Contiki Reps: EXPOSED
When I was twenty years old, and able to ingest large amounts of alcohol, I went to Europe and participated in two Contiki tours. I thought it would be great to see some of the world, broaden my horizons, experience other cultures, meet new kinds of people, etc, etc. Instead, I wound up on a bus with 49 other Aussies who were hell-bent on getting shit-faced and exchanging bodily fluids. It was awesome.
But I digress. What I want to do here is EXPOSE the Contiki Rep. Not the Tour Guide, for she is educated, holds her liquor well, and does not sleep with anybody until the very last night when it doesn’t matter anymore. But her site-based lesser counterparts exhibit no such control.
Contiki Reps are basically over-enthusiastic twenty-somethings from New Zealand and Australia, along with some Brits, attempting to avoid angry ex-girlfriends and boring university degrees by spending 6 months washing dishes in European campsites and shagging whoever happens to stay there.
During our London to Athens tour, I spent a great deal of time observing the Contiki Reps. They were paid badly, had to clean toilets and stayed in terribly isolated areas, yet they were all so chirpy I nearly lost my breakfast on the first few mornings. I studied their eyes carefully as they dished up my spaghetti, and questioned them closely while scraping my plates into the bin. So how many hours of sleep do you usually get in a night? Uh huh.. And when did you last speak to your family? Riiiight.. How often do you get time off? Oh.
It was not unusual to have a quiet meal or a serious conversation interrupted by one of the Reps bursting into the room, bouncing up and down and shouting, “Can I get a WOOOOOO???!!!”
I tossed and turned at night, dreaming uncomfortably of childhood church camps. These people had to be on something. Anything. However, after six weeks of intense study, I was forced to conclude that their perpetual cheer was due only to an excess of free alcohol and casual sex.
In Venice, I was forced to interact closely with one of the Reps, as I was rostered on for “dishie duty” on our second day there. And so, after several rounds of a cocktail known as an “Attitude Adjustment”, kissing somebody called Giancarlo, and vomiting long strings of spaghetti into a public toilet, I grabbed a few hours sleep, woke up early and reported to the campsite kitchen. I told the Contiki Rep on charge that I was experiencing my first hangover of the tour. His eyes misted over as he handed me a tea towel. “I remember my first time,” he reminisced, “You want a shot?”
It was at that moment that I realised all Contiki staff are alcoholics. They are not worldly travellers at all, but seasoned pisskops seeking employment where they can drink on the job. I’ve got no beef with that, but I think everyone should know. Well now you have no excuse – Contiki Reps have been EXPOSED. You heard it here first.