While the season’s traditionally Dionysian excesses are still alive and well in places like Cancun and Panama City, Fla., large numbers of recreationally correct teenagers would rather down PowerBars than Jagermeister. They’d sooner scale a canyon wall than veg on a beach. Moab, long a mecca for outdoor nuts, has been discovered all over again by the MTV Sports generation. “You’ll still see ’em do wild and crazy things,” says Jesse Marshall, who shuttles mountain bikers and white-water rafters to and from their play dates. “It just won’t be with a bottle of tequila.” Well, maybe just one bottle. Three years ago, soused partiers in a campground outside Moab caused a near riot. “They’re not all drinking Evian, I can tell you that,” attests County Councilman Bill Hedden. Gatorade shooters, anyone?
Down in Cancun, the preferred beverage is still tequila. So many planeloads of out-of-control breakers are pouring in that Mexican officials have come up with a conduct code. junior tourists have to sign the document on arrival and carry it around like a passport. Sample regulation: “Public nudity is a violation of the law.” Comprende? Police threw a couple of troublemakers in jail last month to set an example. But no matter how strictly enforced, the drinking age (18) still beats most stateside destinations for under-21 gringos like Ashley Woods, a 20-year-old junior who migrated to Cancun from the University of North Carolina. “It’s so much more relaxing,” she says. “You can enjoy a daiquiri without having to look over your shoulder every 30 seconds.”
That may not be true at Freaknik, next week’s blowout in Atlanta attended by black college students from around the country. What started as a small party in the park 10 years ago has turned into a two day street party that has the city in the grip of what The Atlanta Constitution dubbed “Freaknik Anxiety.” Malls are beefing up security. The mayor will close off streets and may rent out public parks in an effort to get the revelers out of their cars, the source of last year’s gridlock, deafening noise and miscellaneous mayhem. “I asked the mayor’s office if they could find out how Ft. Lauderdale did away with their spring break, says Melanie Brubaker, chair woman of a neighborhood planning group. Back in Utah, the locals are a little more laid-back about the invasion of their public and personal space. “This is just spring break,” says Councilman Hedden. “It’ll go away.” Until next year.
