Having just spent 4 weeks in sweltering heat in South Africa, the last thing I expected in the middle of October was to get caught in a snow storm in Lesotho, the small country that lies like an island in the middle of South Africa. Yet as we headed south toward Sani Pass, on the border with South Africa, huge snowflakes began falling and accumulating, and soon we could barely see the road, and we were cutting fresh tracks around hairpin turns with our South African rental 4x4 truck whose tires weren’t intended to encounter snow. White-knuckled, we kept steadily on, picking up a desperate hitchhiker caught out in the rapidly–descending blizzard. We all drank a beer to calm our nerves and eventually made it to our icicle-covered rondeval at the top of the pass. More beers in the bar, where day-hikers straggled in soaking wet and bewildered. A night huddled next to a propane heater. Then a purely magical morning worth every second of anxiety suffered the day before, waking up to the renowned (for both beauty and treachery) Sani Pass covered in snow.