Travels and tribulations

I knew there was a good chance that, at some point during the weekend, I would awake to find one of my kidneys missing.

I'm not stupid. I know nothing in life is free. But when this random email appeared in my inbox offering to fly me down to South Padre—a tropical island off the southern coast of Texas that I had never heard of before—and pay for my airfare, hotel, and meals just to show me around the place, I thought, well, I might as well see what happens. So I Googled South Padre and, after confirming that it was an actual place, said yes.

I kept expecting something to give me a reason to back out, an indication that it was an identity theft attempt or something, but nobody ever asked me for anything more than my name and birthdate. Then the tour company sent me my flight information. And eventually, I found myself on a plane on my way down to Brownsville, at the very south tip of Texas, the nearest mainland town to South Padre Island. 

Here's why I was actually there: The South Padre Convention and Visitors Bureau's job is to get people to come to the island. "There is nothing else but tourism," said Dan Quandt, chairman of the bureau. "There is no other industry here." 

A huge component of tourism on the island is college kids: "Spring break is when all the money is spent," said Quandt. So the bureau figured, what better publicity for the island than write-ups in college newspapers? The task of getting college writers there went to Inertia Tours, a company that, along with its owner, Chad Hart, has become almost synonymous with spring break on South Padre Island. 

Inertia did not mess around: Hart started getting our group of 20 or so college paper editors drunk immediately. Being nerdy college editors, we were reserved and awkward at first, but Hart was a smooth master of ceremonies, getting a game of tippy cup going within an hour of our arrival. It was spring break in November, and it was on. 

South Padre is a lot like Las Vegas. It looks good at night, but during the day it's kind of ugly and depressing. Chances are, though, you're not there to sightsee.

Back in the 80s, when South Padre started making a name for itself as a spring break destination, there was a pragmatic reason for going there: For a couple of beautiful years after the drinking age went to 21 everywhere else, it stayed 18 in Texas. 

Of course, the popular spring break destinations for the last decade or so have been in Mexico and, to a lesser extent, Florida—that's where the publicity is. And Hart acknowledged that, when he got into the game, South Padre had a reputation as a second-rate trip. Back then, South Padre didn't even want the business: "They come up from college, rip the place up, vomit in the streets," Hart said. "You know, the honeymoon wore off. It was like, ‘Let ‘em go to Mexico.'"

One can imagine the influx is stressful. South Padre has a population of about 5,000; about 50,000 college kids come through during three or so weeks in March, with about 18,000 there at any one time during those weeks—the population quadruples. And those kids are not there to dine quietly and do Pilates.

The locals seem ambivalent: One of them told me, "We just want you to spend your money and get the hell out," but then later said, "I really hope y'all feel welcome here."

"It's very frustrating," acknowledged Hart, "to deal with drunk people, and these kids are drunk from the time they come to the time they leave." 

But as the man said, the locals want spring breakers to spend money, and money they spend. Brian Urich, a manager at La Quintana on the island, said the hotel basically doubles its rates. "But there'll be, like, 10 people crammed in a room," he said.

In many of the hotels on the island, the rooms themselves are actually privately owned; the hotel just manages them. Carlos Blanco, operations manager of the Sheraton, said most people sublet their condos in March: "There's no chance of running into families during spring break," he said.

And that's where Hart comes in: Inertia manages those sublets, setting up the deals—usually in packages—guaranteeing against damages, and taking a cut of the profits. Hart said the damages are not usually a big deal—Inertia tries to make sure kids know what they're getting into. 

The company subjects all of its clients to a short orientation, and then takes I.D. and credit card info from two guests in every room. "So you've got two people in every room who are like the police, because it's their ass on the line," Hart said. Out of $2 million in sales last year, Hart said, the company had about $1,700 in damages.

He said that was possible because Inertia has a system in place to discourage damages and deal with them if they do happen. He mocked condo owners who opt to cut out the middleman and rent direct: "Oh, you got a $300 deposit," he said. "They stole your dining room table, smashed your flat screen, and now they're in Kansas. What are you going to do? Nothing. You just lost your ass." 

Our 20-person spring break came and went too quickly, like summer camp but with a limo and lots of booze. We stayed in four-star hotels, listened to "I'm On A Boat" while on a boat, ate fried fish pretty much morning, noon, and night. All of which would have been expensive, no doubt, except it was free.

Would I go for spring break? Probably not. Pushing a mile through 20,000 drunk douchebags just to get to the port-o-let isn't really my style; I'm claustrophobic, and I prefer to read on the beach. But if huge crowds, giant cocktails that come in plastic cups, and cramming as many people as possible into every room and every car to squeeze the most out of every one of your parents' dollars sounds like fun, I'm sure it would be a blast. I certainly had fun while I was there.

And if I did lose a kidney, it had nothing to do with organ harvesting.

Inertia Tours
800-821-2176
www.inertiatours.com
trips starting at $400 for 4 days