On-On: The Kathmandu Hash
Almost since my arrival in Jordan over two years ago, I have been a member of the Hash House Harriers (short, the ‘Hashers‘), the self-proclaimed ’drinking group with a running problem’. The Hashers were founded seventy years ago by British expatriates in Malaysia to rid themselves of the excesses they had accumulated during their weekends of debauchery. To my knowledge, every major city in the world has a chapter of the Hashers, among them Kathmandu. In these parts, they are known as the ’Himalayan Hash House Harriers’.
In a nutshell, that tradition has not changed much. A couple of ’hares’, after deliberate scouting, lay down a ’trail’ that the harriers are to run. This trail is marked by either flour or confetti-like paper snippets. During each run, there are several ’checkpoints’ from which the hares will lead the harriers in different directions. Only one trail can be the correct one, as indicated by the leading hare’s loud declaration of ’On-On!’. Of course, this also means that the harriers who have chosen the wrong trail must backtrack, often hundreds of yards, and join the remainder of the harriers on the designated trail.
After the run, the GM (Grand Master) will call people to the ‘circle’ and penalize people for various missteps, p.ex. falling down, flirting with women, running too fast, ‘wanking’ (putting your hands in your pockets during the circle) running too slow, for being a virgin (a first time participant), etc. The participants themselves can (and usually will) be from anywhere in the world. Their punishment is to drink a cup of beer (or whatever the contents of the cup may be) quickly, otherwise harriers will have to ‘wear’ the beverage, i.e. pour it over their heads. Obviously locals are always more than welcome, as there is nobody who can lay better trails in their own environment.
A trail can lead anywhere. In Jordan, I participated in a few runs that could lead you through brooks, abandoned buildings, tunnels, up and down the steepest slopes,construction sites, through the messiest mud pits, you name it. And yet, none of those races could compete with the first run I partook in as a Himalayan House Hash Harrier.
We met on a wooded slope above the Kathmandu Valley after miles of potholes and dirt roads. Upon arrival, we parked the car and joined our new group. When we were assured that most people were present (late comers are penalized in the circle), the hares took off, and the run was on.
We started down a very steep, very slippery (that’s normal, as Kathmandu has the potential for a rainfall every day; it’s raining as I am writing this.) slope that would lead us through farms, past cows (some of them ready to attack) and goats, and finally along a river and into a valley. I have always wondered what the locals are thinking when they hear these nutty, predominantly white runners yell ’On-On!’ at the top of their lungs. Except for the kids who would giggle and shoot us some curious glances, most people were surprisingly nonchalant on our first run in Kathmandu.
The run led us along and eventually through a river that would soak every shoe and sock of every harrier. Later we were to discover that each of us had to pluck off at least three to four leeches. Eventually, the trail, no wider than a shoe, would wind up a mountain, through dense vegetation, and over sticks and stones that would definitely break your bones if you slipped. A few harriers took some spills, but no casualties were reported.
A very long run up some steps and a slippery slope that found most harriers hiking rather than running at times then produced a just reward. A checkpoint at the very top of a mountain we had conquered revealed the Kathmandu Valley in all of its green splendor. Gone was the pollution and reek of Kathmandu. The look promised nothing less than a gigantic oasis that smelled like fresh country air, at least until we would all return home to that grey splotch of civilization we were admiring from up high.
Needless to say, what goes up will eventually come down. A slithering trail led us down the mountain, producing dozens of ’hash crashes’, meaning runners taking a spill, usually in the mud. Well over two hours after we’d convened, our first run was at an end. I was lucky to come out of it with a few scrapes and bruises, plus a few leeches who were feasting on both of my feet.
Most of the Himalayan harriers agreed that this was a normal run. Some had seen better, some had seen worse. We did agree that a bottle of beer (after several bottles of water) never tastes better than after a run, the extra beers to be imbibed during the penalty phase not included.
My wife (part of the walking group) and I thoroughly enjoyed the Himalayan Hash House Harriers. On-on, guys.
In a nutshell, that tradition has not changed much. A couple of ’hares’, after deliberate scouting, lay down a ’trail’ that the harriers are to run. This trail is marked by either flour or confetti-like paper snippets. During each run, there are several ’checkpoints’ from which the hares will lead the harriers in different directions. Only one trail can be the correct one, as indicated by the leading hare’s loud declaration of ’On-On!’. Of course, this also means that the harriers who have chosen the wrong trail must backtrack, often hundreds of yards, and join the remainder of the harriers on the designated trail.
After the run, the GM (Grand Master) will call people to the ‘circle’ and penalize people for various missteps, p.ex. falling down, flirting with women, running too fast, ‘wanking’ (putting your hands in your pockets during the circle) running too slow, for being a virgin (a first time participant), etc. The participants themselves can (and usually will) be from anywhere in the world. Their punishment is to drink a cup of beer (or whatever the contents of the cup may be) quickly, otherwise harriers will have to ‘wear’ the beverage, i.e. pour it over their heads. Obviously locals are always more than welcome, as there is nobody who can lay better trails in their own environment.
A trail can lead anywhere. In Jordan, I participated in a few runs that could lead you through brooks, abandoned buildings, tunnels, up and down the steepest slopes,construction sites, through the messiest mud pits, you name it. And yet, none of those races could compete with the first run I partook in as a Himalayan House Hash Harrier.
We met on a wooded slope above the Kathmandu Valley after miles of potholes and dirt roads. Upon arrival, we parked the car and joined our new group. When we were assured that most people were present (late comers are penalized in the circle), the hares took off, and the run was on.
We started down a very steep, very slippery (that’s normal, as Kathmandu has the potential for a rainfall every day; it’s raining as I am writing this.) slope that would lead us through farms, past cows (some of them ready to attack) and goats, and finally along a river and into a valley. I have always wondered what the locals are thinking when they hear these nutty, predominantly white runners yell ’On-On!’ at the top of their lungs. Except for the kids who would giggle and shoot us some curious glances, most people were surprisingly nonchalant on our first run in Kathmandu.
The run led us along and eventually through a river that would soak every shoe and sock of every harrier. Later we were to discover that each of us had to pluck off at least three to four leeches. Eventually, the trail, no wider than a shoe, would wind up a mountain, through dense vegetation, and over sticks and stones that would definitely break your bones if you slipped. A few harriers took some spills, but no casualties were reported.
A very long run up some steps and a slippery slope that found most harriers hiking rather than running at times then produced a just reward. A checkpoint at the very top of a mountain we had conquered revealed the Kathmandu Valley in all of its green splendor. Gone was the pollution and reek of Kathmandu. The look promised nothing less than a gigantic oasis that smelled like fresh country air, at least until we would all return home to that grey splotch of civilization we were admiring from up high.
Needless to say, what goes up will eventually come down. A slithering trail led us down the mountain, producing dozens of ’hash crashes’, meaning runners taking a spill, usually in the mud. Well over two hours after we’d convened, our first run was at an end. I was lucky to come out of it with a few scrapes and bruises, plus a few leeches who were feasting on both of my feet.
Most of the Himalayan harriers agreed that this was a normal run. Some had seen better, some had seen worse. We did agree that a bottle of beer (after several bottles of water) never tastes better than after a run, the extra beers to be imbibed during the penalty phase not included.
My wife (part of the walking group) and I thoroughly enjoyed the Himalayan Hash House Harriers. On-on, guys.
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