Nudist camp. What a quaint old expression!
I just saw it used (again) in one of the games, here, in the forums, on Redbubble.
If you’ve had a look at some of my pictures, you’d realise that I embraced the ‘lifestyle’ some time ago. Actually, as usual, after it really was at the height of its popularity.
At that stage, I’d heard rumours (in the mid seventies) that there was a legal nude beach, at Watsons Bay. But I had no idea where.
I now look after the website of a nudist resort, or more accurately, a naturist retreat. I have been escaping there for at least fifteen years. It is not a camp. It offers guests a variety of accommodation, cabins, caravans, a place to put tents etc.
As usual, I sat back a little while and before I knew it I was the Vice-president of the Free Beach Association of NSW. Its newsletter editor. Its webmaster. It gave me a chance to use the skills that I’d developed, now that I could no longer go to work.
My former colleagues discovered in an interesting way that I’d got involved in this pastime, when They opened their newspapers, one Sunday and saw me sitting, in the centre of a full page advertisement (My white hair rather conspicuous!) next to the latest Volkswagen, which promised to accommodate ALL shapes and sizes.
That full day, being ‘models’ for that advertisement was an interesting experience, i.e., being with a mixture of people who were and were not used to being in the nude with strangers.
By then, I was so used to it, I wandered off to the other parts of the building, only just remembering to cover up while passing through the reception area where people were delivering parcels and carrying on with daily business.
You may have seen the resulting photo in the Qantas magazine and the Men’s Health magazine.
This day had nothing to do with quaint old nudist camps, from the twenties and thirties.
Nor did the day, when we were extras for the film, that students were producing, which they called: The Bottom Line, set in an office where people were supposed to work better because they were naked.
The city at Cap d’Agde, where everyone is nude, is certainly not a ‘camp’. It is a city, with a post office, restaurants, shops, small supermarkets, police, hotel, etc.
I stayed in the hotel. I was there for three days. It did not feel like a ‘camp’. Forget that concept. Each day I wandered past the boats / yachts, moored near the park and past all the units to the beach, and read the Da Vinci Code (Like so many others that year. I started it, on the plane. Just like the man beside me.)
Every so often I would look up at all the people walking past. If they weren’t dipping their toes into the Mediterranean Sea, there, they were strolling beside the water, in their hundreds.
I could not afford the high season rates. I booked into the hotel, in the ‘shoulder season’. The water was still a bit cool. It was just before the mid-summer school holidays.
At lunchtime I chose one of the two open-air restaurants closest to the beach and, on advice from home, ordered salads and wine (I wasn’t driving anywhere.).
I loved the mix of patrons. My high school French was rudimentary. The waiter wasn’t sure whether I understood French or preferred English or even Dutch. It was amusing to be able to understand the Dutch conversations, wafting across. I had a great conversation with an English bus driver who was sitting at the table beside me.
I had been made welcome by an American couple the day after I arrived, because, they knew my friend, Bob. Everyone knows Bob!
They were having a welcome to Cap d’Agde party that evening and I was invited too.
Please don’t think of us as playing volleyball or other quaint 1920s games. I stayed out on the balcony most of the evening because I could interest three Dutch couples in my knowledge of Australia.
When I went to refill my glass, the fellow beside me said: “Don’t I know you?”
He did. He’s a Welshman. Owns a mobile home in the resort. Goes there regularly. Had been to Sydney to visit Bob and that’s how we knew each other.
Naturists (nudists) don’t go to ‘camps’ any more. They don’t get ‘excited’ just because they take their pants off.
However, unfortunately, it’s not as though, by taking their clothes off, nudists / naturists suddenly start tiptoeing through the tulips being pure and only nature loving.
Sadly, e.g., Cap d’Agde does have its share of visitors to DRESS up in ‘sexy clothes’ and get excited. Personally, I find that fine, in its place. It helps make the world go round.
But the freedom of just being in nature, or sitting by the harbour naturally, or relaxing on the beach with out a wet cozzie, is just perfect for me.
But if you prefer retaining the concept of ‘nudist camps’ with walls to peek over, why not? To each his own!
Enjoyed Hotel Eve!