General Discussions

This is just a little travelogue to record and share some fun memories. It's not New Zealand, and it doesn't involve public nudity, so it may not be germane to the group, but a few of you may appreciate or relate to the experiences.

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My wife and I just got back from a few weeks in Italy and England, where I had hoped to find some time for nature. My wife was more interested in Italy's museums and cathedrals, but we planned a couple of days in Cinque Terre, and I had set my sights on a couple of rocky beaches there. I usually scout things out on Google Earth to find places where I might find some solitude.

I had arranged one night in Riomaggiore and a second in Vernazza. I was hoping that at least one of the villages would provide access to some sections of the coast I might enjoy au naturale, but in tourist areas like this, real solitude can rarely be assured and I didn't want to offend any local sensibilities. Attitudes about nudity are much more relaxed in Europe than where I live in the states, of course, so I wasn't really worried about getting into trouble, but I also wasn't looking to draw attention or raise eyebrows.

The first evening in Riomaggiore, I followed the stone footpath from the little harbor around to where it meets the "beach"--a rocky section of coast that, as expected, had several dozen people enjoying the late sun. On Google Earth, I had noticed another far more secluded beach just south along the coast about a quarter mile, and my tentative plan was to follow the little trail along the cliffside to it.

Unfortunately, that idea was quickly canceled when I was confronted near the beginning of the trail by a very serious fence blocking access to the path.

Figuring my chances of skinny dipping had just dropped to near zero, I made my way back down to the beach wondering whether I could get far enough away from people to find any privacy.

At the far end of the beach--my best bet--I could make out a group of people standing around on the rocks, but I set off in that direction to try my luck. As is typical, almost everyone on the beach had found the first available space and set up towels and blankets to claim their spots. After only thirty meters or so, I could see that the only others on the full length of the shore were two sunbathers a little further on, then the group at the far end. I walked past the sunbathers and could now see that the group was made up of teenage boys--probably local kids--who had been swimming in a little cove but who were now putting on shirts and shaking their hair dry. I headed their direction hoping they were on their way out. By the time I got close, they were picking up their gear and preparing to leave.

We exchanged "Ciaos" as I passed them on their way out, then I assessed the situation.

With no one near enough to worry about, I set up my camera on a little tripod then stripped down to enjoy the view.

I live in a desert these days, but I grew up in NZ and learned to swim at the beach. Any opportunity to be near the sea and relive my childhood memories exploring tide pools and feeling the sensation of weightlessness on top of the waves is a treat. The water was a little rougher than I had anticipated, but this was clearly my chance to get in without getting my swimming suit wet.

I got a little scraped on the rocks as the surf jostled me around, but the water was a perfect temperature, and navigating the swells as I floated around the little cove was delightful.

I dried off on the rocks as the sun continued its descent, the only sounds coming from the sea and a few gulls overhead.

But it wasn't long before the water beckoned again, and I had to go in for another dip.

Knowing what to expect this time, I was able to avoid more cuts and scrapes during my second swim.

No one else had ventured in my direction, so I took the rest of the evening enjoying the sunset and considering the beauty of creation as the sun went down.

Before long, there was no one left on the entire beach.

The evening turned out even better than I had dared to dream.

Next morning, I got up just as the village started to awaken to see if I could again have the beach to myself. Sure enough, there wasn't another soul around, so I had plenty of time to explore and imagine the history of this place through the years.

The surf was a little rougher than the previous evening, so I decided to forego another swim. I certainly didn't want my wife to find out I'd drowned--naked and alone--while she slept in. Instead, I enjoyed a wonderful hour and a half at the edge of the sea as the clouds scudded by and the water turned from slate to blue.

I got back in time to shower and join my wife for breakfast before it was time to checkout.

In the early afternoon, we took the local train--the only transportation besides our own two feet through this national park--and headed north to our next stop, the quintessential Ligurian village of Vernazza. I again had designs to visit the local beach, which I had read about and explored virtually.

Now, there is a little sandy bay in the harbor of Vernazza where the thousands of tourists flock every day for the picture postcard views. My daughter had told me about swimming there years before and it's where most people go if they want to swim, but I was hoping for something a little more out of the way.

I had read online that the "real" beach--again, a stretch of rugged shoreline like Riomaggiore--was only accessible through a natural tunnel under the cliffside off the main street, nestled below the colorful old buildings. Winter storms change the coastline a little every year, and I had read that this tunnel wasn't always open, but I was crossing my fingers that it would be accessible.

I found it easily enough, but it came with a clear warning to "keep out."

Having seen what the Italians will do in terms of spiked gates if they really don't want you continuing on, I wondered how serious they were. But I didn't want to test the mettle of the local polizei, so I figured I'd have to don my swimsuit if I wanted another dip. We got a sandwich and a gelato and went down to the harbor (just another hundred meters or so) to enjoy them.

I didn't get in the water until later that evening, but enjoyed a nice swim as the sun was again setting. I guessed that would be my last swim in Italy since we were headed back to Rome on an afternoon train the next day, but we would need to check out of our accommodations in the morning, and I wouldn't have anywhere to shower before the train ride.

After a delicious meal and back at our Airbnb, our hosts explained (at my request) that the sign prohibiting entrance to the beach through the tunnel was not enforced and was simply there for safety purposes. Winter storms had completely washed out the path to the beach, but they assured me I could go through the tunnel and climb around the rocks on the other side to enjoy the views. Once they'd left, I showered quickly, then made my way up to the little rooftop terrace and found it offered enough solitude to enjoy my book in the buff until it got too dark to read.

After a wonderful night listening to a thunderstorm roll through, I again got up early and headed down to take my chances going through the tunnel. There weren't many signs people had been through recently, and no one saw me enter, so I was pretty sure I was safe to remove my clothes again on the other side. Considering the rocks, the surf was still a little too threatening and unpredictable for a real swim, but I found a sheltered pool I could safely sit in as the waves came and went.

It was a rejuvenating and restorative start to our last full day in Italy.

After checkout, and with a few hours before our train, my wife set off to explore more of these beautiful villages, and I grabbed my book and headed back down to the main bay by the church and harbor. I intended to just enjoy people watching and a few more chapters of Gerald Durrell, but as the sun arced up into the sky and two more gelati didn't prove capable of cooling me off, I started to look longingly again at the water. I didn't want to get my shorts wet since there would be nowhere to change before our train, and I didn't dare try the tunnel in the full light of day with hordes of tourists wandering past. So, I walked along the water to the less occupied side of the bay and found I could quite easily scramble around the rocks until I was not only away from the crowds, but--with the help of a particularly strategic boulder--fully hidden from view.

I wedged my phone camera propped in my shoe as a makeshift tripod and stripped down once more.

No one else was venturing out as far as I had along the rocks, and in the water my state of deshabile was of no concern to anyone, so I cooled off for a good twenty minutes before drying off and making my way to the train station to meet up with my wife.

An early morning flight the next day took us to England where I hoped to explore a couple of the wild swimming holes described so deliciously in books like Waterlog by Roger Deakin and The Naked Hermit by Nick Mayhew-Smith.

Unfortunately, my wife was feeling a little poorly, and we didn't venture out as far or frequently as we'd hoped. Our second-to-last day in the Cotswolds, she felt up to a drive, so we navigated our way through some thatched-roof villages, stopping at used book shops--more Gerald Durrell!--and a local gastro pub for lunch. Since she still had energy and was feeling a little better, I suggested a visit to St. Kenelm's Church in Minster Lovell where I had read one could find a secluded spot along the Windrush River for a swim.

She wanted to explore the ruins and the church and wander through the graveyard, so she sent me on my way off through the fields to the wooded riverside. There were a few people here and there, but it was easy enough to find a bend in the river away from the trail where I could slip into the startlingly chilly water and let the current carry me a little while before returning and drying off.

Now I'm back in my desert--it was 40° C here yesterday--but I'm holding on to these memories of soaking in the beauty of creation.

And as it happens, tomorrow is World Naked Hiking Day, so maybe I'll need to venture out again...