Unlike my former counterpart, Andrew, I have not been doing much. I certainly have not been too busy to post an entry here or there, but the fact of the matter is that I simply haven't done anything of great importance. The cable tv selections are not very thrilling, but western tv is a nice treat nonetheless. My typical day begins around 10am when I eat breakfast and watch a dvd from Vijen and Lorrie's extensive collection. The teachers finish around noon (tough work day, eh! (7:30-12). Then I buzz around with Vij, maybe get some curry for lunch, go shopping, do some errands. Not too tough of a life...

Last Wednesday I was introduced to a crazy collection of men. There exists, in this part of the world, an exclusive club, a fraternity, if you will, where normal men; dignified diplomats, teachers, executives, etc; act like baboons.
Once a week about 75-100 expats and bruneians alike gather at a predetermined location dressed in torn shorts, well-worn shirts, very colourful knee-high socks, and crazy hats. Around 5pm some guy let loose on his brass horn and everyone drops the gossip-driven conversations in which they were entranced and commence to run as fast as they can towards the jungle. Following a trail of paper (business cards and small scraps) the pack forms a single file train as they all descend into the darkening jungle. For almost 2hours they follow the trail, emerging in total darkness back where they started; then the fun begins.

They call themselves the Hash House Harriers.
I may have broken some code by mentioning their name.
I may be in trouble now.

This past Wednesday I participated in a Hash. Signed in as a guest of one of Vijen's friends, urged to not leave his side, we mingled a bit. I noticed that the average age of the crown was old and the average colour of the hair they had was grey. I was keen on making some contacts in Brunei, just in case there was an opportunity to stay and work. We met some fellow Canadians, enjoyed bullshitting a bit. Then a horn sounded and everyone took off. a bit stunned, I was slow to catch on. Following Len we found a position in the pack, somewhere in the middle, and soon we were in the jungle, single file. Everyone was following a trail of paper lad out by a Hasher earlier in the day. There aren't many rules governing the trail-making, and on this day it was very rigorous; up and down, round and through, under, over. About 20minutes into the jungle yells sound the end of the paper trail. Men yell "checking here" and the front runners fan out searching for the trail again. when they find the paper trail again someone yells "On, on!" and everyone is off again. there were three checks on my hash, the first taking about 10minutes to figure out.

The run was great, though the jungle really holds the heat and humidity, making physical exhersion difficult. The trail, too, was very strenuous, taking us up and down steep grades, through swamps, brambles, creeks. Amazing that this group of men were as ambitious and fit as they were!

Using flashlights for the last bit, we emerged back at the starting location in the pitch blackness of a Bruneian night. A tent was set up and everyone that beat us to the finish line was well into the beer. Yes, it seems there is at least one place you can drink in Brunei.

As a guest I was 'initiated' in a small beer drinking 'ritual'.

Good fun.

Everyone made it out alive (there have been two deaths in the Brunei chapter of HHH, heat stroke and heart-attack).

The hashers group brought back hidden memories of my childhood in Germany... eccentric group of expats. I think maybe I'm remembering the volksmarches we did?

If I stay until next Wednesday I will go again (some guys there have done it 1500 times; that's 52 times a year for a lot of years), good excuse to see the jungle (though my memory of the flora and fauna is blurred; I do remember what the back of Len's t-shirt said, though; that's what I focussed on the whole time), get some excersize, meet some people, drink some Tiger...