The mythology of Pattaya Jungle Hash is arcane and inscrutable. From this dimly-lit shadow land rumors have surfaced about a mysterious club that revels in debauchery and dissolution. Like King Arthur's Round Table these craven crusaders of copulation meet once a month to indulge the most deeply felt and inhibited impulses of male and female sexuality - to track down and ravage a vestal virgin in the dark heart of a primordial forest. So set forth Sir Lance and Lord Lucan and royally entertain on this Grindmaster Classic Hash Day.
Last weekend I attended my first ever Hash in a remote part of Ban Chang in Rayong Province. Probably one of the largest social clubs in the world, "Hasher's" have been around for many years. Albert Stephen Ignatius Gispert founded the first Hash House Harriers club circa 1938 in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia with now over 1500 Hash clubs world wide. The name came from the Selangor Club which was notorious for the dubious provenance of the food that was served there. Not so on this Grindmaster outing when a fair banquet of BBQ meats awaited the returning pack (c/w baked beans)
Anecdotal evidence suggests that there was a confluence of influences that led to the conception of the tradition of “Hashing”. This included Feudal serfs assuming the role of hounds and hares in a curious parody of the games of the landed aristocracy. Some suggest a company of whimsical British soldiers in some far flung outpost of the empire began a “paper chase” (cutting small pieces of paper and dropping them on the ground as a paper trail) that spread through the ranks of the army and then the civilian population. One of these games went through a ticker-tape parade at the end of the war, where as a result, 17 soldiers were lost never to be seen or heard from again!
The Hash today is a hotchpotch of The Cannonball Run, The Wacky Races and Amundsen's journey to the Antarctic Pole or in the Pattaya Jungle case the blind leading the blind. The parallels drawn with Arthurian legend do not end with men meeting and bound together with hoops of steel for the attainment of some hallowed honor. The Parsifal legend lives in the Hasher's activities as a Holy Grail allegory: the search or quest for revelation. For the crusaders it came with trying to hold the cup that Christ drank from at the last supper. For the Hash House Harriers of The Jungle revelation is found in consuming large quantities of beer from any receptacle, glass, steel or plastic. After all, this is the beer club with a running problem!
"Form a circle" thundered Roger the Sick Prick the Grand Master marshalling the troops. Like a Sergeant Major rousing his men "let’s get this show on the road!" he continued. 70 or so bodies formed a circle tweaking waxed moustaches and stoking pipes while the ‘lumpy ones’ finished refueling their metabolisms with spicy somtam. A motley group of specimens from all walks of life almost anonymous to each other except for their shared objective to complete the hash (traversing a course over a mountain, through a jungle, across a river and beyond personal thresholds of endurance and pain). These marauding masochists run, climb, swim and crawl to the end of a grueling course set by "Hares".
"We are neither divinely inspired by the grace of God nor officially ordained by earthly institution" said the reverend. That didn't surprise me in view of some of the nom de plumes that were adopted: Really Sadistic Bastard, Rusty Ring Hole, Squeeze my Tube, Dizzy, Sweet Pussy, Ball Ringer, The Hobbit and My Precious, Sheik Bin Shaggin, Flying Frog......and the list goes on into infamy and shame.
Absolution and redemption are found in the beautifully intoned Homage to – “He’s The Meanest, He Sucks the Horses Penis “This is one of the many sing-song exclamations sung by the group as a chorus of acknowledgement of some achievement (like bringing enough cold beer) by a single member of the clan.
The address by the Grand Master continued punctuated with the profane and the profound. Virgins were invited to imbibe a glass of Adam’s Ale and introduce themselves to the assembled pack. Then the Hares, both English Gentlemen of questionable repute narrated a story of what the pack should look for on the trail. Water and snakes…cattle, dogs and the odd crocodile!!
With the beer still chilling in the coolers the circle was broken and the hash was on. Into the Jungle we all leaped scouring the ground for the elusive clusters of paper set down earlier by the hares to mark the trail. False trails, loops, back checks and short cuts kept us mentally challenged while the streams, gullies, ravines and hills the hard-core Hasher's (front running bastards) from the blooper-barons (incl's the infirm, lost, exhausted, ne'er do wells).
Barbed wire designed to stop charging water buffalo was no barrier for the indomitable few who felt the exhilaration of reaching checkpoints first. I found myself experiencing debilitating fear when I realised we had to haul ourselves out of a quarry on a rope only to drop 30 feet into a huge reed bed that extended as far as the clouded eye could focus (at least 200 meters) and the black mountain dog chained to a post and growling menacingly was in fact a guard dog for the bizarre illegal zoo that I had unknowingly wondered through. I grinned sheepishly as I passed a cage with a large red-faced monkey with manicured, razor-sharp nails trained to tear human flesh into silky red ribbons. Arriving back at the A site we found the hares handing out “free” brightly colored “Cobra Swamp” hash shirts resplendent with a large cobra coat of arms on the back. What a good day out!!
The day ended with more revelry, beer guzzling and ribald exchanges in the circle. Those found remiss in their duties to the hash or otherwise having committed misdemeanors were ordered to sit, bare arse, on huge blocks of ice until their testicles turned blue or they officially recanted, confessed or retracted offending actions or statements. Other acts of sado-masochistic pleasure included being forced to sit in a bucket of ice with another member of the club - astride one another, crotch to crotch! To make matters worse there was even a Hash Victim called “Mad Cow” who with apparent joyful expectation launched himself into the ice bucket at regular intervals. Two hash virgins were ordained into the Jungle Hash family by being placed onto the ice and then asked to drink from the tube (a drain pipe) place on their drinking arm – this is called called torture in any other language.
For persons interested in self-mutilation, necrophilia, public humiliation and beer consumption in excess - join the boy scouts.
For anyone interested in bush walking, making new friends, learning to tie knots, orienteering and beer drinking - come along to a hash run staged by The Pattaya Jungle Hash House Harriers.
NOTE: Any association between the Pattaya Jungle Hash House Harriers and the mysterious club in Pattaya that uses human prey in their hunts is vehemently denied. All members refused knowledge of giving a young Thai girl enough rations to last a day, affording her a 30 minute head start before setting off after her. The first man from the sixty or so who started gets to have his wicked, wicked way with her. I am reliably informed this may “perhaps” happen on the Pattaya Jungle Monkey Hash runs!!
ONON from a converted VIRGIN HASHER
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