“Enough to make a football hooligan blush: What happens when 8,000 British students descend on a Spanish family holiday resort” – this is what was posted by the Daily Mail about our antics. Read the full article here.
“Suddenly there was a flashing light outside Snoepy’s nightclub and the young woman was being put on a stretcher by paramedics.”
Yes, that was us.
Paramedics, projectile vomiting, a few incidents of drowning, being kicked out of the hotel, being refused by all airlines due to our reputation; this was the most shameful chapter of my life. Do I regret it one bit?
Not at all.
Don’t get me wrong, I love culture, I love art, and I love whipping up a few pretentious paragraphs when I’ve been somewhere nice; it’s what I do. I’m a travel writer. But every so often, I get the urge to dress like trailer trash, drink like trailer trash and act like trailer trash. Tour, tour, tour – the arena of shame – how I’m not ashamed to know you at all.
Will I ever do it again? Probably not. Do I feel sorry for the locals? Absolutely. Who wouldn’t after a herd of scantily clad, disgraceful and vulgar, completely inebriated girls dressed as lollipop ladies stop three lanes of traffic just for the fun of it?
We were an embarrassment, so much so, that I don’t feel I can add any more to this chapter.
Let me just end with saying that there was very little sport going on, on this “sports tour”, but I guess that’s the beauty of it.
