Published on June 06, 2005

Contiki started out in the 1960s in New Zealand by offering hedonistic camper van tours of Europe to fresh-faced, booze-fuelled Aussies in the 18-30 demographic. Now it’s ready to tackle the European youth market, but claims to be steering away from the “outdated stereotype” of sun, sex and sangria-fuelled high-jinks.

We are on the Greek island of Mykonos and, after a trial opening last year, the tours are fully booked for the beginning of the season. More are planned in Bali, Mexico and Australia.

David Hosking, Contiki’s global managing director, insists that there is a difference because it offers decent accommodation, which will attract a more grown-up demographic than competitors.

It’s hard to see how the accommodation differs from that typically used by youth brands and where the four-star tag is earned. The rooms are very simple with basic wooden furniture, a TV and sea view balcony; they’re certainly not luxurious. And walk across the tiled terrace to the pool bar, and there’s no mistaking the kind of holiday you’re on.

The trance hits from three years ago bellow out, rattling any plastic chairs that aren’t occupied by the pasty new arrivals, who nod away to the beat in their shiny, white polyester sports shorts, crop tops and gold jewellery, sipping pre-lunch beers and cocktails.

The food is also nothing to scribble on a postcard about. Included in the package price are two buffet meals a day, a fry-up-style brunch (obviously no one’s going to make breakfast) and standard Greek fare for dinner.

But no one’s on a Contiki holiday for the food or the rooms – they’re here for laughs, booze and shagging.

As the week progresses, it becomes clear that being permanently drunk is what Contiki is all about. I wake each day to find guests who have been up all night giggling and drinking by the pool, and it seems rude not to join in.

The offer of scuba diving and wake-boarding at the hotel’s watersports centre remains unused during my stay because of a no-drinking-beforehand rule, and plans to visit the gym and the wellness centre are dropped in favour of beers on the beach.

After poolside cocktails on Saturday night, we are taken on a tour of the bars. It starts off relatively sophisticated on the terrace of the gorgeous hilltop Oneipo, where there’s a whiff of the glamour with which Mykonos has increasingly become associated.

Although the managers claim that this scene was part of the reason the island was chosen for Contiki’s first European upmarket resort, there’s little evidence of it on the trip. We head to the slightly more hectic Rhapsody, then Skandibar, which defies its rather cool-sounding name by being full of lecherous monsters, including a pissed wannabe-Chippendale who’s thrusting away like a rampant bonobo on the bar and introducing himself to a scantily clad girl by simulating oral sex on her.

We move on to Space, the main club in town, which is only Euro 15 to get in, including a drink and a free packet of fags. The fact there’s no proper dance floor makes no odds and every other available surface is used for dancing.

After the standard four hours’ sleep and a cocktail “mixology” lesson, there’s a boat trip to Paradise Beach, famous for raucous parties starting in the early afternoon. The night is topped off with a Greek dancing display at the hotel, where a hunky performer spins a couple of the female guests and at least one male around his head.

We wake for my last morning wet and bleeding from a 3am swim that we can’t remember, feeling sick and exhausted, with a head is full of debauched stories and blurry memories, All that’s missing is a stranger in the bed. Not a typical 18-30s holiday? Yeah, right.

Observer

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