HASH TRASH AND NATURE NOTES

Run #1474

FROM BALI – SEPTEMBER 13TH 2020

By: Nightjar

The run was yesterday in the hills north of Gianyar, a virgin site discovered by BOUNCING CZECH, HANDJOB & MRS PALMER. Breathtakingly brilliant, and it was BOUNCING CZECH’s birthday. How lucky we are.

Excellent turnout circa 80 hounds of which half beer drinkers with three kegs drained plus bottles: getting better all the time.

And WOODEN EYE performed wonders in the circle to the extent of naming some Taffy’s missus – HOW DEEP IS YOUR VALLEY – very tasty I thought like BOUNCING CZECH’s cake. May he live 100 years, drink 1,000,000 beers etc.

Beer Master AMAZON (to give him his proper name) further explained how King Hayam Wuruk of Majapahit fame (see last week’s A/C) sent Kublai Khan’s Mongols packing: the maja fruit did not agree.

Whether YWGMH was misinformed or merely inattentive, instead of proceeding at a leisurely pace, pot in hand, to the lip of the Pakrisan Valley to welcome home both short and long distance runners, our errant miscreant proceeded to amble the length of the village, enquiring of all and sundry the way down to the Pakrisan River.

Very friendly the natives in these parts, probably becausee they are quite unaccustomed to marauding bulais – just 100 metres more sir for the first mile or so, would you like a banana, please have a sip of this (from some young layabouts swigging arak) and so on.

Finally found a track heading west past the village school and magnificent lychee tree into the fields and to the very edge of the river valley. So spectacular the views south to the sea, and of the gorge itself, here at its deepest and thickly af forested.

Chaps clambering down the 300 foot slope for evening ablution, but I did not join them. Indolent prat, but the hernia is playing up and my pot is empty.

Yet how many times have I descended and traversed this valley. The river is entirely spring fed from the Tirta empul at Tampaksiring. You can drink it, and the walk downstream to Goa Garba Pejeng and beyond is the most rewarding I know – everywhere ancient coves and rock-carved candi, remnants of the Gelgel Dynasty – read all about it in BALI BIRDWALKS (APA Publications) and examine the portrait of Bali Hashers at p 88.

What beauty – the scenery I mean. Anew butterfly. My attention drawn yesterday and today (18th) to the fantastically swift and nervous flight of a Jay (Graphium spp) buzzing round the curry Leaf and manifestly laying.

The Pale Green Triangle, I said in my Butterfly book that I had never seen it here before, blimey.

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BALI HASH HOUSE HARRIERS 2

HASH TRASH RUN #1471

By: Night Jar

Incandescent day – like yesterday, rendered all the brighter D the antics of our merry band of Hash House Harriers at the Bali Bird Park. The trail went straight thro the lawns and borders of the property, quite easily the equivalent of any urban botanic garden worldwide.

Did you know there are 58 species of palm tree there?

And never mind the dicky-birds. But Harry, the African Ground Vulture who has been there forever and is definitely the star of the entire show, greeted me with his customary head shake and honk. What beauty. He still recognizes me despite my long absence. I’m utterly disarmed. Then straightway to the Bintang Beer truck, and the bar was open (at 16.00).

Hooray.

Not only that but the hare INFLATABLE BEDMATE had set up a fancy cocktail dispenser – a potent blend of Bali Ayung-side whiskies that sent some troopers reeling. Pretty good actually. Compare it with Johnny Walker red, black, blue or green.

Go on. On on. Do it.

And did I tell you about the Bali Moon new Black Bull tasting we had last week? Can’t remember. Saturday 22nd was also of course Hari Tumpek Uduh / Pengatag, sacred to flora, especially fruit-trees, with rosettes pinned to each coconut palm in the garden. It was also a good day for the Frogs, being the anniversary of the (1944) Liberation of Paris, not to say birthday of that celebrated maestro of pianoforte composition – Debussy – second to none including Liszt (1862).

For some obscure reason YWGMH elected not to perform ‘Ou est le Papier’, preferring to proffer ‘I don’t want to join the Army’ instead. Still made little or no impression on the garrulous rabble. No discipline. HM WORM was co-hare. But by all accounts, it was WRIGGLY who was founder of the feast.

This morning I counted a dozen species of butterfly in the garden, including peranthus Swift Peacock jinking round the Curry-Leaf tree. It’s impossible to see the caterpillars or chrysalises, the former leaving no sign of de predation nor even frass; the latter in profile exactly the shape and colour of the pinnate leaves. On the adjacent fields, a host of egrets pursuing two rotavators – 100 Cattle easily, four Little, one surprisingly with pendant na pe plumes (bit early?), and one solitary Intermediate aloof and ponderous. All spanking white. A few pond herons in evidence, seemingly self-distancing.

Ed note – YWGMH is a wanker, Harry’s a HORNBILL – NOT a vulture.

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Bali Hash House Harriers 2

Hash Trash

Run #1470 – August 15th, 2020

Oh to be back Hashing in Bali‼! And what a great day for our second run back with Bali Hash House Harriers II (2, 2, 2).

The Hares chose an excellent spot for today’s run, plenty of parking and space for us to be silly and drunk without offending the natives. In fact, it must be said, that for the past two runs the local Balinese in the fields and streams have been extremely helpful. This run gave both long and short runners plenty of space to stretch out though it was a bit confusing running into drunk short running newbies and drunken virgins stumbling around the rice paddies, and even long time Hashers on the way back towards home. Coming into the parking lot there were people doing selfies and drinking black stuff and trying to eat obscene looking hot dogs while Wooden Eye tried to get the Harriets in the sack and Peterfile tried to get a virgin in the sack, or something like that… I guess it was understandable though as said virgin was totally barely (nearly un) dressed for something other than Hashing so there ya go!

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Our favorite Rhodesian Ridgeback was back on the run with her master Mount N Groan and she didn’t hesitate for a moment to try and bite the face off the nearest 4 Legged she could find (lions being in short supply on at BHHH2). Fortunately for that dog Zola had a massive rope around her neck and a couple more virgins holding the table she was attached too. Well done Zola and Virgins!

The circle was short and sweet and just as well with all the drunken frivolity that was going on beforehand. Gaylick sported a keg and Inflatable Bed Mate sported Bali Moon’s new answer to Jagermeister which helped grease the collective wheels quite well (Thanks Dudes!) while Night Jar held a short court after HM stumbled through few sentences of thanks et al, and as with many stories that involve Hashing and Drinking… all was well!

The run was fantastic and our hosts and sponsors pulled out the stops. The Black Bull was a little too tasty and the extra beer was gone I a flash but it seems we all made it home safely though rumor has it that Blow Joe nearly rode all the way to Sanur before he realized he was going the wrong way…

Thanks to Worm, Wriggley, Worm Hole, Night Crawler and Nightjar for a fantastic day and thank you everyone from BHHH2 for being you‼!

On On to Bali Bird Park Run #1471

Bali Hash House Harriers 2

 BHHH2 Hash Trash Run #1368 Bumi Linggah, Batu Bulan

Our Lady of the Scraggly Parched Ex-Rice Paddy

As if concrete geese frozen in mid-flap, grinning Brahman bulls, leaping Japanese-oid fish and other puzzling statuary at Drunken Bastard’s pleasantly spacious, grassy, shady and clean hostelry grounds at Bumi Lingga last Saturday weren’t enough, not long after we had negotiated a shuffling departure in the blazing heat from this oddly themed but garden-like atmosphere, a much more befuddling sight caught us (me, anyway) utterly off guard.

As so often happens on this enchanted isle, the last thing you would expect to see reared up before us in a nothing-short-of-miraculous manner. At first it didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary. An ornately carved red brick Balinese structure with the usual decorative touches like something one would see in a temple stood in an unremarkable, scrubby and disused paddy. On closer inspection, inside a glassed off enclosure within it was housed none other than…Stormy Daniels, no, kidding… the Holy Mother herself in customary pose, hands out palms up in all her painted porcelain and be-robed glory. A clutch of Hashers issued various reactions: “Holy ….!”, “What the ….!” Even the Saviour was invoked, perhaps appropriately, who knows? Personally, I couldn’t have been more taken aback if Batman and his butler Alfred had been in there in flagrente delicto, trousers and Bat trunks around ankles.

The rest of the run was nowhere near as eventful, but it did have its moments. There were decent mountain and, a tad surprisingly, not too distant ocean views as well. Quite a bit of paddy with mature rice slightly waving in not exactly gale force winds, stiff breezes or mild zephyrs for that matter. Perhaps that was the point at which I broke wind causing the paddy to stir (and a dog started barking, of course). It was pretty friggin’ hot and we were sweating cobs for most of the exactly one hour that was the short run. There wasn’t a lot of jogging or trotting getting done especially on the last steaming asphalt section. Refreshing beverages have rarely been looked forward to with as much lust or consumed with so much relish and eagerness.

A circle slowly coagulated and before before you could say “he’s a bastard through and through” the Religious Advisor, Organ Grinder, had all individuals answering that description and who were in possession of a Decree Nisi front and center for well-deserved (apparently) down downs. The reason: It was Ex-Wives Day! No shit. You’ve got to hand it to the R.A., he’s a sharp eyed customer. Who knew? Yes it’s true, gentle reader, I don’t want to burst any bubbles here, but when man first crawled out of the primeval slime (it was a while ago) and got divorced, I’m afraid I was in that number.

It’s not as if I hug my Decree joyfully to my breast or prostrate myself reverentially in front of a lounge room shrine containing the sacred scroll itself, honest, but I’ve got one. The Grand Master  then took center stage and delivered a “penetrating” ditty called “All Queers Together”. Ha ha, plop, was the sound made as we laughed our arses off. It was literally funnier than buggary.

Concrete Erection and Jangle Balls favored us with an (almost) harmonized rendition of the ultimate drinking man’s thinking song, Monty Python’s Piss Tank Philosophers: “There’s nothing Nietzsche couldn’t teach ya ‘bout the raising of the wrist, Socrates himself was permanently pissed”. It was a signal moment, the signal being that it lasted a moment (it’s not exactly Wagner’s four part ring trilogy).

Who cares? It was a lot more fun than German opera, at least I suspect as much, and we await next Saturday’s St. George’s Day run by Hares Zola the Rhodesian Ridgeback (a dog, with a fin) and Monty (her human) with baited (har) breath. Paint your dragon.

On on,

J.B.

Bali Hash House Harriers 2

A drinking club with a running problem. Join Bali Hash House Harriers 2 every Saturday, Rain or Shine, for another great run in paradise.

Bali Hash House Harriers 2 the BEST Hash Kennel in Bali

2017 / 2018 run fees

MEMBER DRINKERS: Rp80,000
MEMBER NON-DRINKERS: Rp40,000

INDONESIAN VISITORS: Rp80,000
NON-INDONESIAN VISITORS: Rp120,000

KIDS UNDER 15 YEARS OLD: Rp10,000

BAR OPEN: 5:00 PM
CIRCLE STARTS: 5:30 PM
BAR CLOSES: END OF CIRCLE

The Official Beer of Bali Hash House Harriers 2 is Bintang Beer

2017 / 2018 Mis-Management

Grand Master: Nightjar
Hash Master: Muddy Man
On Sec: Spook
Hare Raiser: Allez Allez
Beer Master: Cane Rat
Hash Boutique: Muddy Girl
Religious Advisor: Organ Grinder
Hash Cash: Morning Glory
Hash Beans: Juliana & Sophie
Hash Flash: Pussy Delivery
Hash Maps: Serial Offender

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BHHH2 Hash Trash Run #1366 Pura Desa Sobangan Saturday 31-Mar-18

Laugh, I Nearly Slit My Wrists

Ahh, Sobongan, I love this area. I like it so much we were there an hour early. Not really. On an earlier bicycle run along the Sanur beach walk path last Saturday, several Balinese folk were to be seen in finery befitting and denoting A Special Hari. “WHICH ONE?” I pondered in a thought bubble in bold font. And in another bubble that followed (in comic sans), in a logical train, I thought: “Perhaps we’d be wise to beat a hasty departure to the Hash today in case of upacara parades.” Between Sanur and Sobongan, in likely areas such as Tohpati, Jln Gatot Subroto, Mambal etc. there were approximately, say “no” upacara, so I wasn’t that far out, was I? I guess they don’t have parades for Hari Besi  (cars, motorbikes, machinery etc.) On this auspicious occasion all things motorized are usually gaily festooned with elaborately hand made decorative items. Foiled again! The only one of these I spied all day was on the front of the Religious Advisor’s new Terios parked outside the Hash site. How do I so reliably and staunchly remain utterly, profoundly useless as a source of information to myself on these matters? Why can I never say sensibly to myself “Look pal, I just don’t know, shut up and leave me alone.”? I can’t. I should.

At 3. 15 or so I gravitated to the general area of the beer truck (for some reason) like a homing pigeon or spare dick at a wedding forlornly gazing at the depressingly non-functioning spigot in the blazing afternoon tropical heat and yukking it up with the usual suspects as they arrived. It was as close to the “Pub with no Beer” without Slim Dusty’s nasal drone as I want to get. Finally 4 pm ticked around, Hare Rocks Off announced a 5k short, a 9k long and off we pissed. Immediately there was mass confusion as we missed his explicit finger pointed direction and ran right past the only possible jalan the digit could have indicated.

I know this is the Hash Trash but I’m not in any way going to trash this run. It was an absolute cracker and I have no superlatives that it wouldn’t deserve. The short was 50 minutes of as much tropical splendor as you could possibly cram into that time frame. Bwaaaarrrp, Bwaaarrrp, P.P.P.  (Pretentious Purple Prose) alert. Swathes of golden offering flowers in small plantations invaded the rich greens of palm and paddy surrounds and a shallow valley edged and limned with blah di blah formed a blah titty blah…you get the picture. The circle unanimously praised the run when interrogated by Hash Mud, Mastery man, sorry Mud Master, Hashy Man. I believe there was one complaint of “No Susu” but this is sadly becoming irrelevant as the young ladies of the kampong seem to be less and less inclined to display their natural assets while bathing these dire days. What a shame.

Speaking of the circle, beside the atrocious acoustics afforded by the interior of the wantilan, it was quite the snorter with Hari Besi being given the nod by the Grand Master (note: it really doesn’t matter what the G.M. does, he could stand stock still and say nothing and it would still rivet our attention and have us cackling like hens. He sometimes does do this, because he can.) Koncorde illustrated with live props, more than told, an Easter tale culminating with Jesus on the cross excitedly observing “I can see my house from here”. Naturally, “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” was lustily chorused. I don’t know why but sentiments like “Life’s a bit of shit, when you look at it” and “Life is quite absurd and death’s the final word”, “remember that the last laugh is on you” etc. may seem hilariously knee-slapping coming from a full Technicolor Eric Idle on the cross or a semi-pixilated Jangle Balls in the Hash 2 circle, are not really all that light hearted in and of themselves. Huh, I guess you have to be “there”. Which is exactly where you should be next Saturday: Mambal Swimming Pool. Bintang will help.

On on

J.B.