The Sedgwick County Sheriff’s Office posted about the situation on Facebook. The office wrote that Gallagher “made contact with a grounded and stationary, but still running plane, and received critical injuries.”

After the incident, Gallagher, who lived in Wichita, Kansas, was transported to Wesley Medical Center. She was later pronounced dead.

The tragedy took place at Air Capital Drop Zone, a skydiving center. The company reacted to the situation in a statement to ABC News.

According to the outlet, Gallagher was on the plane to take photos of skydivers. She rode the plane down after the skydivers jumped and exited the aircraft when it landed.

“For unknown reasons… she moved in front of the wing, a violation of basic safety procedures,” Air Capital Drop Zone told the outlet in a statement. “With her camera up to shoot photos as she did so, she stepped back slightly, moving toward and into the spinning propeller.”

In the wake of Gallagher’s death, her sister-in-law, Abbey Charboneau, set up a GoFundMe.

In a post on the fundraising page, Charboneau wrote, “On October 26th, Amanda passed away in a very sad accident, doing what she loved, skydiving and taking pictures!”

“As her family processes through this tragic accident, they could use your help covering the funeral expenses,” Charboneau added of the reason for the fundraiser, which has already surpassed its $12,000 goal. “Please consider helping them out and also keeping them all in your prayers.”

Of her late family member, Charboneau noted, “Amanda Gallagher was kind, adventurous, creative and beautiful inside and out. She was a loving daughter, sister, aunt and friend and will be greatly missed.”

The post Woman Dies After Walking Backwards Into Plane Propeller appeared first on VICE.

The Coast Guard said that the incident took place when the ship was 17 miles north of Nassau, just before 10 p.m. on Oct. 22.

One day later, the Coast guard and Royal Bahamas Defense Force are still searching for the woman. The Coast Guard has diverted an airplane crew and a helicopter to assist in their efforts.

“We are also providing support and assistance to the guest’s family during this difficult time,” Royal Caribbean told the outlets in a statement. “To respect the privacy of our guest’s family, we have no additional details to share.”

Overboard incidents are fairly rare. According to a report published by the Cruise Lines International Association, between 2009 and 2019 212 people went overboard while on a cruise. One hundred and seventy of those incidents resulted in fatalities.

The Allure of the Seas departed Miami, Florida, on Monday. The cruise followed Swift’s three-night Eras Tour stint at Miami’s Hard Rock Stadium.

The Swift-loving cruise group made up nearly 200 of Allure of the Seas’ 2,700+ staterooms. It’s unclear if the missing woman was part of the group.

While not affiliated with the singer, the In My Cruise Era trip, which was put on by three travel agents, worked with the cruise line to plan events such as friendship bracelet swaps, theme nights, Swift trivia, and dance parties.

The post Passenger Missing After Going Overboard on Taylor Swift-Themed Cruise appeared first on VICE.

Airline spokesperson Yahya Üstün tweeted that Captain İlçehin Pehlivan, 59, fainted during the flight. Once initial medical intervention was determined to be ineffective, the co-pilot decided to make an emergency landing. Before the plane touched down, though, Pehlivan had died.

Passengers aboard the plane were rebooked on flights out of New York, Üstün said.

The pilot had worked at Turkish Airlines since 2007, and had been cleared to fly as recently as August, Üstün said.

“As the Turkish Airlines family,” Üstün said, “we wish God’s mercy upon our captain and patience to his grieving family, all his colleagues and loved ones.”

Inflight deaths are incredibly rare. In a 2008 article that appeared Hippokratiathe, a peer-reviewed medical journal, inflight medical emergencies were determined to occur at a rate of 20 to 100 per million passengers. Of those, there was a death rate of 0.1 to 1 per million, the article found.

The death rate is likely so low because, according to the article, a medical professional is present for 40 to 70 percent of inflight medical emergencies, and a doctor is present in 30 to 60 percent.

The post Pilot Dies Mid-Flight, Forcing Emergency Landing at JFK appeared first on VICE.

While traveling from New York to Dallas in the first class section of the airplane, the poster said they encountered a bed bug, which left them “sufficiently freaked out.”

“I saw the bug crawling on my pant leg while I was reading my book,” the person wrote. “It was a sharp contrast to the dark pant color. I was able to have it climb on my finger and then put it on the napkin… Damn thing tried to bite my finger! SO GROSS!!”

After encountering the creepy crawly, the poster said they told the flight, who alerted the captain. When the plane landed, the poster said they changed their clothes in the airport and bagged them.

“Hoping no stragglers got on my backpack or checked bag during the clothing swap,” they wrote.

The flyer also said they logged a complaint on the airline’s website. The passenger didn’t have faith that the situation was being taken seriously, though.

“They turned the plane around on time,” they claimed, “… so I can’t believe they cleaned it properly.”

Eventually, the poster did hear back from the airline. In a post, they shared the “extremely underwhelming” email they said they received.

“Please accept my deepest apologies for the experience you’ve described. Our commitment to placing you at the center of all we do is unwavering, and your feedback underscores this commitment,” the response read. “Rest assured, your insights will be made available to our leadership team as we work to ensure we provide the high-quality customer experience you deserve.”

Frighteningly, Orkin, a pest control company, confirms on their website that bedbugs “can survive on a plane and other forms of transportation like trains or cars.”

The company further notes, “Bed bugs can hide in the plane seats, overhead bins, other passenger luggage and bags, or on clothes.”

Worse than the airplane movie getting stuck on a sex scene? Yeah, actually. Seems worse.

The post ‘Freaked Out’ First-Class Passenger Had a Bed Bug Climbing Their Leg appeared first on VICE.

Instead, the flight crew asked passengers to weigh in on the entertainment. Inexplicably, Daddio—the 2023 R-rated flick Johnson starred in alongside Sean Penn—was the pick, and was put on every single screen on the plane.

Passengers were unable to pause, dim, or turn off the movie, according to one Reddit user. The user additionally claimed that “families and kids” were onboard.

The film, in which Johnson tells her taxi driver (Penn) about her affair with a married man, includes nudity, photos of genitals, and explicit text messages.

The crew didn’t turn off Daddio in favor for a kids’ movie for more than an hour, the user claimed.

“The movie was clearly not suitable to play for the whole flight and we sincerely apologize to customers for this experience,” a Qantas spokesperson told news.com.au. “All screens were changed to a family-friendly movie for the rest of the flight, which is our standard practice for the rare cases where individual movie selection isn’t possible.”

The airline additionally told the outlet that they “are reviewing how the movie was selected” in the first place.

The post Plane Passengers Unable To Turn Off Explicit Movie During Flight appeared first on VICE.

Seems innocent enough. It’s possibly, actually, stranger?

According to the Cruising Ducks private Facebook group, which has nearly 300,000 members, “Our goal is to see how far our Ducks will travel and where their journey might take them.”

The whole tradition started years ago as a fun, semi-secret ordeal between frequent cruisers. Passengers will purchase various types of rubber ducks and hide them throughout the ship for others to find; and when they do stumble upon these floating toys, they’ll snap photos to share with others online.

Take this Reddit thread, for example.

One participant purchased so many ducks that they had to pay for their own carry-on bag.

Since this thread was posted on Royal Caribbean’s subreddit, it received mixed reviews from other cruise-goers. One even asked what the “appeal” of the trend was.

“It’s for fun—especially on sea days, if you don’t find it appealing, don’t look for them—or walk on by if you see one,” one Reddit user said. “I personally love the idea, and hope I find a few to take home.”

“I like to look for them in my cruises—then I have the little model boats and I’ll put them next to/on them so I remember where I got them from,” another user added. “I think it’s a cute way to remember trips, although I’ve only found a few.”

While most cruise lines don’t mind a few ducks claiming a free ride, others are putting their foot—or anchor—down.

Last year, Disney Cruise Line explicitly stated that “guests cannot hide things, such as rubber ducks in staterooms or public areas on the ship,” and that “Crew Members are removing any ducks they spot around the ship.” You can still bring them onboard…just don’t go hiding them, I guess.

Sounds a bit ducking dramatic, if you ask me.

Anyway, if you’re looking to partake in this trend, just be sure to research the cruise line beforehand.

The post People Keep Hiding Rubber Ducks All Over Cruise Ships appeared first on VICE.

This annual ‘Pardon of the Camper Vans’ is part of the wider Pardons Bretons, an ancestral celebration involving over 2,000 processional pilgrimages in Brittany. Romain Ruiz, a photographer who has documented the phenomenon and whose work adorns this page, says this is just an inventive modern way for the Catholic Church to lure people into its flock.

“This benediction is only seven years old, which is very important to me because I’m really interested in how ancient rituals can adapt themselves to reach new people here in our time,” says Romain. “This was the perfect example of how the pardon could take new forms to attract new people into the Church.

“It’s a new leverage of evangelism; it’s a new way to attract people to Catholicism.”

The pardon starts with Mass before the local bishop, Father Yves Carteau, spends five to ten minutes with each camper van-owning person or family. They might talk about tedious things—like where they’ve driven from—or more serious matters, like previous road collisions, or lost loved ones. The priest will then dish out a load of blessings: to the owners, their vehicles, sometimes even their dogs, to help ensure safe travels for all in the year ahead.

“In one of the pictures, which is very powerful to me, the mother is crying, and you can see she’s carrying a portrait of her son. It’s a way for them to share the sorrow,” Ruiz says.

Saint Giles—who, depending on what you believe, was either a hermit or a monk active in the Rhône region of France in the 7th century—has been the saint of Malestroit since the 1400s. And he’s been the patron saint of motorhomes ever since Father Yves Carteau decided he was in 2017, when he sought to revitalize the local Saint-Gilles festival. (France is increasingly secular, with 29 percent of the population identifying as Catholic, according to Insee.)

Small statues of Saint Giles abound, while the camper-van owners take great pride in their mobile homes. “You can see eagles, you can see the on-style design with painting. Every van has its own little story. And they [the camper-van owners] are very, very proud of it. It’s like their house. So it’s their life,” Ruiz says.

The crowd was somewhat mixed, Ruiz says. “There were not too many young people there; they were all retired. Some people are new in town, so it’s a way for them to get into the community and to be connected with other people,” Ruiz says.

Ruiz’ photo-story is part of a wider series on French culture and society, France Parallax, highlighting the country’s regional quirks, which Ruiz jokingly calls the “French Metaverse.”

Check out more images of the benediction below.

Follow Nick Thompson on X.

Follow Romain Ruiz on Instagram.

The post French Priests Are Blessing Camper Vans and Dogs in Brittany appeared first on VICE.

They fielded questions from Lee Tiernan—the chef behind loud, meat-obsessed Canonbury eaterie FKA Black Axe Mangal—and in the process made dollops of wisdom and hilarity rain down upon the heads of the gathered audience like shish droplets on flatbread.

Once they were done, we pinned the boys down for a quick chat about their adventures.

VICE: Who’s the craziest person you’ve met on your travels?
Adams: I’d say Kim Han from South Korea. Great guy; loves to play the tambourine in restaurants.
Seapa: He’s got a dreadlocked beard, it’s sick.
Adams: He loves Brixton and Jamaica for some reason, so I’m meeting up with him next week.
Cavanagh: There’s not a big reggae scene in Seoul.
S: He raps as well, in a Jamaican accent. He ran into the restaurant we were sitting in, and started playing the tambourine and spitting dancehall style. I was just looking at him like: Who’s this guy? But he’s so genuine with the culture that it comes from a good place.

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever eaten on your culinary adventures?
S: There haven’t been that many crazy things, to be honest. We do a lot of research and go to good spots. On the day we met Kim Han, we were walking around, and there was an older lady boiling some grubs on the side. I was like, “Do you lot eat that?” to the Korean young people, and they were like, “Yeah, we still eat it.” So I was like, fuck it, I’ll try it then. It was disgusting, but, you know… If you need the protein.
C: In Thailand, Marcus yammed a whole tarantula.
A: That wasn’t the worst thing. They had fried it, but not properly, so the fur got stuck in my neck.

You haven’t tried any pig’s tongue or whale penis?
S: Oh, yeah, but I like pig’s tongue. Lee Tiernan (who interviewed us tonight) has introduced us to a lot of things like ox heart, tongue, fucking pig’s anus—nah, I’m joking. But lots of offal, because the restaurant that he came up in was known for nose-to-tail cooking. Now, when we go on our travels and we’re at a Korean BBQ and there’s ox tongue on the menu, we’re like, ‘Yeah that’s banging, we like that.’
C: One of my favourite meals is haggis, and that’s heart, liver, and lungs.

What cuisine should we have more restaurants of in the UK?
S: There’s one Czech restaurant in the whole of London, so that’s really underrepresented here, and I’d definitely like to see more contemporary Kurdish spots. There’s a place called Nandine in Camberwell, and, again, it’s a gateway for people who don’t know about that culture and the food.
L: London definitely doesn’t need any more regional Italian restaurants.
A: Is there a yardfood restaurant that’s not a chain? I only know takeaways.
S: There are a few, but there needs to be more yard food sit downs. There’s Octaves in Stoke Newington, that’s meant to be fire.

Cheers, guys.

The post Talking Food, Travel, and Eating Spiders With Taste Cadets appeared first on VICE.

I’m fascinated by the number of content creators and influencers slated to be at this curtain raiser, and just how out of my depth I’ll feel. This is their strange new world, and I am merely here to holiday in it. I’m here to get so drunk, but I’m here for culture as well, and so I quickly learn in the airport’s duty-free that vapes are illegal.

This is my first fully-comped press trip ever, and due to the state of the industry, certainly my last (note: I lost my job the day after I returned from Turkey). I should, therefore, see the PR systems at play with the clarity of a child savant calling out a strange relative in front of the whole family. 

On Friday we go down to breakfast. It’s hot. 95 Fahrenheit or so. I am wearing all black like a maniac. In front of me (my group is otherwise entirely made up of women) is a cup with something ‘Live, Laugh, Love’-y written on it, and a waiter says “Anything can happen” as he pours iced latte into it. There are stunning influencers everywhere—eating at tables, drinking at the bar, lounging by the pool—and I’m reminded that the world wasn’t always like this. Fifty-three percent of Gen Zers in the US aspire to become influencers, with nearly 1 in 5 of their UK counterparts striving to make content creation their primary income. In a very real, very not-made-up sense, these guys are the new astronauts, the new athletes, and a lot of them are here in Bodrum.

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Some of them have the beauty and depth of entourage to suggest they are very famous. For now, I watch from afar as they busily sell dreams of themselves, and of this place, in order to generate further consumption: human adverts, their abs billboards, their faces beautifully blank canvases for dramatic golden hour lighting. Of our group, only one is a full-time content creator: Klaudia Fior, or @wavyute. Her content is a mix of travel, food, soccer, and day-in-the-life-type stuff. She also uses her platform to promote human rights causes. She has 120k followers on Instagram, 562k followers on TikTok, and she is very boisterous. 

I ask the barman for water, and he comes over and pours vodka in my glass. Fior keeps us updated on her content plans. She wants to do an MTV Cribs-style video of her jumping in the pool while wearing roller skates. She is very loud, and possibly tough, but that doesn’t preclude her from being sound, either. The scale of her fame hits in dribs and drabs, but I learn people were sneaking shots of her in the airport. Content fame knows no borders, I think. And then I have a frozen strawberry daiquiri. 

‘Mojo’ by Alicia Aylies pumps from the speakers. The pool is wild: lagoon shaped with infinity edges and a pentagonal hole in the middle, below which is an additional receptacle wall into which the pool water slides. The pool hole drops about 8 meters to the level below, on which there is a gym and other amenities. The waiter (one man, Mustafa) is on rollerblades. Just skating about with people’s orders. I have a frozen pina colada. I’ll have more.

A succession of deranged bugs make their way into our room: a huge millipede on the first night, a massive moth on the second. As I return it to the outside world, I see an influencer dancing in front of an iPhone stuck to her sliding balcony door. Everything is content here. And I am turning that content into second-hand content. 

I go for a dip at 6PM, the sun easing off. There’s good-looking guys, and girls, and a solid number of Sopranos characters if they were Turkish, too.

At the far end of the pool, I see men, one with a professional camera, and another with an iPhone, snapping a peroxide blonde with dark roots wearing a deep brown bikini. They are photographing her in the pool from a second-floor balcony. A third man is in the pool with a phone attached to a 2-meter pole he wields clumsily like a boom mic. Then I spy a fourth man lying down by the pool, shooting close-ups. I see she has a martini. Even more people appear, snapping the blonde on a phalanx of iPhones. As ‘Frisky Disco’ by DRNRT plays, I can’t shake the feeling she is the final boss of the influencers. The Bowser of Bodrum.

Fior came from Poland to south London aged 8, knowing virtually zero English. She studied journalism at undergrad, and PR, marketing, and advertising at master’s level. She was working as a social media manager when a production studio asked her if she’d be willing to present a dating show—she eventually did it, and a clip from it went viral, leading her to set up her own TikTok. Her old job went under, and so she was forced into making content full-time. That was three years ago, and she hasn’t looked back. 

“I always had main character syndrome. I thought it’s just my world, and everyone else lives in it,” Fior says. 

How does life compare with before? “It’s very easy. The career gives me comfort, not only in terms of financial stability and freedom, but it gives me a lot of access to anything I could potentially want, whether that’s events or being able to speak to certain people I might want to work with. Having followers gives you a foot in the door. And I’m more confident.”

I say it must be nice having so many people embrace you for being yourself. She admits she’s “Marmite,” a British term relating to splitting opinion. 

I ask her what the drawbacks are. “I don’t really get any privacy. I cannot walk down the road drunk. There’s absolutely no way—a little kid will come up to me, ‘Oh my gosh, the girl from TikTok!”

I ask if she ever struggles to feel fully present, seeing as she’s constantly having to capture moments on camera, living life mediated through content production. “Yeah, this is probably the second [biggest drawback]. I’m constantly thinking about content. My brain’s always running 100 miles an hour, even if I go on holiday.” She says she sometimes orders food from crappy takeaways because she knows she won’t feel compelled to record an “eat with me.”

“I’m constantly thinking about content. My brain’s always running 100 miles an hour, even if I go on holiday.” –Klaudia Fior

It’s a cool life, though, I say. “I don’t see myself stopping anytime soon. I love what I do. It’s a great job. I think I want to go down the path of more broadcast media a little bit—I started as a journalist. But I know social media is still going to play a big part in that.”

I ask Fior if she ever feels any guilt or shame around the way she makes a living. “No, not at all. I get a lot of comments saying ‘Oh, some people get life handed to them on a plate.’ And I’m like, ‘You know what? I just had my big break. I worked my ass off to get to where I am. It just happened that when it did happen, my career grew very quickly.’ Everyone could do it. Pull out your phone and record yourself. Why should I feel bad? If people ask me for advice, for help, I’ll give it to them. I do have moments sometimes where I’m like, ‘Oh, I have all this money. Why me?’ And then I just go donate to charity. I’m fine.”

As I make my way to the evening drinks reception, here is Bowser and her support team shooting a choreographed ‘arrival’ scene in a plant-lined passageway. I know everyone here is an advert, but this is like an actual advert. We have to go through, though, to get upstairs. After some performative apologia, me and my gf enter the vestibule with Bowser and her camera crew. Bowser’s face… is fucking stern.

After a few drinks, we go for dinner down toward the beach, which is a stand up, grab-what-you-like situation. I have a red alcoholic drink. I make eyes at one of the servers holding canapes that belies my ‘fat child’ years. I have another even larger red alcoholic drink. A supermodel (it’s obvious when someone’s a supermodel) with impossibly long legs stalks past.

Men arrive on the beach—which doubles up as the dancefloor—to take pics of the DJ. ‘Um, Mia Mia’ plays. The light goes off, and my girl says “What happened?” The lights come back on, and a woman appears, offering me another large drink. Tequila. Lights off again. I am offered three different types of food (mostly cheeseburgers), but I am too full of hotdogs. Make that four (samosa-looking things).

Lights go off and on about a dozen more times. The music’s thumping, and it’s the sort of scenario in which my mates would start calling numbers. 

I am descending now as a drone flies overhead. Every time a drone flies overhead, I crane my neck and look up directly at it, presumably ruining the videographer’s intention and vibe. I get more fucked on the strong drinks and then I go marching back to the hotel to use the toilet (which was unnecessary as there was a beach toilet), except I walk into the women’s. A male cleaner sets me right. 

On my return I see a man is in his underwear halfway between the hotel and beach, just sort of hidden in an alcove. Via WhatsApp I am beckoned by the girls to dance by the beach. I have two more drinks there. 

On our walk back to our room we see a gorgeous calico cat drinking out of the pool, and so we stroke him a bit. Fantastic little cat. Then we order a Caesar salad and a rice pudding for room service. I eat almost all of it and vape on the balcony until I can’t any longer.

I’m struggling the next morning. When I go out on the balcony, I see a woman diving into the pool with a man filming it on one of those fucking stick phones. Everything is content. Me and my gf have an absurdly good brunch when I spot Bowser through the window a few meters away sat smoking outside, and so I ask the waitress if she knows her. She doesn’t. “She’s probably social media famous.” One of her friends has a Deftones tattoo (Koi No Yokan).

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I don’t make it to the rest of the group until about 2PM. I have already missed morning yoga, sound healing, and I will also miss “the power of crystals surrounded with astrology.” I walk into the beach restaurant and once again I have to swerve another of Bowser’s choreographed scenes—this time she is rolling the suitcase in the restaurant. I sit with the girls and their food looks sensational. I am too ill though, I fear. They marvel at my ability to drink a lot on a night out and not show it as I start to feel as though I might whitey, feeling the blood draining away from my face.

And so I go for a swim in the sea, doing multiple laps halfway to the buoy line and back just to revive myself. A small yacht or large speed boat is taking revelers standing on the dock out onto the Aegean.

I ask Fior to get me cigs when she ventures into town. I get another frozen pina colada at about half 3. No actual journalism happening. Then under the wind-blown veranda I shut my eyes and the intermittent sunlight breaks through my eyelids. 

An insane red bug lands on my shorts. I don’t see it for a while, and when I do, I say, “Oh fuck!” and bat it away. 

My gf arrives, Dua Lipa comes on, and so we talk about the smoothness of Lipa’s music, the lack of weight and grooves to it. It’s a take glimpsed on the NY Times pop music podcast, and it’s something I wholeheartedly believe, too. It’s similar to the reality being conveyed here at Hyde and by the influencers. Everything is picture perfect, aspirational and uncomplicated. It’s a fantasy life.

Everything is picture perfect, aspirational and uncomplicated. It’s a fantasy life.

We stay on the bed for a few hours before heading to the pier boardwalk to catch the late sun. There are more influencers taking snaps here. One Italian man, especially, who is going full Baywatch on the stairs leading into the sea (he’s a philosophy student, ironically enough, I’ll find out later via Instagram). A squat Turkish female lifeguard watches on, perhaps bemused beneath a deadpan exterior.

It’s possible I myself—bald with dark tache, increasingly tanned—am looking more Turkish by the hour.

Later we get dolled up for the final dinner with the girls. A whiskey drink is handed to me on the way to dinner down by the beach. 

Fior arrives, very animated. It turns out she got shafted by the taxi driver because vapes are, in fact, illegal in Turkey. I offer her mine, even though it might be coiled. She says “I’ll take what I can get.” 

She chats to the camera she’s holding behind her far shoulder and I spin around suddenly, confused by who she’s talking to. I will be in the back of the video turning around awkwardly. She says there’d been some confrontation earlier in the sea with a Russian over content territory.

The mosquitos are out and so Fior grabs one out of the air and kills it in her fist. She turns and chucks it behind her. It is said a former Miss Worldwide is here (Turkish), and it’s clear it’s the supermodel I’d clocked a day earlier. We talk about Michael Jackson, Diddy, and R Kelly. R Kelly comes out the worst.

I try out my Poland and Ukraine knowledge on Fior. I tell her about my granddad, who was on the verge of opening a limo company in Poland when he sadly passed away 30 years ago. I could be the heir to Big Limo in Poland by now, I joke. Big fucking Uber Poland Nick.

Then I start to fucking yap. I yammer about how I accidentally labeled a former manager a “psychopath” because he likes his steak well done and was let go soon after; I talk about the ethics of going on Hinge holidays and men’s attitudes to dating porn-adjacent women. Fior explains how a mate of hers went to a sex party and accidentally became the bartender. It is mooted by one of the girls that we should all take a Charlie’s Angels pic with me in the middle, a “Nick’s Angels” situation. I would like that very much, I say. 

One of our party has a subreddit specifically about pics of them that men can wank over. She doesn’t love the idea, but supposedly they are somehow chivalrous in their goondom. We talk about threesomes, zaddies, and Santorini. 

Then we hit the pool party, where we have a table reserved by the water. Famed Turkish DJ Memut Orhan is set to headline. Some of the girls read my ridiculous notes while Bowser and Co. have a choreographed rave for the cameras on her balcony above us. They soon stop. I drink another three drinks. Euro dub remix of ‘Jamming’ by Bob Marley and The Wailers plays. Orhan is on the stage serving up shellers.

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A camp Euro guy wearing a kilt is strutting about as if the poolside is his catwalk (he’s been at it all weekend). A man comes with drinks and I take a couple. I chat to one of my fellow journalists for a while before returning to my room with my gf to charge my vape. We’re both giddy. I try to slap her bum and miss each time.

I commit a mortal sin by vaping straight out of the wall for a bit. The party is absolutely raucous and literally penetrates our room: blue lights from the party are seemingly trained on our windows only. It’s a hive of people, of arms and figures moving in the neon darkness below. These are big bangers from Orhan—a pinger wouldn’t go amiss. 

When we get back I lend my vape to one of the journalists. She makes faces as if the vape is too intense. I am simply that guy, I think. The vape has coiled though, definitely.

A blonde influencer with very striking cheekbones, three rooms over from Bowser and one above, is swishing her head while holding the rail like her head just has to fall off. Studies suggest social media makes us sad, and here I am watching the physical manifestation of its Main Character-izing effect, and I can’t stop. There is a spotlight on her balcony, probably by chance (but possibly not, it’s hard to know what’s organic at this point).

I clock kilt guy again and he’s also wearing Doc Martens.

The next morning I enforce the Charlie’s Angels photo shoot idea. When that’s over, we say goodbye to our new friends. Me and my gf brunch, sadder now that it’s all coming to an end. Later, by the pool, Mustafa the roller waiter appears with a mint green drink. I ask what it is. “I don’t know.” OK, I say. “Anything can happen,” he says, before skating off. It’s actually unbelievable what Mustafa can do on his skates with trays of drinks in his hand.

We have our last meal—crispy chicken club for me, crispy chicken club for my partner. The insanely hot Miss Turkey Worldwide strolls through, then it’s finally our turn to leave.

When our taxi arrives, I try to say thank you to the manager in Turkish. I don’t smash it, actually, and so I show him the translation of what I’ve tried to say: “Teshekular.”  

Long after my stay at Hyde, I find out the identity of ‘Bowser’, the woman I perceived to be the apogee of the influencer phenomenon. She is not massively famous, like I’d assumed, but rather a local yoga instructor with 2,500 followers who runs something called ‘POPO KAMPI’, which translates as ‘BUTT CAMP’. The slippage between reality and perception mirrors my experience at Hyde, where I’d been granted one-off proximity to the ‘talent.’ The promise of the influencer is that you too can do this, all you need is some matrix of looks, charisma, and luck. Fuck it. Maybe I will (I won’t).

@nichet

The post Spheres of Influence, Circles of Hell: On the Lash in Turkey’s Playboy Country appeared first on VICE.

We sent photographer Yushy Pachnanda to Benidorm—a sun-drenched paradise on the shores of the Mediterranean known for its population of hedonistic English tourists and ex-pats—to capture the chaos that unfurled before, during, and after Spain’s late 2-1 victory.

Follow Yushy on Instagram @_yushy

The post Watching the Euro 2024 Final with England Fans in Benidorm appeared first on VICE.