I was at the Star Inn to meet up with the Oxford Hash House Harriers.  While waiting for the trail to start, I enjoyed a nice beverage that I didn’t clock the name of and sat near the wood stove and chatted a bit about trail, home- and former-hashes we’ve belonged to or visited, and how, funny, but my accent doesn’t sound like Cambridge (“that’s Ipswich, that is”).

The Oxford Hash traditionally lays dead/prelaid trails, which is always a disappointment to discover but the hare did a very nice job and there are additional benefits at this hash.  First, the trail was A-to-B although B was only a few hundred meters from the start (at the Star Inn).  The circle was run with aplomb by the RA (or GM, I didn’t pay much attention) and there were a variety of songs (although they did repeat the same one a few times with a sort of fill-in-the-blank variation each time).  And, there was proper, hot food served: some delicious vegetable based soup and sausages in rolls…and, surprisingly, very few naughty sausage remarks.

I have started to get used to the less rowdy ways of the British hashers.  They are very different from most of the American hashers I’ve known and the subdued version of the circles here are probably much to everyone’s advantage.  I had a number of rude songs to add to the mix, but I think I’ll save them for when I’ve been there a few more times…no need to shock or offend when they all seem to be on best behaviour as well.

We retired to the pub again and I weaseled a pint of Red Stripe off one of the hashers (Dipstick, I believe), and settled into a long conversation on hashing and also on science with (again, I think this was her name) Home Alone, a biochemist from out around Bicester.  She pointed out that my Red Stripe benefactor was the only one there likely to set a live trail, and I will try to keep my eyes on the schedule after we move out that way and goad him into doing it (perhaps I should volunteer myself, first…).

The crowd dwindled after the first round and I decided I better go on and catch the early bus, too, maybe to stop off on the way to the hotel at another pub closer in.

Moving to a new country can be both exciting and scary.  Depending on why you’re moving and where you move to, it could become an isolating.  Initially, meeting locals and befriending the country’s nationals will help you navigate your way around, help you acclimate and provide a warm welcome.  As you get to know the shopkeepers, neighbors, and other locals it won’t take long before you’ll find you feel in the fold of the community.  Eventually, you might just need a comfort zone where you can speak your own language and meet people who are sharing your same adventures, struggles, frustrations, and life changing moments.   Perhaps you just feel lonely and would like to make some friends minus the language barrier and cultural nuances- that’s okay too! 

Whether you are looking for people to meet up with in different cities, or just some online connections to get some perspective, there are plenty of options out there.  There’s no one-size fits all solution, so test a couple out and hopefully you’ll find one that’s right for you.  In fact, it is for the very reason of wanting a connection with other women and not finding exactly what I was looking for that led me to spend the weekend setting up a new private online community for Muslim American women married to Moroccans.  See Common Bonds information on the right side-bar.  Here are plenty of other options are easy to join.

American Women Living in Morocco - a diverse online group of women living in, on their way, or aspiring to one day live in Morocco.  Members are from many different cities across the country, and they are active in meeting offline in Casablanca as well.

Rabat Hash House Harriers – an “unorganized” group of people addicted to running or walking, sometimes biking.  The club is not politically, religiously, economically nor socially engaged; not a cult either.  Self proclaimed as beer drinkers with a running problem. The club is based in Rabat, but does sometimes meet up in Casablanca

Moroccan American Circle - building bridges in the social, business, educational and cultural areas, between Morocco and the United States. 

The Churchill Club – open to English speakers of all nationalities and offers a variety of services, activities for people of all ages.  With special events for holidays, there are also weekly events, a bar and restaurant, a small lending library, and a garden. 

American International Women’s Club of Casablanca – provides financial and other support to those, in Morocco, who are most vulnerable; to promote a better understanding of Morocco; to unite English-speaking women of all nationalities, and especially in welcoming newcomers to our community.

American International Women’s Association of Rabat - a network of independent American and international volunteer organizations representing private-sector American citizens overseas. It serves as a resource and channel of information for its member clubs, contributes actively to the global community and represents the interests of all Americans abroad.

Groups for people in relationships with Moroccans:

• Muslim Women/Moroccan Husbands
• Moroccan Love
• Supporting Moroccan Love 

Expat-Blog also allows users to create a profile and join the Moroccan network.  A message board allows users to find and connect with others living in Morocco from all over the world.

Of course, you can also check out the many Morocco bloggers and leave them a comment if you’ll be living or visiting in their area. 

Finally, I highly recommend registering your presence with the United States Consulate in Morocco.  It’s not only a good resource for Warden Messages and emergencies, but they sometimes hold American holiday events like Fourth of July parties and Christmas fairs.  If you’re registered with them, you’ll automatically get email messages about these events so you can RSVP and attend.

There are probably many other connection opportunities out there, not just for Americans or English speakers, but for other nationalities living in Morocco as well.  If you have a resource suggestion, please share in the comments (with a website link if possible).  All links from this post will have a permanent place in a new side bar section: Join Morocco.

Las Vegas is always overload to me. There’s so much to see and so much always going on, day and night. Halloween is even crazier! There were some of the most creative costumes you’ve ever seen! Of course, since there were so many people, I can’t even begin to name them all for you. I remember one of my favorite costumes was a couple, a perfecct Dog the Bounty Hunter and his wife. I can’t remotely do the experience justice. Everyone everywhere was dressed up and partying.

That was us at the costume pub crawl Friday.

We went to another Hash House Harriers event, the Las Vegas Red Dress Run. It was great to see 200+ people in red dresses. We had Jello Shots, ran by the chapels (you’d be amazed how many people are in to getting married on Halloween) and through the streets and casinos.

My favorite part was at the end of the night when it was just MK and I walking back from the hash. Kids were cracking up at him – the dress made a lot less sense without the other 200+ people around!

MK and I also shopped, explored places we hadn’t been yet, and watched a bunch of football. It was great to see a ton of San Diego friends, make new Las Vegas friends, and even meet some SL,UT hashers to hang out with in Utah!

Ten half pints celebrated (of courxe) with a few rounds

I have said before that, as regards hashing, I’m not a big fan of dead (pre-laid) trails, but I have to admit that last night’s Cantabrigensis HHH trail is an exception to that rule.

Twenty hashers met at the St. Radegund on King Street, Cambridge and were transported by taxi to the start at the Blue Ball in Grantchester where we were treated to a half pint of a dark ale. But, no sooner than each glass hit the table the member of the pack hit the trail, some in great haste.

I didn’t note any trail markings but I have to admit it was fairly dark out. Fortunately, the pack didn’t spread out too much and I followed a few of them into the Red Lion (also in Grantchester) for what turned out to be another rapid beer stop before heading out to the Grantchester Meadows and following the public footpath north to Newnham where we dashed through the Hat & Feathers to find yet another half pint awaiting us. God bless the hares and may He keep them safe and warm!

This trail continued in this way through a total of 10 beer checks including one each at the Red Bull (Newnham), Granta (Cambridge), the Mill (Cambridge),the Pickerel (Cambridge), the Old Spring (Cambridge), the Fort St George (Cambridge), then back to the Saint Radegund. I believe this map shows True Trail for the evening:

map linked to Gmap for detail

With the pub approximate spacing as follows:

Blue Ball, start
Red Lion, 0.30 miles
Hat & Feathers, 1.80 miles
Red Bull, 2.00 miles
Granta, 2.34 miles
Mill, 2.58 miles
Pickerel, 3.27 miles
Old Spring, 4.07 miles
Fort St George, 4.30 miles
Rad, 4.669 miles

All joking aside, the event was remarkably well planned and executed especially seeing as it was organised and perpetrated by hashers. A pub crawl in the middle of last week got the pubs to donate the racers’ beverages so that most of our £15 entry fee (about the price of 5 pints anyway) could go to the recipient charities: Parkinsons Disease Society and Afrikids.

'It is not clear that intelligence has any long-term survival value.'--Stephen Hawking

Volunteer umpires were stationed at each pub, one to make sure the liquid found its target and the other to keep the glasses of both umpires damp with their own beverages. They also made sure the 20 half pints for the contestants were lined up in advance of our arrivals.

Crowds of other spectators (more hashers…of course) showed up and followed us around or cheered our foolhardy behaviour as we passed through. Unlike the 30 Pack Marathon, most of the onlookers seemed to have homes (other than cardboard) and showers to use. Also, I believe everyone staved off the impulse to purge until after the finish (although there was a shower of beer delivered to the car park of the church across from the Rad soon after certain finishers time was taken). I am informed there was gambling involved, as well.

I’ll post the results if someone sorts that part out. I think I was in at 38 minutes so the run was not too slow…8:09/mile including ten beer stops; but, there were a lot of folks ahead of me [this is a very fast hash overall].

The ‘winner,’ or at least the first across the line found a special way to capture everyone’s attention by going AWOL for a few hours.  This caused enough concern that searches of several flavours were initiated and attracted enough attention to prompt this local posting:

I don’t drink anymore — haven’t had an adult beverage in almost five years. Never mind me, though. Many runners find the ritual of race day incomplete without a little firewater. I guess I see where they’re coming from… or do I?

Have you ever heard of the Hash House Harriers? Don’t bother Googling them. You’ll just run into silly unsafe-site shenanigans. I once again defer to Senor Wiki:

Hash House Harriers is an international group of non-competitive running and drinking clubs. “Hashers” or “Hares” call one of their events a “hash.”

Early Harriers

Members often describe their group as “a drinking club with a running problem.” HA, HA, Ha…ha…ha…(blogger clears his throat)…ha.

A runner can justify his/her penchant for the hard stuff in a myriad of ways. You’ve undoubtedly heard a runner order a beer, then crack one about carb-loading. As I discovered in an old Runner’s World article, this is hogwash — malarkey even. Here’s what Nancy Clark, M.S., R.D. had to say about it:

“The idea that beer provides a significant amount of carbs is a misconception,” Clark told Runner’s World. “A 12-ounce bottle contains 12 grams of carbohydrates, which is equivalent to about half a slice of bread.

“What’s more, because of the way alcohol is metabolized, most of these excess carbs are stored as fat. So you’re actually fat-loading,” said another doctor. “And if you’re drinking a lot, you may be running to burn off beer calories rather than combusting body fat.”

And we mustn’t overlook the more embarassing consequences of over-imbibing: lapses of judgment, dehydration, slowed recovery time, and that whole — waking up with one shoe on and the menu music from a questionable DVD playing ad infinitum on the TV.

We’re back to you-know-what, friends — moderation. That seems to be the consensus on any indulgence. There’s no reason for runners to abstain from booze if it’s consumption is kept under control. You just have to know when to put the plug in the jug.

But what about those folks near the end of a race handing out beers, you ask?

If you’re doing a 3K, it’s no big deal, but I don’t think guzzling a diuretic at the end of a dehydrating event is too wise. But people have been doing this since the inception of distance running, and they sing its praises. So maybe I’m off base here. I mean, Gatorade can do a number on your stomach after a run, too.

Well, I guess I’ve once again come to a nebulous conclusion. Drink ‘em if you got ‘em… or don’t.

Well first off, you don’t want to be caught consuming, possessing, or growing hash (aka marijuana). On the other hand, Hashing (aka a drinking club with a running problem) is definitely a must try for those weary of the everyday grind.  Let’s be honest, most of us (foreigners and non-foreigners) already spend much of the weekend with a pint in our hand, so why not do it with a little more gusto and a change of scenery?

Imagine waking up on a Saturday or Sunday morning. You might be a little groggy with a hangover from the night before, but nonetheless, you are looking forward to mingling with new and familiar expats alike in exploring a different area of Seoul; may it be skyscrapers, skylines or passing by a pile of trash sky high. You get off the designated subway station exit (it changes weekly) and follow a trail of chalk markings. As you get closer to the meeting point, your expectations are elevated.  The colorful sportswear ranging from ‘expected,’ wild and obnoxious, to downright skimpy immediately gives you the impression that if anything the experience is bound to be pleasantly entertaining. The GM leads a brief introduction and here’s where the real fun begins. The objective, follow the trail previously laid by a fellow hare (runner) and return safe and sound. Trails along the infamous Hangang River or Olympic Park are just a few examples of the gemstones you’ll enjoy however don’t expect them to be easy pickings. These runners (and walkers) are often known to climb over fences, hills and dense forestry. (Watch out for those sticker bushes! LOL) Don’t let this scare you though, as afterwards, you are rewarded with a receptacle of cool beer, hymns, and intriguing conversations.

Here is a list of Hashing groups in Seoul/vicinity:

Yongsan Kimchi Hash House Harriers (YKH3):

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=6531791703 (10am on Saturdays)

Southside (S2H3):

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=9976580500 (11am on Sundays)

Osan Bulgogi (OBH3):

http://groups.google.com/group/OBHHH (4pm on Saturdays)

Seoul PMS (SPMSH3):

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=22618938994&ref=ts (Women only, Last Saturday per month at 4pm)

Seoul (SH3):

http://www.seoulhash.org/ (Men only, 4pm every Saturday)

With various groups to suit your preferences, Hash House Harriers gives you an opportunity to meet new people all while running, walking, singing (this is optional), eating, socializing and most importantly drinking the beverage of choice, beer! So now that you have all the info, it’s time for you to stop making excuses and get involved. There’s no reason for staying at home on the weekends anymore…get off your keister and join us!

Link to article on Korea hashing: http://gotothehash.net/korea/kharticle.html (2001)

Link to the International hash directory: http://gotothehash.net/

I suppose it’s about time I let you in on this secret life I’ve been leading. When I disappear into the warrens of Boston for an evening and return home sweaty and smelling of cheap beer, I have been slightly misleading you by saying I was out for a run.

Because it is so much more than that.

You see, I’m a Hash House Harrier.

Surrounded by some of the city’s weirdest and most raucous (read: awesome) denizens,  I run through the streets following hastily made chalk marks made on the sidewalks. Some of these marks lead to absolutely nowhere. Dead-ends. But—and this is the key here—others lead to beer. The challenge is to find this enlightened path. Bud Lite-hism.

But let me back up a little bit. The group (abbreviated as H3 or HHH) dates back to 1938, where Malaysian-based British officers playing hares-and-hounds would reward themselves with cold beer at the end of the trail. Today, I guess we’ve grown impatient, for not only is there beer at the end of the trail, but there is also some at the beginning and one or two (or more) others in the middle of the trail.

There are H3 groups everywhere: from Istanbul to Moscow to Athens to Kampala. They are in over 180 countries and on every continent. Yes, even Antarctica. There are people who travel the globe participating in these runs, crashing on fellow hashers’ couches.

It’s an astounding community. And like a true community, it has certain rituals and rites. Like naming. When you’ve run with a chapter long enough for them to get some dirt on you, you lose your birth name in favor of a more, er, unsavory one. The Boston hash is joined by Doogie Plows-Her, Night of the Giving Head, and Willy Wonka and the Back Door Factory, to name a few.

First time runners are Virgins. You are only a virgin once, like real life. The pack’s deflowering of the Virgins is, in a word, humiliating. Like real life. (I am in the limbo period between virginity and naming. Right now, I am “Just Katie.” I’ll let you know when that changes.)

There are also songs. Awful, awful…awfully funny songs. YouTube them if you’re curious.

Naming, songs, and accusations (wearing a hat in circle, wearing new shoes to the hash) all happen at the end of the run. Food, usually pizza, and more beer are served. Then, it’s a general party. It’s perfect.

So it’s a cool running/drinking club. Big deal. Why have I written 400 words on the subject?

Because this is my niche.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I see a really weird person. I think that’s a good thing, but I recognize that my amplified personality, rife with “because no means yes” jokes and satirical perceptions, can rub the populace the wrong way. The result is an identity stifled. All those quips I want to say are repressed and probably turning into tumors at the base of my cerebral cortex.

The Hash House Harriers exemplify my character in a brilliantly public way. We make spectacles of ourselves, make no accommodations for political correctness, and defy open container laws. We are proud of these facts. With the pack, I am who I am.

I am a hasher.

American runners were the best in the world in the 1970s and 80s, when they trained in packs, according to a recent New York Times article. In the 90s, they ditched group training for private coaching and they were quickly eclipsed by runners from Kenya, Ethiopia, and Japan—all places that emphasize group training. Gina Kolata reports in this piece that elite runners are now back to running in groups and that recreational runners are also recruiting running buddies. And we’re reporting on local clubs where you can find a pack or a buddy (and a lot more motivation).

WHY JOIN A CLUB?
It will get your run on the calendar in ink, where it’s an appointment and not just a good intention.  Second, it will push you. You may be great at doing the same old three-mile loop at a steady pace, but running clubs will inspire you to do speed training, hill work, and longer mileage than you’d do on your own.

FINDING A RUNNING CLUB
New York Road Runners: In addition to organizing its own classes and clinics, which provide instruction and coaching, NYRR also serves as a clearing house for many of the city’s running clubs. Check here for a full listing.

Lululemon: The yoga-gear giant has recently created clubs (and apparel) for runners, based in several city stores. Running coordinators, like Meghan Reynolds at the SoHo location, help develop your goals and game plans. Runs are Wednesday night (usually 4 miles) and Saturday morning (5-6 miles). A second beginner group does a run-walk work-out.

Urban Athletics: More clinic than club, Urban Athletics offers 10-week classes to work on speed and form. They also have classes for the running newbie. Consider it a more challenging version of From Couch to 5K that also comes with companionship.

New York Flyers: NYC’s largest running club has a packed schedule of group runs. Meeting places, generally in Central Park, are clearly set out and include mileage and pace information, as well.

Hash House Harriers: Equal parts running club and drinking club, the New York chapter of this international group will get you through any training slump with its good cheer. No dues, just bring beer money!

Did we forget your club? Or do you have another trick for staying motivated? Tell us, here!

No, not that kind of hash, the kind where you run around following a trail, which may be deliberately inaccurate, yelling various obscenities, stopping for a beer break midway through, and at the end, everyone gathers in a big circle and makes fun of everyone else and, natch, makes them drink beer — especially the hash virgins, as I discovered yesterday.  That kind of hash is a run with the Hash House Harriers, a group that has branches in 1,238 cities in 183 countries, including here in lovely Tajikistan.

They bill themselves as a “drinking club with a running problem,” and that sounds about right to me and for me.

The Dushanbe Hash House Harrier Hash Trash newsletter

My boss is a regular hasher, as its called, and so is a pretty big contingent of the expat community here, especially the English-speaking part of it.  So, despite the fact that it was 97 degrees in the shade yesterday, I sucked it up and decided to give it a try.  This week’s course wended its way through a small Tajik village (name: unknown) just north of Dushanbe along the Varzob River.  We crossed a rickety, to be nice, bridge made from discarded chunks of metal over the river and started running alongside mud brick walls.  The residents of the village were a bit agog seeing us in athletic gear, especially the ladies, running a slalom course around the cow manure patties.

All was relatively well initially and I was with the runners’ pack up front, and then we started to head up, up into the hills.  Not super-steep, but steep enough for me.  I walked most of the rest of the way, which made it easier to appreciate the starkly pretty views.  As I came towards the “Beer Check,” I saw a big group of folks gathered there and they were chanting and guzzling Baltika.  I felt I had to oblige everyone, being new to the hash and all, so a sprinted the last bit, exaggerated arm pumping was included.

The American ambassador was at the Beer Check and was very concerned that I looked a bit red-faced from the run; I told her that was my regular m.o.  Obviously I impressed her, as she later told my boss, “it’s so nice that you brought your intern to the hash.”

It was all downhill from there  . . . literally.  And thankfully.  After a few more run-ins with the local populace, nothing that was fixed with a “salaam alechem” and a hand over the heart, came another rickety metal bridge.  My mom would’ve loved that bridge, it swayed both up and down AND left and right AND it had nice, big gaps in it so you could see the rushing water beneath.  Neverthess, the bridge was safely traversed and we all were trundled into cars for transport to a hasher’s house for the “On-In.”

After the ritualized hazing of the people who marked the trail (the “hares”) and the new folks (the aforementioned “virgins”), and then the ritualized hazing of a lot of the other people who ran the trail (the “harriers”) at the On-In came the refreshments.  All in all, a good time and I even got a bit of exercise in the bargain.  I’ll probably go next week, so there must be something to it.  Some of you guys might even want to check it out at home, because yes, there’s a hash in Boston too (actually, there’s two!).

Hash House Harriers that is … riiiiiight, exactly what I thought a week ago. I was seriously questioning it’s reality and after my day yesterday it is verified- “The Hash” is a real thing. I had so much fun. It is an escape from the city and smog and millions of people. It’s also a great way to meet other ex-pats and see what they are doing in Vietnam and find out what they find to do for fun outside of work, etc. We met at the Caravelle Hotel and got on a big bus. We drove about 40 minutes out of Saigon into the countryside. The basics of “hashing”, how to find the trail, what kind of run it is, who laid the trail, etc were all explained.

We ran in the heat and humidity along rocky paths, brush, garbage, people in hammocks, people on motorbikes, shanties and shacks, dogs, more garbage, and a river. Then it started to rain. Then it started to pour. Then it started to abuse me with massive pelting rain and I was blinded by water. Within a minute I was totally drenched and there was much more running to do. We ran along massive rock formations plunging down into a lake where people were swimming in the rain. At this point the trail was gone and we were just finding our way as best we can running through mud, puddles up to our ankles, and more abusive raindrops.

We finally found the bus and cold beers waiting for us from the sponsor Tiger Brewery based in Saigon. The run concluded with ceremonies, songs, initiations, and drinking. . More songs and drinking all the way back to the city with my new little fraternity of people of all ages and places.

A perfect Sunday afternoon running in the rain with the Saigon Hash.
I am an official hasher now, and I love it.
I vow to hash world wide!!

Just another San Diego Friday.

#99

Best Parts Of Red Dress Run:

1. Beer checks!
2. Free dinner!
3. Men in dresses!
4. Hash band!
5. My new sunglasses!

If you can even believe it, all this short and sporadic posting isn’t me being lazy, or having too much fun. I’m sorry to have to admit it, but the computer seems to not have been properly fixed. Or fixed at all. The screen keeps crapping out like it used to – and this time around it’s even harder to get it back up and running.

So on top of all that, losing (or was it stolen!??! I think stolen.) my phone was just perfect. The funny thing was that I had it a whole year and that’s pretty average for me. I get a new free one that I’m sitting around waiting for now. Being so unattached to the world literally gave me a panic attack for about an hour, then it was kind of fun. Some of our friends texted MK and we got to go to a giant birthday Monday pool party.

We ran last night for the first time (SDH3 baby!) which was pretty awful for me and made me worry if I’m even going to make it to the end of Red Dress Run’s 5 mile trail. How out of shape you get so fast if you don’t maintain!

Editorial note, but not an actual edit:

I tallied it up and I have spent over an hour between putting up this blog and answering nutters and imbeciles.  It is hard to tell what they actually want since they quote the blog with words that are not there and describe the event in question in ways that it did not fall out.

Anyway, I have to guess that they want a full retraction.  Fine, here you go:

It is all made up, which is why these non-malicious words (both the original post and the edit, below for the curious) must wound you so.

In fact, I wasn’t even there.  Yeah, that’s it.  I was, um, at church or a car boot sale.

Heck fire, I don’t even drink.  Never touched the stuff and I wouldn’t run a mile if my ass was on fire and I was being chased by hornets soaked in mineral spirits.

Does that help, you bunch of babies? You can now return to ranting about how the Armenians are the real war criminals, or the Turks, or whatever the fuck side of a pointless argument you normally work when no one is paying close attention to you.

Edit:
Constructive criticism is obviously not welcome. That’s fine. The offending bits are hereby subjected to the standard editting rules outlined in the blog profile and I will chalk up my opininon as a factual error.   The edits are in red, the original are struck through. Touchy bunch, some of these folks are…perhaps they need a drink.
====================================================================================

This paragraph is mostly positive: The Cambridge Hash House Harriers ran their 1600th trail this weekend and I found it, in general, a lot of fun.  The trail was clever and strenuous (the map, below, of my path–including the bits where I was completely lost–was just shy of ten miles). There was a nice beer stop on the river with ales handed out from someone’s gorgeous house boat, a stroke of genius in line with the pirate theme of the weekend. The weather was superlative at 25 degrees C and with a cloudless sky (so of course folks only the English whinged about the heat). It seemed a good way to spend the day that I would be glad to repeat.

However…

The Hash House Harriers promote themselves as a “drinking club with a running problem,” but the problem difference here seems to be one of proportion: this club seems to have opted to let the running supplant the unsavory aspects of the advertised first principle get in the way of their primary mission.  Unfamiliar with the phenomenon, I may sound a bit I am told that I am completely unfair in my assessment of this group of very moderate drinkers (and to be perfectly fair the hares did an admirable job of overindulgence overindulged to the great shame of some of the assembled members); my past hashing experience (of becoming a member automatically after one run by simply paying the run fees) must not apply here, especially since I was “drinking their beer,” and “slagging them off” but, in my defence I have in years past drank with a large cross section of the hashing community and I have usually found them each worthy companions in my own excess.

One hare, deciding how much ale to retain

Other hashers, in my experience, are craven alcoholics with out families or rudimentary levels of personal hygiene and could learn a thing or two when faced with another drinker will not leave a bar until thrown out (usually sometime after closing), they would not leave a cooler until it has been drunk dry and the melted ice used to rinse the dregs from the empty cans and bottles, and will not leave a drinking challenge until someone is hauled away unconcious in an ambulance.  They are formidable, and I imagine that they would be even more so on an anniversary run.

That it was, indeed, the 1600th run and the 30th anniversary made me think that the stops would be pulled with respect to the other main aspect of the groups rituals: the songs.  But, every song yesterday was this In another example of an American misunderstanding irony, I only now see the sublime humour and quick wit needed to craft each song from this template:

[He's a/She's a/They are] fill in the attribute they are drinking for, here
[He is/She is/They are] blue,
[He's a/She's a/They are] arsehole(s) so they say
Tried to get to heaven, it’s a long long way.

Every song.  That’s fucking amazing, that is. This seems to be because their “choir” found themselves without their song list and immediately recognised and opportunity to play this elegant prank.  I saw this list at the other Cambridge Hash I attended and I already knew most of the songs on it, plus I sang more songs that they had never heard before, solo, than the choir did off the list that time.  This should not be, in my not so humble opinion, but they have their own ways and I don’t feel like it is my business to interfere (not so much an edit as an emphasis, that last bit).  If I had one suggestion, though, it would be to remove the choir and depend upon require (or re-choir, as it were) the assembled circle of hashers to volunteer songs themselves.  There seems to be 40 or 50 of them, so the group should be able to come up with 10 or 12 appropriate bawdies for the ceremonies...I could and I don’t have a list.

He's an RA, He is blue, etc, you know the rest...

Anyway, enough bitching. I had a bunch two 1/2 pint cups of beer during (before being refused a third one) and one pint cup more after a circle run, which is how I would have started what I would have done on any other Sunday afternoon even when I was the beermeister in Tucson when a pack half that size would go through 400 beers leaving me to fend for myself with a stack of filthy, empty coolers to refill the next week.  I met some very nice folks and had a couple of laughs. (again, emphasis) It could have been worse (it could have been raining).

Please continue to comment, it can only help me improve this blog. Seriously.

A mutineer forced to walk the plank

The plank well walked, we returned to the empty ale casks

Sometimes active  participation trumps the sideline role of being a photographer. 90% of the time the camera defines me and my role in life. I participate with a piece of glass between myself and what is happening around me. It is how I process what is happening. It’s a vicarious view of life.

Sometimes it’s best to leave the camera home. It’s okay, your camera skills will not disappear into thin air overnight, you may miss a picture but there are an infinite number more for you to make in the future, and what if you actually have fun without it?

And so it was as I grabbed only my point and shoot and walked the 98th annual Bay to Breakers 12K foot race with the Hash House Harriers, a “Drinking Group with a Running Problem” (Also see post on the 2008 SF Red Dress Run). Our theme was “Pink Slips” in honor of the current economic situation.

Click here to see some of my snapshots of my Hash friends and myself on Shutterfly.

As a participant, I actually made the paper. When I told some people I was “in the Chronicle,” they said, “Oh you mean you have a photo that ran in the Chronicle?” (The logical assumption.) No, I myself was photographed for the Chronicle. It figures, on the rare occasion I am scantily clad…in a pink (and black) slip, without camera in hand, I end up on the other side of the lens! Thumbnail courtesy of Brant Ward/The San Francisco Chronicle.

Click thumbnail to see the Chronicle coverage of the 2009 Bay to Breakers

Bij zijn standbeeld is er een oploop.  Een  grote groep Amerikanen, gekleed in bedrukte T-shirts met ‘The world Hash House Harriers’, viert de droevige sterfdag van Caesar vrolijk mee. Dit zijn lange afstandlopers van de vrolijkste soort: dansend, springend en zingend, elkaar omhelzend en met-de-wangen-tegen-elkaar-gedrukt, samen het oog van iedere camera in kijkend, vormen ze een contrast met de verstijfde veldheer. Iemand maakt het V-teken.

‘Beware the Idus of March!’, klinkt het ineens.  En de hele groep scandeert de slogan na. Dit moet al een flink tijdje gaande zijn, gezien het repetitieve karakter waarmee de groep de woorden herhaalt. In de bus naar het hotel in Rome, wellicht al in het vliegtuig, op de Amerikaanse luchthaven, in de bus op weg naar die luchthaven, al bij het gezamenlijk in de bus stappen, waarvan er foto’s moeten zijn, op de e-mail die is rondgestuurd en op de bijeenkomst waar het plan is ontvouwd om op 15 maart naar Rome te gaan. De sterfdag van Caesar valt samen met de datum van oprichting van hun organisatie, opgericht door de Britse officier Albert Stephen Ignatius Gispert, die omkwam in de Tweede Wereldoorlog  De aderen staan inmiddels gespannen op de kelen. Vanavond moet op een Romeins terras deze vijftiende maart schor klinken….. en natuurlijk bij terugkomst in de VS.
De drukte en ongevraagd internationaal eerbetoon aan zijn gepatineerde voeten, lijkt Caesar niet te deren: hij wordt er niet warm noch koud van,  zijn arm blijft goeiig uitgestrekt, zijn bronzen oog staart naar een punt ver weg in de geschiedenis. Ook hij -het mag gememoreerd- heeft vele lange afstanden op zijn naam staan.

Alle foto’s (c) Tommie Hendriks

Ps. En op deze dag wordt de laatste hand gelegd door een You-tuber aan een prachtige film over Caesar:

The White Horse is a pretty big pub in Waterbeach, just off the green and not too far from the rail station.  I got there for a Cambridge Hash House Harriers event by biking the 7 miles from my house.  I rode through the crowd of hashers and round back of the pub to lock up and was met by the landlady who was having a smoke in the garden.  She urged me to leave the bike within the gates and I pushed past her spaniel to do so.  The dog came along on the run with one of the hashers, so it was good to get to know him first.

Opted not to have a beer before the run (the pub probably wasn’t even open yet), but afterward having hung out with some other finishers in the parking lot in front of the bar for awhile I joined the queue. Whilst in the lot, I had spoken with this guy about a Nissan Micra he had parked out front with a For Sale sign advertising it for £350; this turned out to be one of the bartenders and he took my order ahead of the rabble which pleased me as much as it upset them.  I had the first of several Gem Ales from the Bath Brewery (I had some of this a few weeks ago at, I think, the Prince Albert in Ely and really liked it).

The pub has a snooker table in a lower bar down by the Gents, and two other bars next to one another at garden level.  The garden is huge (maybe a half acre) and easily accommodated the large circle of hashers that eventually formed out there.  While waiting for the circle ceremony to start, I noted several really delicious looking plates of Sunday roasts and vegetables going out to some of the other customers; they also have a large menu of Thai food.

The staff is really friendly, here, the location is convenient, and the taps are plentiful and properly attended…what more could you ask?

I had some misconceptions about the Hash House Harriers when I showed up for the Cambridge HHH run on Sunday (start and finish at the White Horse in Waterbeach).  Firstly, I had been led to believe that the trail was set just ahead of the runners with the “pack” or “hounds” as they are known trying to catch the “hares” that are setting the trail; however, the hares announced at the start that they had gone out earlier in the morning and arranged for the trail.  This was a little disappointing, but probably makes more sense logistically.

Secondly, they started at 11 sharp whilst I had been under the impression that this was a poorly organised and habitually late group.  Indeed, after a few miles running (a few miles extra for those of us that followed all the bad trails and had to double back) we were enjoying a few glasses of Carlsberg lager by the River Cam in the shade of a barn, next to a bridge I had been past on my first bike ride a month or so ago.

Thirdly, and perhaps most disturbingly, the singing during the circle (a sort of post-run ceremony where crimes against the trail are punished with a rude song and a pint of beer, heroic acts rewarded with a rude song and a pint of beer, milestones commemorated with a rude song and a pint of beer, etc) was less spontaneous than I would have thought.  They had a small group of five hashers (I was added as a sixth since I had volunteered that I knew a few of these sorts of songs), called the Choir and they had a list of about thirty songs to choose from…but even then they had to refer to the lyric sheets.  Tsk, tsk.

It was good fun, though, with the Circle starting at 1 pm to allow a period of socialisation before the fiasco.  I met quite a large number of the roughly 50 attendees, but most of their names escape me now.  They introduce themselves with proper names but use hashing nicknames at the time of the Circle and interchange between these two appellations throughout the run.  That and the fact that I am rubbish with remembering names, anyway, left me with just these to try to associate with a face next time: Slap Head, Bastard, Double Top, Haven’t Got One, Rear Admiral, and, it seems, about twenty guys (maybe even some ladies) named Dave.  One of them is supposed to give me a lift to the run next week, which is way down by Saffron Walden ( a few miles to the west of it).  We’ll see how that works out.

The weather couldn’t have been better (mid-teens centigrade, sunny, slight breeze), but I’ve been out of sunlight so long since leaving Arizona that I got a pretty good sunburn.  The official distance was just over 4 miles and except for the time I was at the front and found a “check” and had to wait for the pack to catch up the run was mostly continuous.  Foot held up well again.  This bodes well for re-starting proper training soon.

When MK and I lived in San Diego last, we joined a running club. Actually, they prefer to think of themselves as “A Drinking Club with a Running Problem”. It was the Larrikins Chapter of the Hash House Harriers. Our first run was the Red Dress Run. Yes, EVERYONE (MK!) wears a red dress. For money I’ll show you the pictures…

There are many dumb reasons I never told you just how hilarious this adventure was. Snippy knows one. My mom is another – it can get a little vulgar over there. Everyone gets a dirty nickname.* There’s a trail you have to find. There’s beer on trail. There’s beer at the end of the trail. There are silly songs to be sung. That about sums it up I think – it’s a general good time. There’s also a volleyball version of the group that meets up during the week, which MK far prefers over running. He’s super excited this time around to return to that group – our new place is within walking distance of where they play.

I’m really looking forward to getting back into beach shape, and using these super duper new and strong ski legs will hopefully make it easy this time around.

A Red Dress Run. To be safe, no one I know.

*I’ll share our names with you here – we were fortunate not to get dirty ones. I was named “Depreciating Asset” in reference to this story here. MK was named “No Beer, I’m Queer”** by the hash (there’s a big voting group ceremony after your 6th run where you get named by the mob). The club drinks beer. MK does not. Pretty funny.

**I’m pretty sure that when my Dad was preening me to become the SUPER AWESOMEST WIFE EVER he had no idea I’d end up with a man that hates watching sports and drinking beer. I couldn’t believe it. When I first heard of the concept of marriage – all I looked forward to was the nights at home on the couch with a 6 (12) pack and a delivered pizza, watching the game. Huh. At least I was cool for a little while in college.

Yours Truly and his sister Hilda taking a down-down at the Central Coast Hash House Harriers, with Lake Macquarie in the background

My first visit to another chapter of the Hash House Harriers was last night, and it turned out to be a beautiful run along the shore of Lake Macquarie on Australia’s Central Coast, north of Sydney. Though it was quite a strange experience hashing with a 100% mzungu crowd!

The Central Coast Hash House Harriers (C2H3) are a truly wonderful bunch of people (or “mullets”, as they refer to each other) and they made me and my sister Hilda, who was a hash virgin, feel very welcome. The beer was cheap and cold, as one would expect.

In certain aspects their hash is not quite as robust as the ONH3, my original hash in Nairobi, Kenya.

The markings of the C2H3 consist entirely of dainty little arrows, used in various combinations. They use single arrows the way the ONH3 use the dots. A check mark consists of arrows pointing in the various possible directions that the trail could be. When checking, a single arrow and subsequent single arrows are all “on one”. A check back is two arrows side-by-side pointing back towards the way you came. When you see two arrows side-by-side pointing forwards, that is a “hard-on” and you know you are on the right trail. A hold is known as a “regroup” and consists of little arrows arranged in a circle. And for some strange reason they don’t have titty-checks!

In general and in the circle, I daresay the banter of the ONH3 is somewhat more racy, to put it mildly. And the C2H3 down-downs are out of tiny little plastic cups, unlike the big mugs of the ONH3. You could easily fill ten of these little cups with only two Tuskers. Maybe it has something to do with the very inconvenient fact that drunken driving is actually illegal in Australia…

I have been getting out of shape and my wife has been looking to explore new avenues to meet people. So at the recommendation of my cousin we decided to try hashing (AKA Hash house harriers).  Here is quick overview of what wikipedia says about Hashing

The Hash House Harriers (abbreviated to HHH, H3, or referred to simply as Hashing) is an international group of non-competitive running, social, and drinking clubs. An event organized by a club is known as a Hash or Hash Run, with participants calling themselves Hashers.

We ended up driving to Hennur Rd for Run 400+ (Forget the number) at 4PM on a Sunday afternoon. This group meets once in two weeks for a hash run/event. We ended up there without any expectation other than it was a good run. We found the crowd to be fun! Met a people from varied backgrounds: An Ex-US Navy on assignment, expats, french citizens. We paid 100Rs to join the club for the year. (Very nominal).

The group is divided into two: the walkers & the runners. We decided to run. Here is how it works:

A group scouts the area the previous day and lays the trail (with white powder marks). The trail often includes false trails, short cuts, dead ends, and splits. These features are designed to keep the pack together regardless of fitness level or running speed, as front-runners are forced to slow down to find the “true” trail, allowing stragglers to catch up.

The fast runners (Hares) end up running ahead scouting for the trail and making sure the right is found (often end up in dead trails). The terms to know when you end up hashing are

“Are You?”     Question shouted by the pack to FRBs, meaning “Are you on the trail?”

On On     Shouted by FRBs or hounds to indicate they’re on trail, sometimes used only to indicate true trail; trail mark indicating true trail

Our run was about 10 kilometers, through farms, so called trails and villages. The villagers must have been looking at us thinking, “what about bunch of weirdos!”.  I feel flat on face once, had my legged scratched all over (make sure you dont wear shorts). Worn out shoes are a must! We even had a pit stop for water.

After the run we were catching up with folks and the group gathered for the Circle

Most hash events end with a group gathering known as the Circle. Led by kennel leadership, the Circle provides a time to socialize, sing drinking songs, recognize individuals, formally name members, or inform the group of pertinent news or upcoming events.

Circles may be led by the Kennel Grandmaster, the group’s Religious Adviser, or by a committee.

We were the virgins (Aka newbies) and hence we had to sit on big block of ice and drink the beer up while the circle sings. I was punishing for wearing a so called “new shoe”! (some dude got a hold of me cuz I threatened to get him on the ice next time around). Its referred as a Down-Down:

A Down-Down is a means of punishing, rewarding, or merely recognizing an individual for any action or behavior according to the customs or whims of the group. Generally, the individual in question is asked to consume without pause the contents of his or her cup or mug, or risk pouring the remaining contents on his or her head. Individuals may be recognized for outstanding service, or for their status as a visitor or newcomer. Down-Downs also serve as punishment for misdemeanors real, imagined, or blatantly made up. Such transgressions may include: wearing new shoes to an event, pointing with a finger, or the use of real names.

All in all the event was a hoot! Just need to have a dry sense of humor and be ready to run in some rough terrain. If you are looking for something fun to do in Bangalore or any part of the world where there is a hash join in It helps if you are drunk! LOL

Here are links that you would find useful:

http://www.gthhh.com/

http://www.bangalorehash.com/

Ah, New Glarus Uff-Da Boch beer. This blogger calls it “mighty tasty.” He doesn’t lie. As for the shirt, I think the designers may be ripping off the Hash House Harriers, whose motto is “A drinking group with a running problem.” I once did a beer run with a local HHH chapter, which consisted of jogging a mile and slamming a beer after each lap. Another time, I ran with them while half the group wore wedding dresses. True stories.

$1 from the sale of this shirt is donated to restore urban river trails and waterways through the River Revitalization Foundation.

Like to combine exercise and beer? If you’re looking for something to do on the weekend, you may want to consider the Hash. If you are unaware, the Hash House Harriers (the Hash) is a group that was started by some Brits in Malaysia who for unfathomable reasons decided to go for a run and finish it off with a beer. And, because they were Brits (and probably went to some nobby boarding school) they threw in a few bawdy songs along the way. Fast forward a bazillion years later and the Hash is a world wide phenomenon. If you ever wondered what people who went to nice schools do on the weekend once they become grown-ups, the answer is apparently they join the Hash. In Hanoi the Hash runs once a week. Also, the classily named Pussy Hash runs once a month during the week and is basically the ladies run (although anybody can go) and seems to be more about exercise than singing and drinking. On Saturdays the “normal” Hash runs (although what’s normal about a bunch of middle aged men who all have “cock” somewhere in their nickname escapes us), departing from outside either the American Club or JoJo’s on Hai Ba Trung in the afternoon. Not being particularly athletic, we have never run with the Hash, but we imagine that it’s quite similar to the chase scenes in an episode of Benny Hill (though sadly without chase music and nobody wears a dirndl) However, we have been to the Christmas Hash Bash,and we have to say that despite the proliferation of grey haired men and matrimonial-hungry Vietnamese women it was tremendous fun (in a disturbing geriatric boarding school way) we even took our Mum! Although there are a lot of people who sneer at the Hash as being pathetic and creepy (not unlike an episode of Benny Hill), there is something endearing about it (again not unlike Benny Hill) and it’s a great way to meet new people if you have just arrived in town. For more information check out www.hanoih3.com

I’ve found the most wonderful group of laughing women in the Boomers Forum in Etsy.  We’re so good at supporting each other in our art projects, and mentoring each other in marketing.  But our greatest skill is in amusing ourselves and each other. 

One of the loveliest women on Etsy is Chrissie, who makes amazing felted pieces for her shop, Makeyourpresentsfelt.  The shapes she makes and especially her use of color is just brilliant, as the Brits say.  I had posted this picture in one of our chats for the rest of the group to see, and many of us Americans admitted to never having seen egg cosies.

I wanted to run to my old scrapbook and scan the drawing on the right at that moment, ’cause it’s one of my favorite India memories and I didn’t have anyone to share it with when the incident occurred.

My family was planning a trip to one of the old hill stations in Maharashtra with the  Hash House Harriers (a group of drinkers with a running problem, but that’s another story) over Easter weekend.  My girls were eleven years old, but reminders of traditions were always in need for ex-pats so I thought it would be fun to hide some Easter eggs. Since I was living in an all-expenses-paid hotel, I naturally called room service.  The kitchen could hardly believe that I wanted a dozen boiled eggs, and when they delivered my order I understood why.  I was so astonished when room service wheeled in my service for twelve that I just folded in half laughing.  I was dying to share the vision with someone!  If only digital cameras existed then!

Once we got to Matheran and checked into our rooms (just like a scene from a Forster novel) it dawned on me that hiding eggs was totally out of the question.  The area was swarming with the sorts of half-tame obnoxious tourist monkeys who’d steal the sandwich right out of your hand.   What a grand mess they would have made with a dozen boiled eggs!

On, on!