Anyway enough of labels for now; as per the previous blog we only picked the Naturist camp because it was close to Cartagena. We both had to decide to bite the bullet and get our kit off, which quite frankly once you’ve done it is a doddle ... it’s that getting in cold water syndrome again ... difficult at first and then you wondered why you took so long. The campsites population is mostly olds in early retirement, overwintering (generally in the buff weather permitting).
What else is there to say? We could have been prudes and stayed dressed or in minimal clothes most of the time, but we decided that it was easier to avoid funny looks by just immersing ourselves in the novelty of walking around the place naked ... we did however constantly titter and prattle on to each other about the sights we saw ... photos will not be forthcoming. We did see a couple on the beach posing on rocks and in the water, but there is clearly an unspoken etiquette that you don’t photograph the wider world ... and frankly and being a bit crude who wants to see some octanegerians knee length ball bag in a photo (comes to us all eventually no need for pictures).
Naturists have a word for those outside of the Naturist circles: Textiles. I’m usually a Textile, I go to Textile beaches. It doesn’t matter what scene you fringe, they always have a word for people not in their club. On the S&M/Fetish; those into S&M call those that aren’t into S&M `Vanillas’ as an example. And I used a sexual orientation on purpose, because while we’ve been here, and once you’re able to see the threads in the tapestry of life, you get to know when feelers are being sent out. Mostly it’s all been innocent, families and old folks spending their days not creating piles of washing. However from certain quarters came probes, and from one person a direct point to a pair of Swingers to nod politely to but avoid in depth conversation .... for fear of creating `confusion’.
I’ve been around the Fetish scene during my misspent youth, and the less than discreet probes naturally came from single men on the prowl. It is a shame because it knocks the carefree easy living image off centre when you’re aware that the friendly advice and banter is getting risqué, and that that bloke giving you a lift into town to do shopping has his eye on half a chance you’ll either share your missus ... or worse oneself and or oneself and ones missus. Needless to say like the mercenaries we’ve become, we took the lift to the shops, got home prepped our gear for an early departure and left the next day for our current mooring in the hills of Mojacar.
We had a relatively fantastic time at the Naturist camp, we were evangelised to by the self appointed `everyone’ should be a naturist, and I only talk about naturism bloke (again). We spent a bit too much time in the bar, on a quiz night, a music evening, and just because we didn’t shop well enough before we got there and the nearest supermarket was miles away, so we only had minimal fresh food.
The upshot is: if we had no other destination that would get us close to what we wanted to see or be near, we would do it again. However we would be much wiser to the probes from the get go, and would probably not be so friendly or open. On the other foot of that statement, the Naturist camp had a proper buzz to it, it was busy, friendly and the partisan lines between countries were entirely absent.
So if Angela Merkel and the Brussels brigade want Europe to harmonize before the `Fucking Freezing Cold Day in Hell’ mentioned in the previous post `The Romance of Travel’, they’ll get their kit off ASAP and ban clothes in western Europe.
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| The Author Demonstrating Naked Atop a Cliff at El Portus |
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