When holidaying abroad, my family and I have a strict morning routine: divide and conquer. Half to the breakfast buffet, half to the pool — or rather, the battlefield. In this arena, my father is our elected warrior, not out of dated gender ideals but simply pragmatism: he is our most ruthless fighter, and children may need to be elbowed out of the way. These are the sunbed wars, and bless your little cotton socks if you think your fellow Brits abroad will be taking any prisoners.
The phenomenon has recently been documented, and ridiculed, on Tiktok, where viral clips of the sunrise poolside rush in Greek resorts have been derided as a sign of civilisational decline. “Saddos,” say some. “Get a life,” others huff. “Humans actually act like this?” the sheltered screen babies ask.
But what if this isn’t civic decay, but rather a perfectly rational, dare I say noble, holiday tradition? And what if those who object are the same people who bash tourists simply for… existing?
I’m here to defend the sunbed warriors – for their team spirit, raw humanity and egalitarian values. Plus, if you’re a hater, you should really ask yourself: what is the other option? For I have experienced a few, and I can tell you they are far from desirable.
Besides just following basic market logic (if supply is limited, one must compete), the sunbed wars capture what’s best about the British spirit: ambition, camaraderie and order.
And yes, there is order: those there earliest, with the most gumption and the most cunning, will prevail. That’s meritocracy. If you find yourself at the bad end of it, you’ve only got yourself to blame. Get up earlier, sucker.
Equally, while the Noble Sport shuns proscribed legislation, there is a code of honour that any respectable participant knows about. One: don’t reserve more beds than you need. Two: don’t leave your stuff for more than two hours to the dot. Three: no actual kicking or screaming – success in this sport comes from passive aggression. These enduring principles ensure things stay sportsmanlike.
There are even allyships, or at the very least the bonds of silent nods at the towel hut, to be made. That might be the most interaction with strangers Brits concede to all year. It’s actually rather beautiful.
Indeed, the whole experience is deeply human. Explaining the phenomenon for perplexed German travel website reisereporter.de, psychologist Barbara Horvatits-Ebner linked the practice of ruthlessly competing for sunbeds back to deep-rooted territorial instincts: “It's often about the fear of missing out or not belonging. Many act from a desire to avoid failure — and this provides security.” We all deserve to feel secure on our well-earned annual leave.
While outwardly chaotic, there’s also a hidden harmony beneath the rough and tumble of the sunbed scrap ritual: familial bliss. How? Hotel sunbed wars strengthen the family unit. By waging war against your fellow holidaymakers, you’re less likely to do so on your fellow family members. We all need a nemesis, and it’s best it not be your kin.
If you still object, I ask you to consider the alternatives. I personally have flown and flopped extensively enough to see them and, trust me, it ain’t pretty.
One luxe hotel in Barcelona, which I’d been lured to specifically for its Instagram-drool worthy rooftop pool, dissipated my dreams of a sunbed siesta almost immediately on arrival, when the check-in administrator asked me — with not a hint of shame — whether I had a “sunbed booking”.
I was astonished. Imagine when they added I could only book a two-hour slot maximum. Forgive me, but he who would rather open some godforsaken desktop app than get involved in the fun and games of a pre-sunrise scrum is in need of character.
Another hotel I stayed in chose downright nastiness: possessions used to reserve beds would be thrown in the pool by a patrolling — and merciless — pool master. Amusing, of course, but ultimately unsustainable, not to mention unfair on those forced to swim amongst others’ beachbag detritus.
In an extreme escalation, authorities in Greece have even now started deploying drones over the Cyclades and Dodecanese islands to police sunbed use, with an accompanying app where locals can report on sunbathing violations. This is part of a bigger mass anti-tourism movement across Europe, the consequences of which are reportedly now starting to be felt by some businesses in Mallorca, which have seen a decline in business this summer in the wake of aggressive anti-tourism messaging.
Whether tourists are really the right target for local unrest is another debate, but it sheds light on an important aspect of sunbed war moralising: the shame of being a tourist. It’s not actually a crime, you know!
Those who see themselves above the sunbed wars are, I venture, the same holier-than-thou types who endeavour to “live like the locals” and revel in “undiscovered gems” when abroad. Just do me a favour and get a life. Live like a local in your locale. If you're in a resort, stop looking down your nose at the sunbed stampede and just get in line. If you’re early enough, you might even get a good spot by the pool.
Anna Moloney is a journalist covering travel, lifestyle and culture
