<\/p>\n

I arrive at the entrance to the nudist colony on a beautiful late-September afternoon. It\u2019s in the mid-80 degrees Fahrenheit so I figure there will be plenty of (naked) people on the beach. I\u2019m no enthusiast, but I\u2019m here because I have to be.<\/p>\n

I just moved into an apartment in Le Cap d\u2019Agde, a small seaside town in the Languedoc-Roussillon region of south-central France, because I got a job as a teaching assistant at a local high school. The other day, a co-worker was showing me a map of the area.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is \u2018Le Village Naturiste\u2019?\u201d I asked, pointing to a little enclosed section of town just northeast of my neighborhood.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, that\u2019s the nudist colony,\u201d she said matter-of-factly. \u201cIt\u2019s the largest one in Europe.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was in a bind. I didn\u2019t exactly want to go, but I have this compulsion to explore every aspect of a culture that I can whenever I\u2019m traveling. And a nudist beach seems so quintessentially European. How could I say I\u2019d lived in Le Cap d\u2019Agde for an entire year and never saw this famous Mecca for nudists the world over, especially when it was only a 15-minute walk from my front door?<\/p>\n

Stopping at the gate, I look at the day-pass prices. Zut! I realize I didn\u2019t bring any money and, anyway, six euros seems a bit much considering I have no intention of staying long or taking off my clothes.<\/p>\n

I approach the woman at the counter. \u201cDo I really have to pay if I\u2019m just checking it out for a few minutes?\u201d She smiles and slides me a ticket. And with that, I\u2019m in.<\/p>\n

I pass parking lots and hotels as I walk toward the ocean, surprised and kind of disappointed to see that everyone around is at least partly clothed. This is downright normal, I think.<\/p>\n

But nearing the beach, I see my first naked couple walking hand-in-hand towards me. I can\u2019t keep a chuckle from escaping. I don\u2019t know where to look. I don\u2019t want to look directly at them, but I don\u2019t want to seem like I\u2019m averting my eyes. So I look straight forward and meet their gaze when they nod and say, \u201cBonjour.\u201d I wait until they\u2019re out of earshot before bursting into giggles.<\/p>\n

I find the idea of nude beaches and villages funny, impressive and disgusting all at once. Probably because I\u2019m so uncomfortable with nudity myself. Even among my American friends, I\u2019m one of the most prudish. I grew up in a conservative Midwestern household where it was less than encouraged. Add to that teenage body-image insecurities, and you get a girl who wore only one-piece swimsuits until she was 22 years old (even now it\u2019s a tankini).<\/p>\n

Still, I admire people who are carefree when it comes to their own and others\u2019 bodies, people who view nudity as what it is: natural. When I think of nudist communities, I picture hippie families gathered in the yard, grandma naked in her lawn chair and brothers-in-law discussing social issues while passing around a pipe.<\/p>\n

But I\u2019ve heard this particular naturist village isn\u2019t so innocent. You wouldn\u2019t know it from reading Le Cap\u2019s Office de Tourisme website, but the colony has gained an x-rated reputation. My French friend C\u00e9line informed me that it has become a libertine vacation spot for those specifically seeking a partner-swapping getaway. It\u2019s apparently normal for couples to go at it openly on the beach or in the discos. C\u00e9line said there\u2019s been talk for years of shutting the village down, or at least enforcing more family-friendly behavior, but the mayor opposes such efforts for the local economy\u2019s sake.<\/p>\n

I look out at the mile-long stretch of fine yellow sand dotted with nude bodies. I stroll along the path running parallel to the coastline and pass restaurants, shops, playground equipment and P\u00e9tanque courts. People ride bicycles stark naked. I think to myself that that has got to be unsanitary, not to mention uncomfortable. Many people watch me curiously (I am after all the weirdo with the clothes on). Others smile and say bonjour.<\/p>\n

A pudgy middle-aged man approaches and asks, \u201cIs this your first time in the village?\u201d I nod.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll give you a tour,\u201d he says. \u201cWhere are you from?\u201d<\/p>\n

I tell him the United States. \u201cAnd you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI live here in the village and work at the bar over there.\u201d He tells me the bar is closed until next summer like many of the other businesses. There are far fewer tourists here now than there were in August, he says, when there were close to 40,000. Most of them will leave in October.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you live here all year?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, about 300 people stay full-time.\u201d He looks down at my shirt.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t want to be naked?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUm, no, I\u2019m just looking around.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you came to look at the naked people?\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019s making me sound so creepy. \u201cI guess,\u201d I stammer.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy so shy?\u201d he teases.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just not used to it. We don\u2019t really have these in America.\u201d<\/p>\n

We continue walking. \u201cHere is the beach for families and over there is the beach for sex,\u201d he points farther down the coast. \u201cThere is also one for the gays.\u201d<\/p>\n

My expression prompts him to ask slyly, \u201cWhat, you no like sex?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot on the beach.\u201d And not with you, if that\u2019s what you\u2019re insinuating, I think.<\/p>\n

Sensing things getting weird, I say I think I\u2019ve seen enough and should go.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing tonight? I can get you into the disco for free.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo thanks,\u201d I say, walking away.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m about to turn down the road leading to the village gate when another man, this one much younger and more muscular, looks at me quizzically and asks, \u201cYou new around here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, but I was just leaving.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, let me show you around. I\u2019ll introduce you to my friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stop. I guess I really have nothing else to do today. One come-on shouldn\u2019t scare me off, right?<\/p>\n

He introduces himself as David, a 25-year-old from the biggest nearby city, Montpellier. I\u2019m guessing from his brown body that he\u2019s been here for weeks. We walk to the water\u2019s edge, dipping our feet in the sparkling sea.<\/p>\n

Now I\u2019m really among the nudes. To my right, people splash around in the waves; to my left, sunbathing adults of all ages and sizes watch children build sand castles. I\u2019m suddenly self-conscious. I\u2019m wearing a spaghetti-strap tank top and short-shorts, not exactly the epitome of Victorian modesty, but I feel like I might as well be wearing full hijab.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll be cooler if you undress,\u201d David says.<\/p>\n

I laugh at him and say I doubt it would make a difference.<\/p>\n

\u201cSuit yourself,\u201d he smirks. \u201cThere are pretty girls everywhere, but I like it here because they are all free and they all want to have sex with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

So I\u2019m looking at it: A bona fide sex tourist.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh really?\u201d I mock. It\u2019s true that of all the schlongs I\u2019ve seen today, his distinguishes itself. But the stereotypical \u201chot guy\u201d just isn\u2019t my type. \u201cMaybe not all of them,\u201d I say, and he laughs.<\/p>\n

We walk along the shoreline while he scopes out the playing field. One time, he leaves my side to petition a woman who could be tonight\u2019s lucky lady. But she replies sorry, she\u2019s married.<\/p>\n

David identifies some people up ahead as his friends, one of whom is a Russian blond he says he slept with last night. He introduces me, and I\u2019m greeted with enthusiastic bonjours and the three cheek kisses common in this French region. An Italian man hands me a sarong to sit on and David plops down next to the Russian.<\/p>\n

A Frenchman named Pierre asks me where I\u2019m from, then exclaims, \u201cMy neighbor here in the village is American. He\u2019s from New York. He\u2019s a fashion photographer.\u201d The irony does not escape me.<\/p>\n

I ask Pierre what he does for a living. He describes his work in undersea archeology, and I excitedly say that I really liked the archeology museum in Le Cap. We discuss the Roman and Greek influence in Southern France. The conversation is so normal that I soon forget the man is naked.<\/p>\n

The strong Mediterranean sun is making me sweat. If I take off my shirt, my bra will be just like a bikini top, right? I remove it and am surprised by how refreshingly cool I feel.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, so white,\u201d the Italian says, referring to my stomach which never sees daylight and is an entirely different shade than my tanned arms. \u201cLike milk.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUm, thanks,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, white is beautiful too,\u201d Pierre says. \u201cNo one judges each other here. All kinds of people can be comfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019s right, it\u2019s not like this place is filled with supermodels. There is quite a bit of flab and sag.<\/p>\n

\u201cTake the bra off too,\u201d a French woman tells me. Her voice is raspy, presumably from decades\u2019-worth of cigarettes. \u201cWhat are you afraid of?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI just don\u2019t feel comfortable,\u201d I squirm. But then again, would it be such a big deal? \u201cWell, maybe, I suppose, ok.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHere\u2019s some sunscreen.\u201d The woman scoots next to me and tugs on my bra. \u201cTake it off!\u201d<\/p>\n

I notice that people in line at an ice cream cart are watching me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell now they\u2019re all looking.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s because you\u2019re clothed,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, it\u2019s because you\u2019re yelling.\u201d She grins because she knows I\u2019m right.<\/p>\n

I take a deep breath and unfasten the hook. Everyone cheers, and I raise my eyebrow as if to say, are you happy now?<\/p>\n

We go back to chatting, about housing prices and regional accents, and everyone meets each others\u2019 eyes. After a few minutes, I don\u2019t feel embarrassed at all. The breeze feels good on my skin. At one point, I consider myself from an outsider\u2019s perspective \u2014 topless me, surrounded by naked people, mostly men, one of whom is a midget wearing only a baseball cap that says \u201cCowboys\u201d \u2014 and am hit with the hilarity of my position. I am thoroughly enjoying myself.<\/p>\n

Turning my head to look at the ocean, I see a woman performing oral sex not ten feet away. He looks kind of bored. I turn away, shocked.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes,\u201d Pierre says. \u201cSex is very open here. Half the tourists come with their families, and the rest are, how do you say in English? \u2018Swingers.\u2019 Look over there.\u201d Pierre points to a mass of men crowding around something on the ground. \u201cIn the center of the circle, they are having sex.\u201d<\/p>\n

My jaw drops. \u201cAnd people gather around them like that to watch?\u201d I ask, repulsed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes and when it\u2019s finished, sometimes they clap.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laugh. Well, this is definitely a cultural experience.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just don\u2019t know how the couple in the middle does it,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cI agree, I like it to be more private,\u201d Pierre says. \u201cBut, you know, the village is well-known throughout Europe. In the summer, couples come from countries like Germany and Russia to make love on the beach.\u201d He adds sincerely, \u201cIt is very beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n

I find that I respect his reverence for nudity and sex. While some here, like David, are just looking for their next lay, others truly enjoy the freedom from judgment and the beauty of the human body.<\/p>\n

By the time I wave goodbye to everyone, I\u2019m starting to forget why we need those pesky pieces of fabric we call clothes anyway. As I step onto the path and head towards the exit, I pass three middle-aged men, each of whom obviously and unabashedly stares at my chest. I hurriedly pull on my shirt. Oh that\u2019s right, now I remember.<\/p>\n

By Cathy Martin<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

About the Author<\/strong><\/p>\n

Cathy Martin is a traveler and aspiring writer from Madison, Wisconsin. She currently lives in southern France where she tries to convince teenagers that learning English is fun.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I arrive at the entrance to the nudist colony on a beautiful late-September afternoon. It\u2019s in the mid-80 degrees Fahrenheit so I figure there will be plenty of (naked) people on the beach. I\u2019m no enthusiast, but I\u2019m here because I have to be. I just moved into an apartment in Le Cap d\u2019Agde, a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":12962,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[2569,2049,1,2568,6,2573],"tags":[2475,21,2471,2472,2474,2473],"yoast_head":"\n