The sun was strong and my wife stopped the kids and myself at the door with a bottle of sunscreen and covered us all in the cool, white liquid. I was itching to get to the pool with the towels in our backpack but she was right; I have a fair complexion and burn at the first sight of the Sun. We had brought six bottles of sun protection with us, and while I was desperate to get to the water, I was ordered to rub suncream into her back and then help the kids with their sun protection.
It was strangely enthralling taking the first steps in the fresh air with nothing on, and felt a rush of adrenaline as I walked down the small hill. The small breeze whistled around us and I nodded towards a family of fellow naked people walking in the opposite direction. Our children were excited and like me, naked except for shoes and a hat. E was not quite so brave and put a see-through sarong below her bosom that covered her as far as the tops of her legs.
This would – in every other sense be topless – but, as I found out before I left, the expression is topfree and not topless. The principle being that the -less suffix infers something is missing whereas naturists obviously believe nothing is missing when you are without clothes. In addition, the word “topless” has been hijacked for more sexually evocative purposes; if you go to a “topless bar”, you aren't thinking of naturism!
“If they fall over,” I told my topfree wife as our children sprinted away from us. “They will get grazed in areas that are normally protected.” E laughed and smiled back at me, holding out her hand for me to take.
Our villa was close to the four pools that were in the centre of the village and we had a short walk to the village centre. We were very central and were overtaken a couple of times by clothed people on bicycles who were clearly staying further away from the amenities; it felt weird to be naked with them clothed but the cool air circling around me felt so nice and liberating.
We had to walk past the tennis courts and saw both clothed and naked players (the clothed players were a lot more competitive!) and saw a giant sign. The drawing of a naked family looking towards the sea was accompanied by text written in four languages - “we are naturist; we live naked.” I liked the simplicity of the message and the family on the board was my family for the next four days – wife, me and two children.
I was nervous and apprehensive as well as excited about baring all in public but had no reason to be and arrived at the pools within a few minutes. We left our flip-flops in the shoe holder and walked through the gate separating the café to the pool.
The first thing I noticed was that there was every shape of body around the pool; it was not surprising but families, couples and friends were strewn over the sun terraces and in the water. Some people were sunbathing, or reading, or playing cards, or swimming or talking – all without clothes and all just enjoying their break.
I have never felt body conscious; every guy wants to have a six foot two frame with a six pack, bulging muscles, tanned body and an elephant-sized appendage between their legs but I am more of the typical English man – around six foot in height, a slight paunch and pasty white skin. I know this, I accept this, I am not a muscular Adonis just a normal Briton, and a normal father on holiday with his family.
Most of the people at the pool – and indeed as we noticed throughout our stay – were clearly not British but used to the Mediterranean climate and were tanned or bronzed. The two female lifeguards could have come from Baywatch with slim figures and enviable tans; suddenly I realised we were totally distinct, my body was the brightest thing in the pool. We must have stood out, had anyone chosen to look!
Nobody noticed, or cared. As did nobody care about the fat or thin, those with scars, well-endowed or not so well-endowed. Everyone just got on with their break enjoying the warm weather doing whatever they wanted to do. Some people even were trying to add to their tans and I felt a pang of jealousy; they were already between bronze and varnish on the colour chart!
In fact I reckon a couple of green Martians could have landed in the car park, walked through to the pool, sat down on the sun terrace, and as long as they didn't have the temerity to be wearing swimming costumes it would have been fine!
The nudity was soon “tuned” out; you barely noticed it as a defining characteristic after a while. It took me around five to ten minutes to get used to being nude around hundreds of other naked people and then it just felt natural.
The unfazed and carefree attitude of the other visitors wafted around the pool. It was unthreatening, welcoming and a great leveller. I could have been swimming with royalty, millionaires or homeless people; the nakedness made us all equal. Social status, bank balance and age all meant absolutely nothing as without clothes, there was no disparity.
The kids loved the pool, it was a warm day and the water was cool but they dived in and it was lovely swimming naked. I almost forgot I was without any clothing as I swam in the water or played with the children; after our long journey it was just fun to be enjoying ourselves in the water. My wife put our bag, containing our towels down on the terrace adjacent to the water and joined me skinny dipping with around 200 other swimmers.
Water everywhere is strangely enthralling. I had never realised how much my swimming costume dulled sensations or provided a mental safety net, but without any clothes it felt much better and I felt freer. The water did not feel cold at all, and when we left the pool, the breeze was refreshing instead of “freezing.”
This is all logical, as when you think about it, what does a swimming costume actually do? It doesn't keep you dry from the water, and if the point of swimming is to get wet, it hardly assists with this. It doesn't make you a better swimmer, or offer any form of safety or protection. Indeed, from motor-racing suits to football boots – the kit of every other sport offers some advantage to the wearer when engaging in the activity, but what exactly does the swimming costume offer? Ah yes, it makes you feel colder by clinging to your skin when you get out of the water! Hardly an essential item to have, surely?
By the time we came to leave the pool, I was not noticing the naked bodies; everything just blended in. It is certainly the act of strategically covering bits of the body with coloured fabric that makes people “sexy” or “alluring” and the power is definitely in the imagination of what you cannot see as much as what you can.
Even as I saw beautiful girls walk past me with nothing on, there was no sexual element to it; it was normal and they got no more attention than anyone else. Everyone was minding their own business, exchanging a few words and smiling. There was no ogling and no eroticism to it.
This sounds weird, I know, but bear with me on this one. There was no ogling, at least not what I saw. Yes, there were incredibly attractive girls (and guys) with tanned, flawless bodies and absolutely no attention was paid to them. Heads were not following them as they walked around the pool or as they emerged Halle Berry style from the water, they were ignored as much as me or anyone else.
For the sexualised Western culture this seems almost impossible to believe and I know that if the people I am referring to were to put on bathing costumes and go for a swim in a local leisure centre they would be openly admired, possibly leered at and eyes would follow them around the water, but the culture is very much different at La Jenny; they were no different to anyone else.
We wrapped some towels around us as we left and wandered into the café to get some lunch. The only clothed people on the warm Monday were the café owners and it was surprisingly reasonable in cost. The prices were about the same as any café in Britain (and as we would later discover, France) and a world away from the high prices that CenterParcs charge their captive market.
My wife ordered (her GCSE French was better than mine) and the food was very decent, for the price. It was not haute cuisine, but then we didn't expect it to be!
We wanted to do some shopping at the local convenience store but they closed for lunch at 12:30 – just as we were arriving so we returned to the pool. I adored the skinny dipping and the kids just loved running
about and splashing!
Even as I looked around the pool, everyone looked as I expected them to, and just why I was so keen to come; everyone was smiling or laughing! There wasn't a scowl in sight (and indeed, I never saw one all week.) Again, a million miles away from our big family CenterParcs trip four weeks previous.
We lost track of time completely as we played in the pools; the kids were happy and just went from one pool to another, and played nicely. They weren't fighting or arguing, and it just felt like the weight of everyday life had been lifted from my shoulders when we disrobed.
When we returned to the villa, I had E take a photograph of me naked on our patio but with one of the wooden struts coming up in front of my waist; it was clear I was naked but “modesty” was preserved – just, and I uploaded it to Facebook before sending a text message to my work colleague. If they needed proof, what more did they need? It was “tasteful” of sorts but knew it would draw some level of raised eyebrows as I was clearly without clothing.
(I have included this photograph at the back of the book so you can judge for yourself what I sent them!)
I never understood the degree of amusement I got at work for my choice of holiday; it was a natural state for the human body and all throughout Europe, the beaches were naturist-friendly but in the environment of my IT office, it caused titillation. I know a few people thought that it was a big joke but obviously it wasn't and now they would have the proof they wanted.
I returned to the kitchen to see my wife looking up at me as she frantically searched for some cutlery – where were the spoons, and indeed the knives and forks? The villa was well provided for, with regards to the plates, cups, glasses, colanders but we couldn't find any knives and forks. They had to be somewhere but we just could not find them so we went to see the reception to ask.
The villas at La Jenny are, primarily, not actually owned by the resort. My understanding is that they sell the villas to naturists who then rent out the villas when they are not using them, fully furnished and equipped, to visitors like myself through La Jenny. Therefore, there was not a common set of furniture throughout the camp and we were advised by our friendly receptionist to check again – they had to be somewhere!
We did some shopping at the local supermarket, which again was similarly priced to our local convenience stores. We wouldn't have wanted to always shop there if we were staying at La Jenny for weeks and weeks as it would be too expensive compared to the “big” hypermarkets or supermarkets in the nearby towns, but for four days it would be fine and we would be eating out on two of the four days anyway.
I put a towel around my waist as we shopped; I was happy to be naked but around food I thought it was “right” to be covered. I was clearly not alone in this view, although some of my fellow visitors clearly did not agree as we wandered the small store confronted by those who had a towel around their waist and those who were completely naked.
We returned to the villa and still could not find the forks, but the kids were hungry and so we unpacked and got dressed before going to the restaurant. E was quite insistent that we follow the protocol of being covered up in the evenings. The restaurant and the café were adjacent and although there were a lot of naked families in the café, the restaurant was more formal.
We were half-an-hour early for the restaurant opening, so my family and I took a walk towards the beach. We were planning to go to the following day and I wanted to see where it was.
The beach at the La Jenny is outside the camp and the path to the sea follows the coastal path. Patrons are therefore advised to wear the “bare minimum” as they make their way to the beach, but we were already dressed. However, the few people that were coming the other way did not – on the whole – appear to be following that advice. The beach was naturist, the camp was naturist, crossing a non-naturist path miles from any civilisation was clearly not a big problem!
The beach was a good ten minute walk – across a wooden boardwalk and over the dunes – but it was worth it. Miles of sandy beach stretched in both directions and the sea was a deeper blue than anything I have seen on the British mainland.
My son wanted to run down and play but both E and I were tired so we walked back to the restaurant. For the first time – and only time in our entire stay – we had trouble with the French language. The menus were not in English, understandably, and we had real trouble translating them. Even E, whose grasp of the language was pretty good, could not make too much sense of their descriptions and so we ordered a meal without knowing what we would be getting.
The food was OK and was priced at that of an upmarket pub in UK. I would not have ordered what I ordered had I understood the menu, and the Creme Brulee's top was not crispy enough, but it was far better than cooking. We had been up for sixteen hours at this point and were shattered.
The kids offered no resistance to going to bed, naked of course, and E and I sat down on the patio with a glass of wine. “OK?” I asked and she just beamed at me.
“When we come back,” she told me with a smile. “We are not flying. We can come across on the boat.”
It was quite unexpected and she gave me a grin as she drank the rose wine from her glass (three litre box for nine Euros from the supermarket!). “Sure,” I replied and looked out over our little corner of the pine forest. “You like it then?”
“It's not too bad,” she told me. “Not what I expected.” It was everything I expected and more. We talked for half-an-hour as the sky went darker; E genuinely didn't mind the resort and was able to walk around outside the pool with her sarong on, which made her comfortable and the happiness shown by my two children and me was clear.
“Don't be too late,” she told me as she went inside and I still had half a glass of wine to drink; we were both tired from being up since 3am but I wanted a few more moments to think about things.
My thoughts were interrupted and I heard my wife cry out. I leapt up and came into the villa. She pointed at the table, in which there was a drawer. “Found the cutlery!”
They could not have hidden it any better and still leaving it in plain sight; the near-perfect analogy for when I got home and get asked what it was like swimming around so many naked ladies with their “bits” out. Everything is in plain sight but like Arsene Wenger, I saw nothing!
Chapter VII: Tuesday
Our first full day on the park had to start with a traditional French breakfast of croissants and fruit juice so my wife was duly dispatched to the village centre to secure sustenance from the little convenience store that stocked all manner of items, including fresh bread and pastries. My memory of the day before was that the aisles were not overly wide and when I went down with a rucksack on my back had to be careful I didn't send all sorts of things flying, but E duly arrived with the items twenty minutes after she left.
After a quick breakfast we went to the pools – and apart from the laned pool which had a couple of swimmers doing their morning exercise, we were the only people around. The reason was quite obvious the moment we got near the water; I am sure the pools are not heated, but if they are, it is only a very gradual heat and at 10am the Sun had not worked it's magic on the water. It may have been warm enough to wander around with nothing on, but the pool was most definitely cold.
My daughter shrieked and squealed as we walked down the steps to the water and I had to take the plunge and jump straight in. It was a sobering shock to the system as the cold liquid hit our shoulders and with naturism every part of your body feels the full effect of the coldness, with all that that entails.
That said it was refreshing and I got to play in the water with my wife and the children; there is a benefit to being British in that our definition of cold is certainly a few degrees cooler than our European neighbours, as we were the only family around.
Our bodies soon adjusted to the colder-than-usual temperatures and any residues I had of sleepiness evaporated in an instant. After we had spent 45 minutes braving the cold water we had a couple of games on t
he table tennis tables next to the pool (E is better at it than me) before getting some postcards and then returning to get some lunch in the villa. At this point, with the exception of the shorts and T-Shirt I wore for the meal the night before, I had been nude – apart from my sunhat and footwear – for the previous 24 hours and it just felt natural.
We had planned to spend Tuesday afternoon after lunch on the beach and it was one part of the stay I thought I would not enjoy; I have not enjoyed being on a beach since my parents took me to Jersey when I was around 13. My recollections of most British beaches are that they are cold, dirty and crowded and I thought it would be the same in France.
The beach at La Jenny is outside the park – around half a kilometre away from the centre of the village and the path to it travels along a public right of way. We were therefore “advised” to wear a minimum of clothing, but very few other residents bothered so as we meandered down, I didn't either.
The beach is popular with surfers but a small section of it was being patrolled by two well-tanned male lifeguards from La Jenny who sat in a 4x4 and we were advised to swim between the two blue flags around 150 metres apart.
La Jenny offers supervised swimming for the afternoons and when we arrived a “yellow flag” was flying (swimming dangerous but watched.) Due to this – and the fact that the lifeguards were on a small part of the beach – it had the effect of narrowing the swimmers to a small section. We saw people up and down the beach lay on their towels and reading or playing games, but the hundred or so people who were in the water, swam around the blue flags.
I enticed my children to the water but they said it was too cold and returned to my sunbathing wife, where they made “sand angels” and “cars.” The sea was most definitely not cold and my body adjusted to its warmth in no time.
Going Bare! Page 3
