Whatever Next

Right, I've seen some things in my time but yesterday afternoon definitely features high on my 'Bizarre Weekend Activities' list. And Maya's too, I have no doubt. Let me explain. Andy recently told me about a group called the Hash House Harriers. It is a global organisation and in practically every city in the world, groups of ex-pats convene on alternate sunday afternoons to either run or walk along a trail that has been discovered by a member of the group and is different every time. This always takes place out of the city in the surrounding countryside for a nominal participation fee. Now theoretically this sounded alright as it doesn't take much for me to be convinced I need to get out of the city. I was less certain, however, about darting through paddy fields after some posh, triple-barreled-surname British ex-pat wearing lycra. However, off we went in the taxi and after the Bangalore suburbs had dropped away to reveal swaying palm trees and lush green fields, I was definitely up for a good walk. There were about twenty-five of us, a mixture of ex-pats and local Bangaloreans and everyone was very friendly and welcoming.

Maya was asleep by the time we arrived so we quickly transferred her from the car to Andy's back in the sling where she continued sleeping for a little while, but she soon woke up and enjoyed picking flowers from Andy's back, pointing out oxen with long horns and also spotting the white chalked signs along the way that marked our trail. It was at this point that I became aware that the Hash House Harriers weren't your average walking / running group: this marking system is designed to throw participants off the correct trail and on in the wrong direction. When you reach a certain symbol, there are various ways you can go and you have to try them all out until you've spotted a white arrow which then determines you're on the right path. If there's no arrow, then back you go and you have to try the next trail! Okay, I have a sense of humour. I can see the fun in that (I think?), but with a babe on one's back, I'm not sure how many times I'd be prepared to go shooting off down the wrong trail before giving up on the expedition and declaring the whole bunch of them crazy loons. Thankfully, one of the organisers kept giving the sole family group a nudge nudge wink wink in the right direction. We were even guided round an almost vertical hill rather than over it. Phew.

Speaking of this particular organiser, he was carrying a large claxon (you can see it in his hand in photo 1 above), another peculiar element of every HHH as it was constantly honked as we walked round. Quite functional I suppose to prevent people from losing the trail (even though they blatantly encouraged people to lose this very trail), but honestly, can you imagine a stranger sight for the local villagers: A load of half-running, half-walking people tearing through fields and along paths and then reversing back down the same path, many of them dressed in lycra (so yes, my suspicions were confirmed on this front) and two of them carrying small children on their back, one little girl even tied on with a sari for goodness sake. Yes, there is no doubt about it. We must have looked like a load of nutters.

For a person that loves taking photographs and stopping to chat with locals, I quickly learnt that this just wasn't possible with the HHH (though I did manage to sneak a quick pic with some beautiful girls in one of the villages - see picture 2). The pace is rapid so it's very good exercise and after a brief stop half way round for watermelon and cold water, Maya and Lily were still in good spirits so we decided to continue rather than return with the beer van. Beer van you're asking? Yes. Beer van. Upon completion of our 8km circuit, we were handed out ice cold beer and samosas which was fantastic. See picture 3 above which shows how happy I was about this. But it became rapidly apparent that of equal importance to the HHH is its title as drinking club and soon, things got downright weird. We stood in a circle and announcements were read out to members who all have nicknames such as 'Bottom sniffer' and 'The Illiterate' and then an enormous block of ice was produced from the beer van on which the HHH's in turn started to park their behinds on and then down beer from plastic urine bottles. Yes, really. The HHH song was sung, as was Swing Low Sweet Chariot and I realised that what I was witnessing was a load of overgrown university students, yearning for the drinking clubs of their student days (Andy's laughing at me for being stuffy, but I only heave a big sigh of relief for having left those 10 pints a night well behind me!)

Maya was fascinated by the ice and started licking it and just when I was thinking how hilarious this all was, the 'novices' were then called upon to sit on it. I protested, saying that I was holding Maya, but was assured that the bottoms of the 'Hash Horrors' (as the kids are known) wouldn't suffer at all as they could sit on our laps. Oh. Right. So Maya sat on my lap and Lily on Andy's and let me tell you, sitting on a big block of ice for a long time is damn chilly. We duly drank out beer out of the urine bottle but then things went from weird to weirder as it was decided that I was not drinking mine fast enough and the remaining contents of my bottle were tipped over my head. Let me repeat - ON MY HEAD. So by this point I had a cold, wet bum and head, shirt and jeans covered in Kingfisher Beer. Maya was staring at everyone in the group like the whole world had gone beserk and frankly, I couldn't have agreed more.

The locals who had witnessed this group of people descend on their normally peaceful spot, go off for a run and then return and pour beer over one another thought this all looked like great fun and joined in sitting on the ice block and drinking out of urine bottles (see photo 5).

On the way back in the taxi my hair was standing up in stiff points from dried, smelly beer and my jeans (why did I wear jeans??) were unpleasantly damp. But Maya and Lily spent the entire hour journey on the way back laughing, whether with me or at me is unclear. Would we go next time? Ask me again once I've got the beer out of my hair. What IS clear is the Hash House Harriers are bonkers.