Tuesday, 18 October 2005
Hash trash of Friday 'Not Quite the 13th' of October in the vicinity of Dimas, off the Beirut highway
Surprise: the convoy managed to get lost, this time quite inexplicably.
Consider the following facts:
1/ there were only 4 cars in the convoy
2/ the site was no more difficult to reach than the ZarZar lake and quite a bit nearer - providing one had managed to get straight there
4/ the instructions were passed from one blood brother (Paul, the Hare) to another ( Rafi, the convoy leader), presumably by word of mouth and in their native Arabic - unless, of course, the Aramaic was used inadvertently.
[You have to ask Blanka what happened to 3/]
But all is well that ends well and some had found the detour to the turn off to Bloudan so exciting, that they did it all over again on the way back.
We found the Hares, Cunning Stunt (Rafi) and Wise Pranker (Paul), patiently waiting at the foot of a gentle slope densely (for Syria) covered by pine trees, through which the runners and walkers alike were soon making their unhurried ascent, to split some time later, when the going got a bit tougher.
One walker irresponsibly spilt some more, trying to catch up with the runners, who had unexpectedly picked up speed and disappeared over the crest of the hill. The reason for this sudden spurt of energy became clear upon reaching the summit: they were fleeing from swarms of flies inhabiting a vast waste reservation.
Still, the overall scenery, even if disappointingly devoid of runners was, as usual in this part of the world, well worth the climb.
When the numbers back at the cars did not tally, a rescue party was dispatched, kindly though not necessarily necessary. The lost sheep was welcomed back into the fold with quite unexpected scenes of joy, reminiscent of the biblical Prodigal Sonīs return; nevertheless, such individualistic behaviour earned the sinner a well deserved beer - I mean down down.
Mardik, the normally well behaved and the quietest of Hashers (with the possible exception of Rowdy) got a down down for overtaking the Religious Adviser at the finishing line - he should have known better.
There was a virtual down down reserved for Hazar (respecting her Ramadan fast) for either short-cutting or allegedly trying to advertise some unmentionable remedies for women, or both.
Paul had his second down down for some deficiency in math, involving paint multiplied by metres (or vice versa).
Other down downs went to Hansi, one for being (a sole) virgin and one for lugging a bazooka on the run and so exposing us all to a danger of being shot at by some short-sighted soldier.
There was, in fact, a second virgin, but her virginity was not sacrificed on the altar of the down downs due to her tender age (Or did I miss her initiation last week?). In any case, the Damascus Hash seems to have a new child mascot.
In another development, its Finns are multiplying alarmingly: before the holidays there was one, about a month ago there were two, and now there are three - one with a bazooka to boot! Moreover, their names are either nearly unpronounceable (Mirja), or confusingly similar (Hans and Hansi). All a bit sinister. Maybe they should have been made to sit on the ice, which, for want of any serious crime, was melting forlornly in the still very hot sun.
The pleasantly green countryside, the quiet Indian summer weather, the varied food and the small, but select, company combined to make this Hash a "feel good" event.
On on, Blanka
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