be a normal tree. But if you followed your eye upward, instead of typical branches they changed course to find what looked to be cactus. Interesting, and deadly. These trees are highly poisonous so don't mistake them for a water source. Or a fire source. Apparently some hikers used the dried branches of this tree to make a nighttime fire years back. Unfortunately, the group never woke up because of the poisonous fumes given off. Yikes.

     We walked a bit further and just before we reached the gate to the elephant enclosures we stopped. Littering the path and jumping between small trees were teeny-tiny squirrel monkeys. These little suckers were fast! I half expected one to jump out and onto my shoulder. So sweet, so lively and something I’ve never seen before.

     We entered the elephant sanctuary and were led to an opening with a few logs as benches and a thin wire rope to separate us from what was to come. Simba gave a brief ‘how to’ when it comes to engaging with an elephant and gave a brief history of how the elephants came to be at the sanctuary. Some were rescued from habitat destruction, others from under-funded zoos, and others from the threat of poaching. These elephants were not “trained” by any means and were still very much wild. Their caretakers though have built up a relationship with their respective animal through food. “No food, no relationship”, said Simba.

     We waited for a few moments (the elephants were on “Africa Time”) and then, silently, these gentle giants appeared. There were two of them and they were huge. As much as you can read in a book “African elephants are larger than Asian elephants”, seeing them both up close and witnessing the comparison is an entirely different event. They were also a red-sienna color because they’d be enjoying a dust bath.

     It was also clear that the elephants had very different and distinct personalities. The larger of the two seemed to be enjoying her time in the spotlight, while the other one seemed as if he couldn’t be bothered and just wanted his treats. We were set to touch the “movie star” of the two. But before the encounter began, the elephant handlers asked each elephant to “trumpet”. Both elephants flapped their ears and let out a powerful call, so powerful you see red dust rushing towards us. Then the handlers asked them another command which made the eles let out sound that was comparable to a low purr. I had no idea they made that sound! 

     We were motioned over to cross the thin wire rope and began our encounter. At first I just stood their stunned. I forgot I could reach out and touch them! Then the guide promoted me, “Touch! Touch!”, and then I felt along the side of her cheek. Then up her trunk. Her skin was much softer texturally then I’d imagined. The dust created a velvety layer over her dense and prickly skin and the grooves and wrinkles created faux barriers between different features. I couldn’t believe how deep the wrinkles seemed to go! 

     The handler then told us to look at her long eyelashes and to feel the under-flap of her ear and then to rub her belly. She didn’t seem to mind as she was preoccupied with vacuuming up all the goodies being tossed out in front of her. She continuously swept her long trunk across the dirt floor in an “S” motion looking for more snacks. A woman after my own heart.

     We then moved to her backside and she lifted up the bottom of her foot for us to feel. Underneath her foot was dense, hard, and slick much like a human fingernail. But what’s incredible is that an elephants foot has an extremely sophisticated network of muscle tissue that allows it to walk along in the forest without breaking twigs and making sound. The muscles feel along the ground and compensate and shift to accommodate what they may be stepping on. 

     Then we moved on to her tail, which looked like an old Chinese painting brush. Large, barb like bristles protruded out from its end. After the tail, we moved back up to the front and the elephant opened up her mouth for us to check out her teeth and tongue. She seemed pretty happy to do this because after we snuck a peek she munched down an entire mouthful of pellets and fluttered her ears back. (Side note: In the wild it’s said that when an elephant flutters its ears it’s a warning sign and you should back away. These guys however used it as a show of gratitude and enjoyment.)

Beaming~

     After our ele petting, we were offered a “kiss” from the small elephant of the two. Definitely couldn’t pass this up. Chris went first and got a slobbery trunk, suctioned cupped to his cheek. I soon followed and was greeted by a vacuum sealed trunk to my cheek and throat followed by what can only be called a “raspberry”. haha! I walked away with a face full of red mud and a dorky smile that can only come from being kissed by an elephant. 

     Chris and I waited as the other people from our group took turns petting and engaging. We were part of quite a diverse group and I couldn’t help but think of how incredible of an experience this was for people of all backgrounds to engage in. Books and film can only do so much. Actually seeing these beautiful, powerful, and gentle animals within arms could very well change someone’s mindset on animal conservation forever. As Jacques Cousteau once said, “ We protect only what we love.”

     After the “encounter” we followed Simba up a slight hill to a clearing that belonged to a large, 45 year old giant that was rescued from a Bloemfontein zoo. He was big. Perhaps the biggest I’ve ever seen. And you could tell this one had another personality all his own. He fluttered his ears and looked at us longingly. We were about to hand feed him and obviously he knew that.

     One by one we scooped food pellets into our hands and walked up to a line drawn in the sand. The big guy then would reach his trunk forward so we could dump his long awaited treats into nose and he would flutter his ears once again in appreciation and shoot the pellets back into his mouth. 

     After a brief anatomy lesson, the culmination of our tour at the sanctuary was walking “trunk in hand” with an elephant. We were led out to a large, circular area adjacent to the pens the elephants sleep in at night. One by one we were called out to join with a guide and take a stroll around the enclosure. The guide told us to stand in front of our elephant and drop our hands backwards, palms and fingers curled up, so the ele could grab hold of our hand as we led. The entire process went a bit fast and I think I was in a bit of a surreal shock to have really enjoyed every moment of it, but I do remember the texture of the inside of the nostril. Imagine the most corse nose hair… but fifteen times the length, paired with hot breath puffing down onto you. Elephants’ trunks are the strangest things if you think about it. Mouth? Hand? Nose? All of the above? Whatever you classify it as, I had my fingers up in it!

     The tour itself lasted about 2 hours. It was sad to leave of course. I could’ve stayed there all day (all week?) perhaps. But next on our agenda was catching a pint at the local Chameleon Brewhouse and heading up the Hardebeesport cableway to take in the view.

     It was an incredibly beautiful day. And one that breathed a bit of life into my time here in South Africa. Much needed breath. I was feeling a bit of an expat lull; displaced, depressed, discouraged. None of the above being a wanted companion thousands of miles away from home. But standing next to something so graceful, so beautiful, incredible and monumental can put your small things into perspective. Compared to the size of an elephant, my issues are Sure, not every day can be spent at an elephant sanctuary (Well, maybe it can. I mean…seriously, let me know eh?), but why not turn and try to face each day not as a means to an end, but on the backs of enjoying the big, the small, the different, and the familiar.

     Telling the customs agent at the airport you’re another year older really isn’t that terrifying. What’s terrifying is falling into regret, monotony, and the pessimism that comes with focusing on a number to compare yourself too. A standard. Sure I feel in limbo here in South Africa. But this is due to certain outlying factors that I can’t really control at this very moment. But what I can control is relishing in the moment: Relishing in where I am, what I’m seeing, what I’m doing, and whom I’m with. And the beauty of that is: Where I am is incredible. What I’m doing is unlike anything I’ve ever done before. And whom I’m with, I love. Taking all that into account, being 27 with a very blank page ahead of you doesn’t sound so bad after all. 

So here’s to you Three Away From Thirty!  May I greet you tomorrow with open arms and a dirty face from where I kissed by an elephant. Bring on the year I say~

For more information on the Hartbeespoort Elephant Sanctuary visit: http://www.elephantsanctuary.co.za

And for more information on conservation efforts of the African elephant, please visit: http://www.africanconservation.org

     The area of Pub Street lives up to its name and is within walking distance from many, if not all, of the hotels and hostels surrounding the area. Pub Street is full of eateries, fish spas, souvenir shops, art stalls, and everything else. The most notable bars on the Pub Street local would be the infamous Angkor What? and Temple Bar.  Enjoy, indulge, dance and play ...just don't bank on it being an authentic Khmer experience with a name like "Pub Street"...

Our first night in Sydney we inadvertently stumbled into the oldest pub in the city. Upon entering and sneaking up to the bar, we coincidentally met whom I assumed to be the oldest man in the pub. He was stoic, dressed in a green tweed suit complete with wool sweater vest, and had the sweetest demeanor you could imagine. He knew right away we "weren't from around here" on account of this bar seemingly being a sort of unspoken, locals-only hangout. He took it upon himself to give us the best tour anyone could ask for on the backside of a coaster: All the pubs to hit up in Sydney. Gotta love it! And yes, we followed the coaster to our delight~

      Quick tip! Sydney is a beautiful city, with beautiful people. Take that into account when heading out on the town. Many places have a dress code so dress to impress!