Life's a Beach

by Katherine Smyrk (Australia)

A leap into the unknown Spain

The horn blared, cutting through the hot, thick air. We all started running towards the sea. There was the sound of bare feet slapping sand and legs swishing through shallows. The water was cold and clear. I realised that I was grinning. There were people all around me, jumping and splashing and diving gleefully into the gentle waves. A drone flew overhead and we all waved, whooping and shouting. Oh, and everyone was completely naked. The people of Vera Playa had set out to achieve something big: to break the Guinness World Record for World’s Largest Skinny Dip. The standing record, held by New Zealand, was 506 people. The organisers of the event had little doubt they would get the numbers. The town of Vera Play, nestled in the dry, southeastern corner of Spain, is a “naturist” community – a haven for nudists seeking out the liberal laws and temperate climate of Spain. The beach and the land immediately behind it – including all the hotels, bars and restaurants – are official naturist zones. In Spain there is no law against public nudity. Technically you can disrobe anywhere in this fine country and be completely within your rights. But the year-round sun of the Almeria region is a draw for a lot of people, particularly expats from England and Germany, where the laws around nudism are much stricter. The Spanish Naturist Federation states that nudity is not inherently sexual by itself – this is a myth propagated by a society obsessed with clothing. The Federation actually lists 205 reasons for practicing naturism, including promoting sexual health, and combatting body shame and eating disorders. When I first arrived in this little coastal town, I felt awkward, thrilled, clumsily unsure of the etiquette; should I take my clothes off before I got out of the car, once I was in the marshalled area, or just before we went into the water? At the first sight of a man walking casually down the road in sneakers, a cap and nothing else, I had to suppress a childish urge to giggle. But before long, the nudity seemed completely normal. Almost banal. People of all ages – with tattoos, piercings, surgery scars, pot bellies, washboard abs and everything in between – were standing around chatting, looking very comfortable in their deeply tanned skin. We all filed through the marshalling tent and then were split into groups of 50 stretching out along the wide, curving beach. The sun was blisteringly hot and the thought of being totally exposed was fairly unappealing, but I began to feel more strange wearing clothes than not. So I did it. I took off my clothes and sat down on the sand. Nobody laughed, pointed or jeered. Nobody really paid attention at all. A little later, two middle-aged Spaniards offered me some welcome shade under their umbrella. We chatted about learning languages, Australia’s dangerous animals, the Spanish economy and, before long, I forgot that we were all naked. They translated for me as the organisers made announcements. For some time the number of attendees languished at a dismal 200 people. “Just wait, Spanish people are always late,” said one of my new friends. And sure enough, as the clock ticked closer to the deadline, the numbers started to surge. “406 people, we only need 100 more...” “507 people, and we’ve beaten the record!” The huge group of naked people cheered. “600 people.” “634 people.” “702 people. No, wait…729 people!” To make it official for the Guinness Record, our group had to stay in the water for two minutes, but most of us chose to stay in for much longer, splashing through the cool, clear water like happy dolphins. Afterwards, everybody just walked around, chatting, shaking hands and generally looking thrilled. A sense of naked camaraderie was in the air as people put on their hats, sunglasses and shoes, but left the rest off. At the end of the day, I had not decided to renounce the “textile world” forever. But as I said goodbye to my new friends, wandering through this community of happy, proud people, I felt a little reluctant to put my clothes back on.