✈️ Episode 5: The Great Sun Lounger Wars

✈️ Episode 5: The Great Sun Lounger Wars.

It’s been in the news a lot recently, I say news, I mean that horrendous social media stuff that supposedly passes as news, but let’s be real, the battle of the sun lounger is nothing new. For years now, since the eighties, if not earlier, tourists have been flinging towels across poolside beds at dawn like they’re laying claim to territory in some bizarre, chlorinated version of Risk. Videos exist of hotels lifting barriers and people sprinting, elbows out, to secure their patch of synthetic wicker glory so they can cook themselves…

Hotels have tried everything. Some politely put up signs: “Towels do not reserve loungers.” Others send security staff to sweep abandoned towels on their chairs. A few even use apps so you can book a slot, yes… an app, for a sunbed… have you seen the Peter Kay sketch where he points at beans splashed up a wall in a hotel room and says ‘This is NOT a holiday’… well, if you have to use an app… I’m out… that’s not a holiday..! Regardless of all this, every summer, the towel wars continue. Someone slaps theirs down at 0700, then vanishes for the entire day, coming back at 1700 expecting their sacred lounger to still be waiting. Meanwhile, someone who actually wanted to sit by the pool spent the day standing in the shade, complaining that ‘this is not a holiday’, rightly so as well may I add.

Here’s the truth, I, personally, don’t really care for sun lounging. Sitting in one spot all day, slowly basting in factor 50, isn’t my idea of a holiday. I’d rather be out doing something. Busting my favourite Nike ACG trainers on a hike in Corfu, and having to walk down the side of a Rocky Mountain with no sole on my trainer, for example. Or chatting to a man casually carrying a machete in Mombasa… I say casually, I was being eyed up for a robbery and or drug deal. Or, on one trip to Marrakech, watching the local police beat a drug dealer with a wooden staff after he’d harassed me (twice) despite being warned not to, by them. I wasn’t bothered either way, but it was one hell of a cultural moment, all things that wouldn’t have happened if I’d have been sat there, on a sun lounger, they are memories that I have and they are stories I have to tell.

But let’s be fair, not everyone wants to be on their feet all day chasing adventures. For many, the sun lounger is the holiday and why not? After a year of working hard, raising families, juggling life, maybe the only thing you want is to sink into a recliner and not move except for lunch and another round of cocktails. That’s rest. That’s valid.

And for others, mobility or health issues mean the lounger isn’t just a choice, it’s a necessity. Their holiday comfort depends on having that spot by the pool, and they deserve it just as much as anyone else.

My gripe isn’t with the lounger itself. It’s with the ghost lounger, the one claimed at dawn by a damp towel but left untouched for ten hours. That’s not relaxation, that’s hoarding. If you want the chair, use it. If you’re heading out for the day, let it go. Someone else will be glad of it.

Some of my best travel days haven’t been by a pool at all. Like that little hidden beach I stumbled across in Sicily, no tourists, just locals. We all shared each others snacks, we laughed, we chatted in broken Italian, and it ended up being the highlight of the trip. No lounger in sight, just more memories and stories.

Now, I’m not saying loungers are bad. Many hotels and bars around the world own parts of the beach, renting out beds, parasols, and tables for the day. Fair enough it’s a business. If you want the lounger, pay for it and enjoy it. But don’t claim one with your towel and then disappear until sunset. That’s not clever, it’s selfish. And it’s definitely not the Cooperator way.

My rule of thumb is simple, if you want a lounger, take it and use it. If you’re heading out for hours, give it up. Someone else will be glad of it. Don’t be the person hoarding pool furniture like it’s gold bullion and you’ve just got into buying it from everywhere you can for the coming apocalypse.

Because at the end of the day, holidays aren’t about defending a rectangle of plastic and canvas. They’re about the stories you bring home the hikes, the coffee, the conversations, the mad little moments that only happen because you weren’t chained to a sun bed.

So let me ask you this: when you think about your perfect holiday memory, is it really guarding a damp towel on a pool chair? Or is it lobster pasta with your family, stumbling across hidden beaches, walking down a mountain practically barefoot, or laughing with strangers over snacks?

I know which one I’ll remember.