There was one place I kept seeing when planning my trip to Lesotho: Malealea Lodge.

I flew into Johannesburg and followed were four days in a 4x4 — because that was the only way to get there.

Once I crossed the border into Lesotho, getting to the lodge required an additional two hours in the country and finally one hour on a dirt road carved into a cliff. In the rain.

The sign at the turn-off read: WOMEN TIGHTEN YOUR BRAS. MEN PUT ON YOUR JOCK STRAPS. FASTEN SEAT BELTS. BUMPY ROAD AHEAD.

They were not joking.

Malealea sits alone in the mountains of Lesotho — a country completely surrounded by South Africa with horses than cars. Roads are mostly dirt. Wi-Fi is just a rumor.

I planned to stay two nights. I stayed at the lodge the rest of my time in Lesotho.

Not because of the mountains, though they’re there. Because of the feeling — isolated from the rest of Lesotho, and the world. No connection to my life back home. Which is what I needed.