Mein Gött

Lederhosen, lederhosen, lederhosen everywhere (that means leather pants, leather pants, leather pants everywhere).
I arrived in Munich Wednesday evening, catching the last not-full train in from Copenhagen.
Just Chris (now Paula the Bastard) met me at the station and we took the metro back to his place, dropping off my bag and setting up his couch for me to sleep on.
I spent the next day organizing myself with a 3 day metro pass and exploring the neighborhood before meeting up with Chris and heading to the tents to explore Oktoberfest.
Unable to find anything that wasn't beyond capacity already, we grabbed a bite to eat from one of the food booths and hunkered down at a wheat beer stand to commence in imbibing and catching up on whatever the hell we'd been up to since Prague's event weekend while taking in the atmosphere of an event that is something like the Orange County fair times eight gazillion. It is almost intimidating to walk around in the midst of tens of thousands of people, almost all in full dress (guys in lederhosen, gals in dinkuls: spelling is wrong, I know), staggering in a semi-coherent fashion around while singing football songs and what-not.
Beside us at the table were several older Englishmen who were doing just that, swaying back and forth, singing some song about beer.
I turn to Chris and say, "Watch, I'm going to try and get them to sing a hash song. Something simple..." turn to the gents as they finish their number and start up with, "More beer, more beer, more beer, more beer...." (to the tune of aud lang syn) which has an immediate effect (just not my intended one) as the drunkest of the chaps stares me right and the eye and says,
"Lennon?"
Then points to his mate (whilst still staring me directly in the eye) and says,
"Issat Lennon?"
before continuing drink, at which point I just turn away, look at Chris and we just bust up laughing.
A few minutes (and another beer) later, two younger Irish lads ask if they can share our standing table, we say sure and we get into a conversation about something or rather. I really cannot recall what we were talking about, but suffice to say it was hilarious at the time.
On our way back out of the tents, I convince Chris that the best damn thing to do when you're drunk (or at least buzzed) is to go into a Fun House, we do so, and I get lost in the mirror maze for a good 10 minutes. It seems bad, but somehow I made it out before a LOT of others did. We stood outside the exit and just laughed our asses off at the absurdity of it all, then headed home to prepare for the first night of Munich H3's Oktoberfest weekend.
The next day I met my boarder at the registration area, picking up our goody bags and meeting many many hashers (several of which I had also ran into at Prague's weekend. Good, people I know.).
We all drank our two free beers then headed outside to gather in a circle and await the start of trail.
It was cold, it was wet, it was so foggy you couldn't realistically see 500 meters in front of you. Still, it was a great inner city run that somehow managed to provide a fair amount of off pavement trail, a jog past the Olympic stadium and a beer check atop a magnificently large hill with an (almost) view of the entire city.
Galumphing back down, we had circle in a city park with circle marked out with tiki torches. Here Jumper gave me one of the temporary tattoos on my inner thigh, resulting in I'm sure, some very compromising pictures despite the fact my member was perfectly secure in my running shorts.
Beer was drunk, circle was held, we were all freezing and so, with a bow to Swing Low, we gathered up our beer and moved back to the restaurant where we all started to consume more liquid libations and procure the rego included meal. A delicious spread of meat, rice and something else that I wasn't sure what it was, but quite good.
I had a feeling that I was going to have trouble with my system over the weekend that night, but with the reservations at the tent the next day I decided to just go with it and drink.
Showing up to the early as all hell start (re: 10 a.m.), we met the pack on the outskirts of Munich and after throwing our bags in the Beer Truck, we took off on trail.
Running past some children playing soccer while the pack was confounded by the hare (we were actually on trail backwards from the start in an A to A snafu), I asked them if I could take a shot on goal. They kicked me the ball and I made a prompt fall on my ass as I had no idea the grass was as wet as it was. Rumple Foreskin got it on his camera. yay.
Then trail was found, we were running through this beautiful farm countryside, with a cut field on one side and a harvester taking in the field on the other. We then went down a trail into the forest. We went up, down, along slick ridge lines and past poking trees. The green was the lushest I've ever seen and the smell of the wet timber was just amazing. I think it may damn well have been the best forest trail I've been on yet.
And then, the manure.
We came around a bend and entered an open area with the opposite side (right where trail was heading around) piled high with horse shit. Not only that, but it was still steaming!
A few more bends, a wrong turn here and there and we slipped under a bridge and arrived on the rocky banks of a wide riverbank where the beer check was waiting.
I could feel my throat starting to go, but damn all, I joined in the song check, drank another bottle and then competed with a few other hashers on who could skip a stone across the river until the pack was off again.
Next up was the monastery. We shortcut a bit across these maroon fields of harvested plants before coming into the inner cloister and across the flower gardens.
At the other side of the monastery we came to the bottom of a very steep hill. It looked like a road, but it was dirt and I had a hard time seeing any car that would be able to climb it without at least 4 wheel drive (6 wheel?).
Chugging our tired asses up the hill, we arrived at the top, right near where we were going the wrong way at the beginning of the hash and simply followed it to the On-In where food and beer was waiting.
Circle was lively and full of silliness, including poor Slap Head's pantsing at my hands when he got called into circle for what looked like getting a hard on while singing.
Given that I snuck up behind him in circle, yanked his shorts and then ran back to my spot, I don't know what the front was like, but from what I was told the look on his face was: mortified.
He pulled up his shorts, walked past me on his way to a spot in circle and slugged me right in the chest. I'll admit it, I deserved it. Rumple Foreskin told me that Spare Rib would've been proud. Awesome.
I went back to Chris' place, showered, changed and then went to the Oktoberfest tent, meeting up with Fuck of Finland and her sister Ball Sucker at the entrance along with every other hasher including Pump Friction and his wife (him a former Vegas hasher, they had their hash wedding in the Littlest Chapel in the West, now living in Italy).
we all found our places in the tent, with me holding post right on the end bench, a perfect spot for getting the steins and half-a-chicken that was coming our way.
As the night went on, we drank another stein (or two), held singing contests with the Italians at the table next to us, and just had a damn merry 'ol time until the end when things went slightly fubar.
I can't say I know what exactly went on as by this point I was laying on a bench getting beer poured into my mouth by harriettes (I think?). But apparantely someone was pushed, Pump and his wife dodged out exceedingly quickly, security was crawling all over and Fuck of Finland and her friend were knocked to the ground in a domino effect that bruised them quite badly (glad to say though they are both ok).
By the time I was sitting up it was just me, Footloose and Panty Free, Sex Reject and Slap Head who suggested a ride challenge.
Sure, we all got up, stumbled to the swinging chair ride and had a blast before moving onto the next bar as the tent was now closed.
I honestly remember little else except that I felt like burping but more than air came up.
I rinsed my shirt off in the bathroom of this unknown place I was in, excused myself from the rest of the group and went outside.
It was freezing cold so instead of putting my shirt on, I just tucked it into my pants and walked to the S-bahn station to get back to Chris's place only to find out the trains stopped running twenty minutes prior.
Next up, find a cab. But they all wanted 50 euro for a ride that should be no more than 10. I told them they were trying to rip me off, I wasn't a sucker and they were assholes, then walked into the main train station, into the Burger King where I used their hand dryer to dry off my shirt while the asshole bathroom attendents were spraying me with air freshener.
I slept that night on the station floor (there were about 100 people doing this, so at least I wasn't bothered by security) waiting for the trains.
The next morning, roughly 5:00, I headed outside again to try the trains, more cold than before.
I waited a good 10 minutes for the first train, then jumped on and took what seemed like a very long ride back to the station near Chris' place.
I slid in the front door, kicked off my shoes and stepped in the shower, rinsing my clothes out and washing them as best I could with my shampoo before showering myself and coming out to get some sleep.
I think it may have been the worst night of my trip.
All of 15 minutes later Chris pokes his head into the living room and says we'll need to be ready to leave for the hangover trail pretty soon and if I want some tea.
I take the tea and tell him I'll meet him at circle, then went back to sleep for another hour or so.
With no hangover, but damn sure I'm sick, I show up to circle while it is in full thrust, realizing that even with my malcontentious evening, I was the only one from my group of four that actually made Sunday's hash in some form. Only after it is all said and done did Sex Reject show up saying that they all got kicked out of the bar at 3:30 a.m. (closing time), and Slap Head made it all of 10 meters before exploding all over the place. Cool, I didn't puke alone.
I followed the hashers for the rest of the day and into the night, being very careful not to repeat the prior night's idiocy. A stein at a beer garden and after getting some chicken with Ball Sucker (a very cute Finnish girl I would've liked to get to know more), headed back into the tent to have another stein.
As the night died down and hashers left, I took off myself, knowing I had a lot of recovering to do.
Now I'm in Switzerland, being brought here by Moose Diver on a suggestion the last night in the tents if I wanted to hash in this country. Sure, why not?
I definitely got sick, and have spent the last 3 days making (what Moose Diver refers to) a Lazarus like recovery courtesy of salad, fruit juice and Ramen.
I hashed with the BITCH3 on Tuesday, but more about that next post.