It's Saturday, it's 6pm, and I'm sitting on a large block of ice being yelled at for being a virgin who committed one of the holiest of hash crimes- tattling while in the circle.
For those unfamiliar, the objectives of a Hash House Harriers are as follows:
- To promote physical fitness among our members
- To get rid of weekend hangovers
- To acquire a good thirst and to satisfy it in beer
- To persuade the older members that they are not as old as they feel
- Source- Wikipedia
Offhandedly, the HHH are often referred to as a "running club with a drinking problem" or conversely, a "drinking club with a running problem", but either way, I was very excited about my invitation to the Caracas Hash House Harriers.
Gordon, Jason, Jackie, Wallie and I took a cab to one of the more famous squares in east Caracas- Altamira. There we met up with what could only be described as a motley crew of expats, locals and pretty much everything in between. We socialized for a bit before we took to the streets, and the elders of the club were very pleased to see some "new blood", even if we were all mostly Americans*.
We were split into walkers and runners, and I immediately took the low bar when I saw that only boys were running. We were led by our bold and fearless leader, a 70 year old Venezuelan gentleman with a very, very loud horn. He fearlessly began our walk, literally stopping traffic with his horn every time we had to cross the street. It was lovely to see a little more of the city at a casual walking pace. In a group, we all felt safe, and even more reassuring was the number of people out and about, working out in the parks, walking to and fro. One cool thing about this part of Caracas was the number of parks. They were nearly on every corner! And each part had exercise equipment. The kind of machines you would find in gyms in the US were scattered about the part, made of metal, almost like children's play equipment. What an ingenious idea! Wouldn't that help the American obesity rate? Take note, Michelle Obama!
Half way through our walk, we met up with the runners at a corner market and had a beer. Why not? There I chatted with some of the boys, who were working hard at convincing some of the girls to join the runners. I met Ivan, who was there with his mother, who I proceeded to call "mi mami" for the remainder of our hash. Both were very interested in practicing their English, and of course I am out for Spanish practice, so we were just a match made in heaven, they asking me questions in English and me responding in Spanish. As we were about the take off, I took a last minute impulsive dive and followed the runners. Thank God mi mami, Jackie, and Catherine all joined immediately- apparently we were all intimidated to be the only girl!
The boys basically lapped us, and Catherine, a fellow CIC teacher, and I quickly figured out that our 12 minute mile pace was not going to help us keep up, so we fell into pace and resigned ourselves to losing the pack. Thankfully hashing requires a trail laid out before the run, so Catherine, a veteran hasher, was able to follow the trail that had been laid with corn starch, through the streets. We passed the fancy mall, Centro St. Ignacio in San Marino- and by passed, I mean we ran through it, including restaurants and a McDonald's drive thru. Hashers are, shall we say, not super timid? They tend to like to let people know that, well, dammit, we are running! LOOK AT US WE ARE HASHERS AND WE ARE RUNNING! The boys group was kind and waited for Catherine and I to catch up at various points, and sweet, sweet Ivan kept running back to check on us, which, while reassuring, did hurt my pride some. As soon as the lights of Plaza Altamira appeared, I was thrilled, but even more thrilled to see the hashers crashing, shoes on, into the fountain in the plaza. I had the good sense to remove my shoes, and the water felt HEAVENLY.
Back at the camp, we all grabbed a beer because apparently grabbing water is a "hash crime". I soon learned that there are many more crimes in hashing and I was, unfortunately, very guilty. In the hash circle we all stood, and the litany of crimes committed were recognized. Texting while hashing, taking off shoes before traipsing through the fountain, getting lost, and talking while in the circle all led to one being thrown in the middle and forced to drink while the others sang to you. Hash "virgins" were particular targets for hash crimes due to our ignorance in the hash justice system. So ya, a hash circle is kind of like a birthday party? At least the kind of birthday parties I go to. Mostly, the fun thing to do is take a sip and then fling the remaining beer on the person standing behind you in the center of the circle. This led to good-natured shoving and everyone staying a little more sober, at least for the meantime. True hash crimes- the 1st degree murders of the hash justice system- were dealt with quickly and strongly, as we were forced to sit on a large block of ice until another person committed a mortal sin and was sent to relieve us and serve their sentence. Where they got a block of ice big enough for two adults to sit on in CARACAS is a mystery to me, but I will tell you this- it was cold and my butt was wet for hours. But I will never again tattle in a hash circle- ever.
After the circle, we all got to eat, and let me tell you, the hot dogs they served were the BEST HOTDOGS EVER. The remainder of the evening consisted of dancing, drinking, and chatting. For hours we did this and the time simply flew by. Everyone was just so interesting and interested in getting to know you. The boys were eager for gringa dancing partners and we were eager to start learning the dancing- salsa, merengue, whatever else was playing. Mi Mami and I also had some GREAT english/spanish translation errors we all got a laugh at. At one point, I held a piece of ice to my face and said "Oy, my cama es calliente!" What I meant to say was "Mi cara es calliente"- my face is hot. What I said was "my bed is hot". Awkward. Palm Tree. A while later, mi mami decided to top me when she said that the "porn" was for my hotdog instead of the "corn" being for my hot dog. The glee that ensued from these interactions proved that all of our minds were in the gutter, but at least we all had good company while spending our time in the gutter.
As it turns out, Jackie and I were so excited about the fun we were having, we volunteered to host the next Hash! So expect a post in early September about my first experience hosting a Hash!
Our evening ended on a high note- we took a cab home and then proceeded to a house party. These Venezuelans party like it is freaking 1999. I cannot keep up! But everyone reassures me that this was the last hoo-ra weekend. With school coming on everyone puts on their game faces. Thank God. Otherwise I don't know if I could keep my pact with myself!
*Note: it is NOT the Venezuelans that give the Americans a hard time- the Brits do! They can't stand our English! But don't worry, we defend ourselves and our slang.
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