Saigon Hash House Harriers do things a little different to how we roll back in London. For a start they laid on a coach that took us an hour out of the city to the start of the trail. There the same rituals of making those with brand spanking new trainers Christen them by downing a beer out of one took place. The hares (those who had marked out the trail the day before) were then introduced and with a few calls of ON ON we were on out way.
Saigon H3 has a separate trail for walkers which intersects the running trail at a couple of points. Both groups follow their own trail markings which, in the countryside of Vietnam, are made with shredded paper as opposed to the chalk that we use back home in central London.
The route took us out into the countryside, along trails, between streams and paddy fields, through woods and a cornfield then under a barbed wire fence – anywhere the hare wants to take the trail of paper, you follow. It was definitely a route high on sights not mentioned in any guidebooks. The locals we passed seemed as perplexed about what was going on as those we run past back home: a group of sweaty runners looking for markings and shouting out strange calls of ‘On on’, ‘On back’ or ‘On you’ to each other seems to do that anywhere.
Hashing attracts a range of people, from kids tagging along with their parents to those in their twenties up to their seventies. There’s always a mix of regulars and visiting hashers from overseas hashes like me. Like the first ever Hash House Harriers in Malaysia in the 1930s – the Saigon hash was set up by ex-pats who fancied getting together for a beer and a run once a week. Local Vietnamese runners also take part and make up a good proportion of runners and walkers.
When we made it to the end of our 7.5km route, some of us had battle scars from falling over or getting scratched by bushes to proudly show. The walkers were waiting for us, as was a cold icebox full of beer. But San Miguel? That’s not how we do things back home. A warm pint of real ale doesn’t seem a popular choice after running in 30 degree heat, so I did like a local and drank my cold lager.
The huddle rounded off proceedings. The hares, any virgins (those that had never hashed before) and any visitors (like me) were called into the circle one by one to do their ‘down-downs’. This is the advantage of a warm pint of real ale – less gas and a warmer temperature mean you can knock it back quicker, not that I’m making excuses. Lots of singing of traditional hashing songs goes on during this part and much as I’d like to share with you some of the lyrics I doubt a single line of them would get through your profanity filter.
We all piled back on the bus where as much beer as we could drink was available until we made it back into town to the ON ON – or the pub as you might call it. Needless to say that’s were it all goes a bit hazy for me. All I know it that I came, I ran, I made a lot of new sweaty friends and I woke up in the morning with a sore head and a t-shirt from the Saigon Hash House Harriers stash. ON ON.
Sounds like an amazing experience! I’m so jealous of your travels 🙂
He that travels in theory has no inconveniences; he has shade and sunshine at his disposal, and wherever he alights finds tables of plenty and looks of gaiety. These ideas are indulged till the day of departure arrives, the chaise is called, and the progress of happiness begins. A few miles teach him the fallacies of imagination. The road is dusty, the air is sultry, the horses are sluggish, and the postilion brutal. He longs for the time of dinner that he may eat and rest. The inn is crowded, his orders are neglected, and nothing remains but that he devour in haste what the cook has spoiled, and drive on in quest of better entertainment. He finds at night a more commodious house, but the best is always worse than he expected.