Kavos, Ayia Napa, Magaluf…. Or maybe you know them better as ‘Chavos’, ‘Ayia Slapper’ and ‘Shagaluf’? Either way, these destinations attract the notorious clubbing British teenager. This summer I was among the thousands of young people flocking to Kavos (on the Greek island of Corfu) for clubbing, sun and general fun. I was so excited at the prospect of spending eight days and seven nights with four of my best girl friends that it was all I could talk about wherever I went – except of course, at work.
Despite earning all the money for this holiday myself and the prospect of cocktails on a beach under the stars being what kept me going whilst cleaning toilets and waitressing, I found myself disguising my holiday destination from my co-workers instead of being proud of my ideal holiday. Why should I have felt that I needed to hide this trip from my colleagues? Is the idea of being slotted into a clubber’s stereotype really so dreadful?
The unfortunate answer is that yes, it is. I didn’t want the people I work with instantly imagining me swinging around a pole or throwing up in a ditch. After years of bad publicity, the teenager who lets loose abroad is instantly branded as an irresponsible mess who takes part in everything that you would expect to see on a particularly outrageous instalment of Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents. Before I went, even I was anxious about what to expect. What I had heard from friends was nothing but good reviews, and yet the general perception of these holidays is somewhat different.
The stigma attached to clubbing abroad is applied to the undeserving many as well as the deserving few. In Greece in 2011, 111 Brits were arrested, but this is a small proportion of the thousands that flock to the islands each year. It would be a lie to say that there weren’t some people who had clearly got carried away with the impossibly cheap drink deals and certainly had a few too many Headfuckers and Liquid Ecstasys, but let’s be honest, who of us at York can honestly say that we haven’t done that at least once before a big night out?
However, we did see things that would make a grown man blush, and unconscious clubbers and panicked friends were abrupt reminders that just because we were on holiday didn’t mean we were invincible. A second-year York student and Zanté survivor puts it quite simply: “people who go on this kind of holiday need to be as responsible abroad as at home and not get carried away.”
In 2011 494 people were hospitalised, and a high average of 4.97 cases in every 10,000 needed FCO assistance according to the Guardian, but it doesn’t have to be this way.
Our typical night involved leaving our hotel at about 1am and meandering down the strip, dodging club reps’ attempts to carry us into bars, and searching for clubs with good music; and by that I mean anywhere with any song other than ‘Starships’. We just wanted to dance on the beach until sunrise (avoiding the creepy guy dancing too close to us even though he insisted he was gay…) and spend time together after a year of being apart.
There were of course a few messy nights where perhaps the last few shots were a mistake, but there was never a night when any one of us couldn’t have made it home alone. By day we sunbathed and swam in our uniquely decorated pool (urinating dwarf statue water features are a fashion the UK has sadly missed), and embraced some of the water sports the island has to offer, although regrettably this did lead to some serious bikini malfunctions for those of us who were thrown out of our rings!
I wasn’t a chav in Chavos or a slapper in Ayia Napa, I was a teenager having fun with friends in Corfu and shouldn’t be judged as otherwise. I have fallen in love with the European party spirit and can’t wait to go back next year.
You can take the girl out of Kavos, but you can’t take the Kavos out of the girl!