Named as the so-called ‘Spring Break Capital of the World’,
I knew I was in for a treat as I embarked on my first, and last, spring break
to Panama City Beach, Florida. It did not disappoint! In fact, despite it being
voted as one of the trashiest places to go on college vacation we had one hell
of a week partying in true American style – red cups included, of course.
To help all you Brits at home imagine the utter madness and explicit
chaos that surfaces during spring break, think of a Greek party island…. Now times
that by ten. Previously described as making ‘European destinations like Malia
look as tranquil as Old Town Venice’, Panama City Beach was the picture of
Zante on steroids. Thousands upon thousands of college students from all over
the States gathered on the Gulf Coast to ‘let loose’ in what can only be described
in the style of a social mob-scene.
Empty beer cans, keg stands and twerk contests filled the
white strip of sand as girls pranced around in their Victoria Secret bikinis,
luminous visors and bum bags, violently clutching onto scared alcohol induced
bottles of intoxication. Guys unable to walk in straight lines donned heinous looking
t-shirts with slogans such as ‘Spring Break Bitches’ and ‘What happens on
Spring Break stays in Spring Break’ with Hawaiian Flower Lei necklaces and Ray
Bans, shouted obscene remarks to every girl they laid their eyes on, slapping
bums and staring at the bare flesh on show. Perhaps they were laughing at all
those dodgy spray tans! But, then again, they probably weren’t.
As if the 9 hour drive on the other side of the road wasn’t
difficult enough for us Brits, squashing multiple people into our hotel
apartment every night seemed a doddle compared to the war zone we were greeted
with on the beach. With my jaw dragging far behind me in the sand, words failed
me as I witnessed the unthinkable and saw things I don’t think I’ll ever be
able to erase from my visual memory. Twerking competitions. Yes, actual
competitions on a risen stage where girls (all shapes and sizes) got down to
the beat, shaking their behind to a roaring crowd. You could not pay me large
amounts of love and money to do anything as degrading as that. It was basically
a live, free, outdoors strip club with girls flashing, shaking, and grinding.
If only their parents knew… There was certainly very little left to the
imagination.
Instead of the usual sandcastles and odd looking mermaid with
seaweed for hair carved into the sand that you’d expect to see on a beach
holiday, sandcastle competitions were swapped with beer pong battles and huge
alcohol-filled pits lined the shoreline. Alongside the sandy beer pong tables
and colourful beer coolers, Fraternity flags plastered the beach – each one
forced into the ground to show they survived the antics from the night before.
The night clubs were another ball game altogether, my
favourite was obviously Club La Vela - billed as the largest nightclub in the
United States, it had countless rooms to cater to everyone’s taste, from hip hop
to country, pop to house, trance to rock – there was even a pool! Not to
mention a live performance from Lil Jon himself. It’s safe to safe my liver is
still feeling wounded, but we got the stereotypical Spring Break we were after.
Eat, Sleep, Rave, Repeat = ‘Pardy in da USAY’.
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