My quest to the Drakensberg (Afrikaan for ‘Dragon Mountains’) did not unearth any secret treasure-trove or a certain magic ring, nor did I spot any dragons or elves. But the formidable twists and turns of the sheer craggy mountains, majestic valleys and cascading streams, not to mention the unpredictable ‘atmospheric’ weather - veering from thunderstorms to scorching suns or siege by mysterious mists - make for an awesome, unforgettable experience at the dramatic escarpment, forming the border of the KwaZulu Natal province in South Africa and the mountain kingdom of Lesotho. And there were gems to be uncovered, after all – the remarkable culture of the Basotho people in the Lesotho highlands, and the intriguing legacy of beautiful rock paintings left by the now-vanished bushmen.

The journey almost never happened. In ‘typical’ African style, as I was to learn, the Southern Drakensberg tour I had signed for was cancelled. I was told only on the eve, after I had rushed for two whole days on the Baz Bus from Cape Town , via Port Elizabeth, to Durban where the tour was supposed to start. Thankfully, the apologetic hostel people were able to hitch a ride for me up to a budget place at the Sani Pass area. So off I went in true adventure style not knowing what to expect.

As it turned out, I had a most scenic 3-hour drive from Durban into the Natal Drakensberg Park, where the flitting fog offered glimpses of the impressive mountain ranges. The ride was very pleasant too because of the wonderful company I had.

Suitably perked up, we arrived at Sani Lodge in the morning coolness. Blessed was I, after all - there was space. I was told later that I was lucky too, to have missed a terrible thunderstorm the night before. Best of all, Russell, the owner, proved to be as resourceful and knowledgeable as said in the guidebooks and he immediately removed my woes of not having done any planning.

Within twenty minutes of my checking in (which meant unceremoniously dumping my backpack on the hostel bed and yanking out some warm clothing to put on), I was off on a 4-wheel drive to ascend the 2,800m Sani Pass, the highest in South Africa, and reputedly, the most breathtaking way to cross the border into Lesotho. This trip was proving more ‘exciting’ than I had anticipated and it had only just begun.

Sani Lodge is conveniently located near the bottom of the Pass and before very long, we stopped for a view of the seemingly endless meandering path into the pattern-ridged valley.

This was April and the vegetation green in the bright glare of the sun, but the Pass is known to be extremely treacherous when snow falls. This occurs not only in winter but almost once every month. The harsh conditions make it virtually impossible to improve the steep, unpaved, rock-strewn road which may actually be the most appropriate surface already, unless somebody can think of how to smooth it without the vehicles skidding on the ice. So it was that we edged on painstakingly in the age-old way of ascent, except that we were in a 4WD instead of a donkey cart.

It is no wonder that J.R.R. Tolkien was inspired here. Apart from the jagged stone-gilt edges of the mountains, the valley walls have a running line of gothic-like rock ‘towers’ looming portentously. Each has a name and these naturally-sculptured formations give a surreal feel to the place. Having brought a copy of Tolkien’s “The Hobbits” (prelude to the “Lord of the Rings” epic) on the trip, riding into the Pass added an otherworldly sense of déjà vu, reminiscent of the mystical descriptions of Misty Mountains in the book.

Arrival at the first border checkpoint brought me back to reality, especially when my passport took a long time to clear with the immigration official trying to locate my littlest country, Singapore, in the long list of Commonwealth nations.

After that, the hair-raising part of the journey began. Our guide manoeuvred along, gradually and expertly, as we wound up one narrow stretch, made a precarious 180-degree turn, and continued on ad infinitum, it seemed, as we zigzagged up the cliff face while the drop to the ground spawned dizzily greater and greater. Definitely not for the faint-hearted or vertically-disinclined folks.

Yet it was exhilarating too as the shutterbugs amongst us could not stop shooting. We were lucky for the good weather and the skilful guide, a learned elderly gentleman born and bred in Lesotho for some fifty years. The heritage certainly explained his rich experience and knowledge of the Pass, which went into the minutest detail of every pebble and crevice on the road, including its history! Speaking of assurance that we were in safe hands, a couple of the other vehicles were not so fortunate as we could see them struggling. The vision of a wrecked vehicle enmeshed on the path - there since an accident in 19XX, according to our guide – also added to the adrenalin, and fear, quotient.

At long last, we made it to the top and the Lesotho customs point. Phew. The temperature was freezing despite the sun and the Basotho children there were sensibly draped in blankets held together by what appeared to be gigantic safety pins.

Lesotho is a strategically-placed fortress-like kingdom, roughly the size of Belgium, which is completely surrounded by South Africa. The forbidding terrain, which we just experienced, formed a natural defensive wall which its most famous and brilliant leader, Moshoeshoe the Great, had used to great effect.

The plateau landscape was simply beautiful with unusual vegetation, open yellow plains and a distinct sense of remoteness. We also learned quite a bit here from our guide about the life of the shepherd and his home.

The highlight of it all was a visit to one of the traditional huts in a highland village.

I had wondered about the conical shape of the huts here as well as some of the Zulu houses en route to Durban. The explanation that spirits cannot hide in corners holds particular appeal to me for its romanticism. However, the practical reason is that it is easier to build the structure in a ring to prevent collapse in the strong winds.

The construction process is rather tedious as the right rock sizes have to be found or chipped into shape. Thereafter, mud is applied to the interior and often decorated with murals by the lady of the home.

Although there was a bed in the hut we were in, it was apparently a ‘western accessory’ as the people actually sleep on the floor! After completing the hut structure, the sand in the centre is dug out so that a huge boulder can be hoisted in and buried over, with the stove placed on it. That way, heat from the stove fire is spread by the rock underneath, and the fur rugs spread on the ground offer warmth for sleeping.

And so we listened on to our guide giving a fascinating account of the various facets of the life and culture of the Basotho people. We were also entertained by their music and dance, and the unique instruments they play. When it came to time to depart, it was tinged with poignant reluctance.

The highest point of Southern Africa is the 3,482m Thabana-Ntlenyana mountain near Sani Pass and it is to the top of the Kotisepola Pass (3,250m) that we headed next, hoping to catch a peek of the former.

We did have a little bit of time for hiking but the thin air had me gasping and having a hard time catching up with the rest to reach the viewpoint. Still, the walk brought some warmth and our wonderful guide brewed nice hot tea for us when we came back.

Then it was time to return, but not without visiting the highest pub in Africa perched at the top of Sani Pass beside the customs point. Even without the spirits, the sunset vistas were intoxicating and we were thoroughly refreshed for the long drop, I mean way, down.

My next day at the Drakensberg was on a decidedly more relaxing schedule. I had opted to go on a hike with an unpronounceable name, “Gxalingenwa”, after the valley and river. This runs from the back of the Lodge across a field and up a hill called Stromness. Then it is a plateau walk to the lower slopes of Ndlovini mountain, joining part of the Giant’s Cup Trail until the path reaches the Gxalingenwa valley and undulates along the river back in the direction of the Lodge.

This sounded easy enough. Until I actually went on it. The sun was unrelentingly hot and the terrain, I soon discovered, had hardly any trees and therefore no shade. But it was a good hike, nevertheless, for the excellent views of the lakes and golden grasslands from the mountains, as well as the crystal pools, waterfalls and splendid boulders in the valley.

Refreshed was I from drinking the river water, which actually tasted sumptuous, even though it was one fatigued gal trudging back eventually, blisters and all, after the end of the trail, on the dusty road past the never-ending fences of the swanking Sani Pass Hotel towards my humbler lodging.

The Drakensberg is also home to one of the largest art galleries in the world with hundreds of San (bushman) rock paintings, an incredible legacy of the bushmen who inhabited the area for some 10,000 years, but whose tribes were sadly prosecuted into extinction by the white men settlers and the loss of their natural habitat for hunting and gathering.

Russell, our affable Lodge owner, took us on this walk “In the Footsteps of Bushmen” which actually began in the humongous Sani Pass Hotel grounds. It was a long hike up and down endless slopes but interspersed with lots of breaks where we sat and listened to the enthralling story of the bushmen.

Surprisingly, this was a compassionate and considerably more ‘advanced’ society than ours. They were equalitarian, not just amongst men (there were no leaders), but between men and women (who could divorce their husbands!)

Dominance and conflicts were avoided at all costs. Hunting was carried out with the greatest co-operation and division of work, with the bounty carefully distributed according to the roles played.

Today, we only know a little of their lifestyle, habits and culture, and much of it from deductions and extrapolations, not least from the amazing paintings left behind.

Preservation of these art pieces only began in recent years but their startling vividness and lifelikeness are a testimony to the brilliant skills of the artisans. It is not known why the paintings were made although religious trances are thought to be a motivation.

We visited three shelters in all. There were beautiful elands, captured in various poses by simple strokes, and panels of other depictions, including mysterious half-man half-animal forms. The last shelter was simply stunning - a massive work of hundreds of marching bushmen. To what it is not known.

Another inexplicable phenomenon is the painting of the bushmen in elongated forms when the real bushmen were actually small and stout in built. Guess we will never know the ‘whys’ although research studies are still being carried out.

Most of us were in a contemplative mood as we made the long trek back, single-file in the sunset, casting long grey shadows on the grasslands which were once upon a time also made by the bushmen of old.

As I departed the next day, when the sunny spell had given way to a blinding fog, it felt as if I had ended a long expedition. I was bone-tired but very glad to have come. The Drakensberg is immense and I had visited but a fraction, and then only of the southern part. There are the central and northern parts, which I was told are no less spectacular. Another time when the adventure bug strikes again, yes...