Innocent fun: a group of students – who were not involved in any of the anti-social behaviour reported in our story – ham it up for the camera in Crete. BELOW: the Lyda Beach apartment complex

THEY hail from some of Dublin's wealthiest southside suburbs and are intent on ending their schooldays with a bang. Welcome to holidays from hell – D4 style.


Last week, Ireland was shocked to hear the stories of scores of rich teenagers terrorising the quiet family population of Gouves on the idyllic Greek island of Crete.


These young men and women are supposed to be Ireland's next era of the elite. They attended some of the capital's best private schools. They will be our next generation of doctors and solicitors, possibly our politicians and policy makers. But you wouldn't think so if you visited Crete for a few sunny summer weeks in August.


What you would witness is Irish 'craic' gone crazy – hundreds of teenagers intent on all-out celebration no matter who might object. Excess drinking, fights, vomiting and sex.


"For just two weeks every August they come over," shrugs a waiter at the Ilios restaurant next door to the Lyda Beach Apartments resort in Gouves, the favourite location for our Irish ambassadors of anarchy. "They usually stay in Hersonissos [a more vibrant town a few kilometres to the east] but the travel companies give them good deals and they come here every August and go into Hersonissos every night.


"Every night there is police, every night there is fighting on the street; they come back at six in the morning. They come into my restaurant at two o'clock to eat, still drunk from the night before. They are young."


Gouves is like any other Greek holiday resort – long strips of sandy beaches, crowded with hotels and tavernas. By day a thriving beach paradise punctuated by quad bikes and scooters. By night, quiet bars and restaurants entertain couples and young families.


But the Lyda Beach apartment complex is the exception to the rule. Located at the east end of the small town, it is a plush set-up, accessed through a bar which in turn opens out into a poolside area, overlooked by come 50 balconies.


Last week, many of these balconies could be seen populated by our young Irish. Their conversations around the bar and pool are typical of teenagers on holiday – the previous night's antics, clothes, alcohol, face paint, glow sticks; a steady stream of gossip and story telling.


From around eight or nine o'clock on they come out into the street to hail taxi after taxi, cramming in up to seven at a time and heading off to Hersonissos, the promised land of carefree partying, complimentary shots and a night that knows no end.


But it's okay here. Nobody minds loud fun in a town that depends on crowds of youngsters flocking in and out of its bars and clubs. Yet despite the international assortment of visitors, it does not take long to find the Irish.


Last Thursday night the Sunday Tribune visited the party town on Crete's north coast; a brightly lit metropolis by comparison to its sleepy sister town to the west.


Walk around its buzzing labyrinth of main streets and side alleys and it's only a matter of time before you encounter the troops of students only too happy to shout over each other with tales of excess drinking and brawls.


To these young people it is a badge of honour. Competing to relate their individual war stories, they hang from each other's sunburnt shoulders, falling over in a bid to show their cuts and bruises from various run-ins with the locals and the law.


"We got sunburnt to shit at the pool," said one.


"They were giving us all these free shots, we thought it was paint stripper – we were all getting sick and one of the policemen punched me in the face."


"I went over to try and separate a fight with my friend," said another. "I got kicked in the head and back and then my girlfriend came over and she got kicked."


What is striking about a short tour of Hersonissos is the contrast between the Irish and their European counterparts. All young, the Europeans stroll around and sip on beer in the outside cafés and bars.


On the main street, a group of Irish teenagers are staggering around, seemingly unsure of where to go for their next drink. The confused and disorderly chorus of suggestions almost leads to a fight between a couple of the more well-oiled.


But when approached by a newspaper, a relative calm descends and now they only squabble to tell their stories and lend their insight into the commotion they have caused at home in Ireland.


Leaving Cert holidays seem to be a right of passage and crowds of up to 30 people from the same school have descended on the island.


It's not long before one group are insisting on contradicting their bad press. Some more inebriated than others – and they range from the 'not quite standing' to the borderline sober. All want to pour cold water on the flames.


But no matter how compelling their pleas of youthful innocence, families back at the Lyda Beach apartments are, as we speak, barricading their doors in anticipation of the mayhem to come on their return.


"It's the best holiday I have ever had," says 18-year-old Gavin Stone from Rathfarnham, who is set to study the art of landscape design after a successful Leaving Cert. The teenager is obviously bright and more in control of himself than his drunk companions.


"Everyone keeps saying that there is loads of shit going on at the apartments but it's not that bad. We have low music and talking and they keep going on at us."


James Ring (19) from Rathfarnham soberly explained: "It's grand now but it's when we get back and they think that we are being too loud. We don't think we are being too loud but maybe we are."


At the heart of all the conflict seems to be bad management. The teenagers and other holiday makers at war sing a common tune – that they are too different to be cooped up in the same intimate resort. But it is an opinion which has not led to compromise.


Ben Whelan (19) from Castleknock, a future business student, sums it all up. "I think a lot of people back there [at the apartments] are only complaining because they paid for their holiday and they are trying to enjoy it. But we paid for it as well and it's our Leaving Cert holiday and we want to enjoy it."


Another sober future business student, Liam Townsend (18) quietly, but decisively, concludes from the side: "With the apartments... we shouldn't be in the same place."


And, with that, they all head off for one more night of partying in the clubs and bars.