The Hash
Last night I boarded a Tram to Carouge and ventured into the unknown. I was heading south towards the French border to an Italian restaurant called Villa Rosa outside a village called Croix de Rozon. My purpose: to find one of the two chapters of the Geneva Hash House Harriers, a running/drinking club with locations the world over. I transferred to the 44 Bus and traveled down Route d'Annecy—perhaps a road leading to Annecy, France, where the Salomon co-op job is located? I didn't know what exactly to expect, but as the busride grew longer the time edged closer to 7, which was the run’s departure time.
This story, however, really begins in Washington D.C. where I attended a gathering hosted by my good friend Joe back in June. Zach and I were visiting he and Jenny before Zach left for Utah and I left the U.S. and Joe had some people over for drinks. One girl there (a friend of Joe’s roommate) happened to hear I was coming to Geneva where she’d interned last year. “Do you run?” she asked me apropos of nothing. I said I did and she told me I needed to join the Hash, giving me a vague description. I later did some online research and signed up for the Geneva groups’ mailing list when I arrived.
Which brings me to last night. Here’s what I knew: Hashers (or Hash House Harriers) are a group of people who get together for runs which are led by a designated “hare,” there are various points where the runners all regroup together so all levels can run without being outpaced, drinking is involved, nicknames are involved, and singing is involved.
I made it to the restaurant and found the group. I met a nice man named Robin who told me a bit more about the proceedings and I found that I wasn’t the only “virgin” for the night (meaning any hazing would at least be split). We circled up and a modified version of “Father Abraham” was sung involving a bit of stretching.
Following that we departed, and I quickly caught on. The “Hares” are responsible for setting the trail with markers (in this case, blobs of flour) that designate if you are on the trail or not. Circles are checkpoints, meaning that any divergent routes must be explored to determine the correct one (this involves a lot of calling back and forth, and indicates the rabbit chases that give the group their name). It was a lot of fun, and the scenery was amazing. We ran through villages, vineyards, back roads, and even someone’s garden, all in the shadow mountains reflecting the setting sun—truly an experience that can only be had in Europe. After about 6 or so miles (or 10 or so kilometers, since it’s Europe), we hit the beer stop.
This is one of the best features of the Hash. Towards the end, instead of a water break, there is a beer stop. Don’t get me wrong: there is water to be had. But there is also pop, snacks, and a lot of beer. Everyone takes a breather and throws back a couple beers before jogging or walking back to the starting point.
During the break and the walk back I had the chance to talk with some of the others runners. Most of them seem to be from the UK, and they were all very friendly. (Another bonus of the Geneva Hashes: they are English speaking!) I even met a few people from America and a guy from here who works for a company with an office in Grove City which he visits at least once a year. It truly is a small world.
Following the run, everyone usually goes to someone’s home or a restaurant for food. Last night a dinner had been arranged at the Italian place and we were well-served with salad, lasagna as big as a DVD case, red wine, and ice cream. It was a boisterous crowd and quite a fun time. The owner had a karaoke machine out by our table and kept singing bad Italian karaoke (and bad Italian-dubbed versions of American songs), so that any time a song in English came up, someone rushed to take the mic, so at least he would be stopped. As you’ve probably already guessed, this ultimately resulted in me once again singing R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion” in front of a drunken crowd. It was good fun and everyone was thrilled to have the Italian dude at a distance from the machine.
The group meets weekly on Wednesday nights and I think I’m going to have to make it a regular event. The people were great as was the food, drink, and scenery.
This story, however, really begins in Washington D.C. where I attended a gathering hosted by my good friend Joe back in June. Zach and I were visiting he and Jenny before Zach left for Utah and I left the U.S. and Joe had some people over for drinks. One girl there (a friend of Joe’s roommate) happened to hear I was coming to Geneva where she’d interned last year. “Do you run?” she asked me apropos of nothing. I said I did and she told me I needed to join the Hash, giving me a vague description. I later did some online research and signed up for the Geneva groups’ mailing list when I arrived.
Which brings me to last night. Here’s what I knew: Hashers (or Hash House Harriers) are a group of people who get together for runs which are led by a designated “hare,” there are various points where the runners all regroup together so all levels can run without being outpaced, drinking is involved, nicknames are involved, and singing is involved.
I made it to the restaurant and found the group. I met a nice man named Robin who told me a bit more about the proceedings and I found that I wasn’t the only “virgin” for the night (meaning any hazing would at least be split). We circled up and a modified version of “Father Abraham” was sung involving a bit of stretching.
Following that we departed, and I quickly caught on. The “Hares” are responsible for setting the trail with markers (in this case, blobs of flour) that designate if you are on the trail or not. Circles are checkpoints, meaning that any divergent routes must be explored to determine the correct one (this involves a lot of calling back and forth, and indicates the rabbit chases that give the group their name). It was a lot of fun, and the scenery was amazing. We ran through villages, vineyards, back roads, and even someone’s garden, all in the shadow mountains reflecting the setting sun—truly an experience that can only be had in Europe. After about 6 or so miles (or 10 or so kilometers, since it’s Europe), we hit the beer stop.
This is one of the best features of the Hash. Towards the end, instead of a water break, there is a beer stop. Don’t get me wrong: there is water to be had. But there is also pop, snacks, and a lot of beer. Everyone takes a breather and throws back a couple beers before jogging or walking back to the starting point.
During the break and the walk back I had the chance to talk with some of the others runners. Most of them seem to be from the UK, and they were all very friendly. (Another bonus of the Geneva Hashes: they are English speaking!) I even met a few people from America and a guy from here who works for a company with an office in Grove City which he visits at least once a year. It truly is a small world.
Following the run, everyone usually goes to someone’s home or a restaurant for food. Last night a dinner had been arranged at the Italian place and we were well-served with salad, lasagna as big as a DVD case, red wine, and ice cream. It was a boisterous crowd and quite a fun time. The owner had a karaoke machine out by our table and kept singing bad Italian karaoke (and bad Italian-dubbed versions of American songs), so that any time a song in English came up, someone rushed to take the mic, so at least he would be stopped. As you’ve probably already guessed, this ultimately resulted in me once again singing R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion” in front of a drunken crowd. It was good fun and everyone was thrilled to have the Italian dude at a distance from the machine.
The group meets weekly on Wednesday nights and I think I’m going to have to make it a regular event. The people were great as was the food, drink, and scenery.
posted by Aaron at 8:49 PM
1 Comments:
You should start that up here when you get back.
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