TH3 GOES TO KORCA (13-15 August 2010)

(Note: Only official and unofficial Hash names are used here, to protect the guilty. If you can't tell who it is, so much the better.)

Although one shouldn't need any particular reason to visit the lovely town of Korca, certainly the annual Korca Beer Festival is the perfect fit for Hashers. Why? Three reasons: beer, beer, and more beer.
So, Tweedledumb encouraged his fellow Hashers to make a pilgrimage to the beer festival. He dreamed that as many as 15 would participate but, as they say, the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, or flabby, or has been partying in the Bllock until dawn, and in the end nine Hashers made the trip. A scouting party of three (Oh Neil!, Tarzan's Mate, and Ms. Moneypenny) drove down on Friday night, ensuring themselves comfortable accommodation. The main party of six departed Tirana at 0745 on Saturday in two cars, one driven by Dyke Meister, with Sweet Meat and Cat Woman in tow, the other captained by Tweedledumb, with Tinkerbell and Frogman as crew. Despite Dyke Meister's multiple attempts to demonstrate how not to drive safely, the convoy arrived at its destination just before High Noon (cue music).
Of course Oh Neil! and the two Hash wenches were already several hours into the sidewalk café routine and, while the others wanted to join them, there was work to do: (1) park the cars, (2) find accommodation, and (3) have lunch. (1) and (3) were easy; (2) was not, since we were competing with 100's, perhaps 1,000's of people also in need of a room. We found that the management of the Not-So-Grand Hotel did not appreciate our comparison shopping, having first said they had rooms for us, and then later reneging when we went to see what else was available. Frogman and Tinkerbell led the way, having a vague memory of somewhere they had stayed once upon a time. Their fuzzy memory failed them and we found ourselves wandering about like Jesus and Mary in Bethlehem, finding no room at the inn.
Then, as luck would have it, we spotted the Hotel Berati, just a beer can's toss down an alley from the main street and not far from where the others were staying. They must have known we were coming, since they had one room with four beds and another with two. As four of us were guys and two of us were gals, we passed up the opportunity to draw lots for who would sleep with whom (thereby disappointing Cat Woman) and wound up segregating by sex, er, gender. What a deal! One's own bed with an en suite bathroom for 500 leke each. The animal life and sound effects were free! Never mind that there was no A/C. We hoped to be too inebriated to care.
So, now parked and accommodated, we repaired to a nearby establishment for lunch. Once sated, we debated whether to rest on our laurels or do something Hashy. Something Hashy it was – a climb up the hill to an old orthodox church. The church, alas, was closed, but Tinkerbell espied church bells connected to a rope and went off to tinker with the bells and possibly precipitate police action against us. Luckily she was unable to untie the ropes and thus there was no tintinnabulation to disturb the serenity of the holy spot and bring THE LAW down upon us.
Gazing out onto the plain from the churchyard, we spotted the Korca Brewery only a few hundred meters away. Mere proximity to any place that brews beer is enough to send a Hasher into a swoon, but little did we know the extent to which the Hash gods were smiling down on us. For upon approaching the front gate whom should we encounter but none other than the General Director of the Brewery, the all powerful King of Korca Beer. With true Hasher respect, sincerity, and lust for beer, we explained that we were Hashers, Drinkers With A Running Problem, and inquired whether we could get a peek at the beer works. What happened next was totally unexpected and will live long in the fuzzy memory of those of us who were lucky enough to be there.
The GD himself proceeded to give us a guided tour of the entire facility, citing all manner of beer facts, figures, myths, lore, and all kinds of information related to the wonderfulness of producing Korca Beer. The tour also included tasting both Korca Blonde and Korca Dark at their freshest, before bottling. After the tour we were invited for more beer and qefta in the beer garden. Before parting, the GD invited us to join him at the brewery's private table at the festival that evening. Had we died and gone to Beer Heaven?
With a few hours to kill before the festival got under way. Tweedledumb knew he wouldn't make it past 10 o'clock without a restorative repose, so off he went to the Berati for a quality nap. The others just chillaxed at a sidewalk café, where the male Hashers proceeded to ogle the local display of pulchritude and make appropriately off-color remarks. We all know the female Hashers were doing the same; they were just more discreet, except for Cat Woman.
As the sun began to set and the crescent moon became visible, it seemed that the entire population of Korca was drawn inexorably to the festival site. All traffic, pedestrian and vehicular, moved in one direction. We arrived before it got really crowded and Frogman, Dyke Meister, Sweet Meat, and others took turns buying rounds. Eventually we found our way to the Korca Brewery table, where we were again welcomed by the GD and treated to Korca beer, qefta, and qebap all night long.
We were extremely fortunate to have a bit of space near our table because the festival was jam packed with revelers. Over the next five hours we partied hearty, enjoying some really good bands and DJ's. Everyone in our group danced, even Tweedledumb, but the real stars were Dyke Meister and Tinkerbell. They never stopped dancing (or drinking). What energy! Sweet Meat got an unexpected beer shower courtesy of the naughty but nice Tinkerbell. He took it gracefully, perhaps because to do otherwise would have spoiled the great vibe. In any case, it didn't slow him down.
By 0215 we all managed to find our way back to the hotel, some sooner than others. Poor Frogman not only had to sleep with Tweedle, Sweet Meat, and Dyke Meister, but he also had to get up after only three hours sleep and take a bus back to Tirana so that he wouldn't disappoint his passengers. Oh the dedication! Oh the throbbing in the head and the rumbling in the gut! Ouch!
As for the rest of us, we eventually awoke in various states of post-bacchanalian malaise. Some had burek for breakfast, some had only coffee, and some just wanted the pain to go away. Before heading off to Pogradec for some beach time, we all had a good laugh when Tarzan's mate asked "Did you check out of the hotel?" Check out? Check out? The Berati was the kind of place you'd want to sneak or stumble out of, not check out of.

TH3 should start planning now to attend the Korca Beer Festival next year. This year's trip may not count as an official Hash run, but it was a B-L-A-S-T !!!

Tweedledumb