I'm going to gloss over the heavy packs, boot that disintegrated, repetitive food - can't seem to face pasta rice (cringing as I type) and all the standard niggles that accompany crunching up kilometres in the pathless wilderness at altitude.
Because as we hiked past the stone mountain huts of the Basotho Herdsman we were reminded of what really roughing it was about.
A friendly nation the herdsman wear gumboots, a traditional blanket and a balaclava, that's it. To put it in perspective, day time temperatures while we were trekking were below 6 deg. C and night time left us chilly when they dropped to around -10 deg C. It wasn't even mid winter!
These guys look after their family's herd of goats, sheep, cows or horses and they have the coolest dogs; huge beasts a delightful mixture of Spaniel ears, Labrador girth, St Bernard height & fur and brindled Staffie colouring. Humble and polite, when they saw us coming the Basotho took a seat to wait and greet us, if their dogs barked at us, they picked them up so we wouldn't be hassled, on horseback, they'd ride up to us, remove balaclava to greet us like old friends.
Just a note here: This is our personal experience with the Basotho people in the over 30 years of hiking in the most remote sections of the Berg. We have no drama to report which is contrary to some other folks experiences.