So I show up, wondering if I should undress in my car before being greeted by the owners who are charming and fully dressed. Then they take me to my room. En route we pass one of the clients. I have only been to one other naturist in my life; Cap d’Agde, and there, as here, the naked truth (ha ha) is that these places do not attract the kind of people who look better undressed than dressed.
In fact it is now exactly ten years since I looked better undressed than dressed, but I don’t (normally) go around showing my buttocks to anyone who happens to be passing. Being a half-Swede I do get this nudity thing. I like wandering around starkers as much as your next Swede. In fact at our rented cottage I can often be spotted of a morning walking down to the sea and indulging in a bit of skinny-dipping. But here are the facts; the sun is shining and there are no other people about. What I don’t get about this B&B set-up, is how they can possibly find walking around naked with strangers RELAXING.
Also, it was so cold my instinct was to put more clothes on rather than take them off. But as you will see from the picture taken by the lovely and talanted (and fully clothed) Teri Pengilley, I got into the swing of things. Having said that, I was mightily relieved to get into my M&S cashmere jumper and jeans and head off the following day.
One strange side-effect was that I kept imagining all my fellow travellers on the train to Stockholm naked. There at least there were a couple of people I wouldn’t have minded breakfast with. They’re a nice-looking bunch these Swedes, as long as you like blond hair. Rather like it’s a nice place to live as long as you like yellow or red houses, and a nice place to drive as long as you like Saabs or Volvos and a good place to eat as long as you like Salmon or Meatballs. I could go on but have to have my tea now. It’s a Kanel bulle (cinnamon bun) or, er, that’s it….
Copyright:Helena Frith Powell 2008