It's remarkable.
Regardless of destination, everyone who chose a stereotypical "collegiate" Spring Break (i.e. sun and beer) seems to have experienced a version of essentially the same vacation.
Air travel horror stories. Excessive, constant (and now nauseating to contemplate) consumption of any tropical concoction ever invented to mask the evils of cheap rum and tequila. Cloudy memories of encounters with sketchy locals and/or members of age brackets other than ours. Freak injuries or obscure wounds. Tan lines from that universal blue wrist-band.
My Bahamas adventure was no different.
A fitting emblem for our cheaptickets.com package deal, every night the "H" failed to illuminate on our hotel, the multi-story Holiday Inn located conspicuously at the foot of Paradise Island. Our "Oliday" also featured a man-made beach composed of four inches of kitty-litter "sand," buffet food reminiscent of O-Hill and showers that were always just on the lukewarm side of freezing.
But do not mistake my criticism of our accommodations.
Each day was wonderfully and beautifully the same:
Attempt to wake up prior to noon in order to battle other Spring Breakers and naïve British families for the coveted white plastic lawn chairs with a fantastic view of the canal. Ponder a desired mixture of SPF in order to achieve that elusive Hawaiian Tropic glow (promptly lost back in Charlottesville's 30 degree hell). Bake in the prime sunning hours of 1 to 5 p.m., or until the Piña Coladas start calling. Pregame, shower, pregame some more in the lobby bar. Proceed "out" to Atlantis, the beacon of tropical travel (and gambling), or hit the random club scene.
Pass out. Repeat.
(To illustrate my point, let me just say that we spent five days in "Paradise" ... and never stepped foot in the real ocean. Pathetically, we could not see the logic in straying too far from the free-flowing rum. Whoever invented the all-inclusive vacation package is brilliant. Genius, in fact.)
And from what I've been told, this seems to have been the general itinerary among the consensus of "cliché" Spring Breaks. Though I must say I have been most entertained by reports of any variations thereof (please see Mr. Meeks's DR column yesterday).
I could ramble on about the debauchery with anecdotal evidence, but that would be redundant -- simply alter the characters and perhaps insert the Sheraton or Comfort Suites or Playa del Sol (what have you) and this column would become your own personal Spring Break Mad Lib.
You know how it is around here post-vacation.
"Where did you go?" (or more appropriately, "What happened to you?") queries are the topic of all casual conversations. Not surprisingly, by Monday night I found that when the answers referenced anywhere in the Beach Boys' "Kokomo," or complaints of Montezuma's Revenge (ahhh, Mexico -- but that's a discussion for another time), then a knowing mutual smile would appear and nothing more needed to be said.
Collegiate Spring Break is so universal, it's almost boring to talk about.
Still, I had to draw on my amazing Bahamian adventure this week, as I am fascinated with another aspect of the Spring Break scene: the people. I know many of you encountered the following trend.
I do not know if it is some sort of sociological phenomenon, or maybe I am just fascinated because I was raised to (supposedly) appreciate the scantily-clad "SoCal Surfer" look, but among the college students, our Holiday Inn became the backdrop for a modern day Civil War.
The beach was split dead in half: those who were clearly of the UGA, UNC, Ole Miss, Virginia coalition...versus everyone else. (I will not go in to the physical attributes which distinguished one from the other, as this is not a criticism, just an assertion that it was so obvious to which side you belonged.)
I'm not going to lie, there was a definite tension. The boys' volleyball games were a little too heated, the crowd pushing at the bar a bit too forced, the unspoken cattiness between glaring girls more pronounced.
Amid the silent battle, I began to appreciate the Ole Miss boys who would hold the door open for me and the Georgia girls who would smile on the elevator. It was not like I was consciously discriminating between North and South (I'm not even from one or the other), but there was nevertheless a clear understanding of the difference.
I've never experienced that before. I know like attracts like, yet I never imagined just how much more comfortable I would feel with the Southerners. They understand us.
But to play Devil's advocate for a second, I still have to wonder, just how obnoxious are we as U.Va students?
We know we have the reputation of being sort of elitist. ("Virginians are all snobs, and I like snobs," William Faulkner once said.) And I suppose our popped-collar pastels and worn Rainbow-look can seem rather conformist. So just as we shy away from the Northern stereotype, they obviously have done the same to us.
However, in light of my recent experience, I think views of our "snobbery" are really just mistaken interpretations of pride. I was proud to walk on that fake Holiday Inn beach in my Virginia shirt. Sometimes you have to travel 1,000 miles to appreciate what you have.
But I am still missing my 5:00 p.m. Goombay Punch. I suppose I'll need to celebrate St. Patrick's Day.
Megan Peloquin can be reached at peloquin@cavalierdaily.com
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