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nudists in switzerland
family nudism 
What the Swiss are doing when they're
not cutting their cheese. When
I was twelve and full of all
sorts of mischief, my father decided to move our family from low-lying
California to
alpine Switzerland. I was a beach boy at heart. I wanted California girls and a
Corvette. Or the new Mustang. To me, Switzerland was filler for the National
Geographic. I couldn't have cared less about the place, and it was precisely
where we were headed. Everyone was excited except me: there was no surf in
Switzerland. We had several months to adjust to the idea before the movers came.
Then, in the space of one day, our California life was packed into a single ocean
container. We were off to the land of cuckoo-clocks and chocolate.
After settling into our new
home (Montreux, ninety kilometers from Geneva) I set out to discover what
Europe was all about. I received a bus pass along with a map, and an allowance
of twenty francs a week. Back then kids were free to roam, and roam I did,
anywhere the buses went. Admittedly, my adventures enjoyed somewhat limited
geography.
The first thing kids do in summer is go to the beach, even
in Switzerland, in spite of all those
Alps everywhere demanding attention. After a few weeks of staring at the Alps,
you can't imagine not having them out the window. If you're from Ohio, you
can't imagine going back. The Alps loom over you even from a great distance,
and their shadows darken the waters of Lake Geneva, along the shores of which
sat Montreux. Facing the city from a bateaux a loue, you can see the city
beaches to your left.The first thing a teenage boy
from California notices when visiting a beach is teenage girls. The Swiss variety
look more or less like all the rest, only they are uniformly blonde, healthy
looking and resolutely polite. As for the beach along the lake shore, it didn't
compare to the Atlantic Ocean. The water was frigid (fed by glaciers), which
didn't bother the aggressive fairy-tale swans that menaced your toes if you left
them unattended.
 Whereas
Americans often travel to their destinations already suited for whatever
purpose the destination serves, the Swiss have a mode of dress for every
activity, including bus travel, and one mode doesn't mingle with the other.
Thus warned, as we took two city buses to get to our destination, we carried
our suits and towels in a bag. We thought it was silly. When you go to the
beach in California, you wear your suit all the way there and back, even
through non-beach
areas of town. We thought the Swiss were perhaps a bit stodgy, but went along
with it. Upon arrival at the beach, we headed for the changing
area.Now, here in the seventh
paragraph, you're beginning to wonder what this article has to do with family
nudism. We're getting there, but this set-up is important.
Once we arrived at the
changing area (I was with my brother at the time) we noticed 1) the Swiss made
no distinction between genders when it came to changing areas and 2) there were
no doors.
What the hell? Upon entering a
large facility lined wall-to-wall with lockers we immediately noticed fifty or
so cheese-loving Swiss citizens in varying stages of undress, exchanging their
bus-riding clothes for the beach-going variety. Mothers and sons, daughters and
fathers, brothers and sisters, and small groups of both sexes were involved in
an act of mass nudity. In their quiet midst were two stunned and disbelieving
American teenage males. Life couldn't have been better, and we suddenly loved
Switzerland.
 This was the first time I had
seen bras and panties properly animated (not simply sitting lonesome in a
drawer, or in the J.C. Penny catalogue). Imagine the shock of seeing them in the
act of being applied or removed. Imagine the wonder at what their absences
revealed.When one is young and male,
one prays for a certain flaccidity in these situations. Unfortunately, no
miracle arrived to undo natural hormonal tendencies. We were forced to retreat
to a cafe sitting atop the changing area. Brothers have non-verbal strategies in
situations involving anything to do within their shorts, and this was one of
them.
At home no one acknowledged
having genitals, and we'd just left a room full of them. This new strategy would
take some adjustment. The act of completely stripping and dressing in a coed
locker room is a wonderfully titillating dilemma (more in the mind than
elsewhere), the sort of problem one wishes would come along with greater
frequency.
For one, it's hard to pay attention to what you're doing
while giving your full attention to what others are doing. The fact that these
rosy-cheeked teenage wonders lollygagged in their underpants and brassieres
while neatly folding each garment as it came off forced upon us a new
appreciation for tidiness. The best thing is, though you get used to it, you
never lose your
fascination. And you're are not invading anyone's privacy because there is
none available. You don't stare, but you do notice, and there is no harm in
being observant. We made frequent visits to the changing area (it was easy to
look purposeful, it was the only way to get to the toilets). We drank Cokes in
prodigious volume to support this habit.
Now, this little example of
immodesty has nothing to do with nudism per se. The gentle Swiss used in this
example had nothing on their minds other than changing their clothes. As with
everything else, they were efficient and, as all Swiss tend to be, private and
modest in their own way. No one lingered over the task, or found reason to be
there unless they were in fact changing or visiting the other facilities (which
did have doors and were segregated). Their communal nudity was merely
functional, simply a state we all endure when changing our clothes. No big deal
(once you become accustomed). I quickly acclimated.
That winter I was sent off to
ski school in Zermatt and a second awakening. Common to most of the ski area
hotels and even the larger pensions are bath houses and saunas, which are
non-segregated and avidly enjoyed. What could be better after a long day of
skiing in the Swiss Alps?
Of course, no one in his or
preferably, her right mind wears clothing into a sauna, plunge pool or steam
room. One would be mad to do so (still, the Swiss would not comment). And why
build two facilities when one will do? Certainly there is no shame to enjoying
the revitalizing habit of a sauna and steam bath in the nude, even in mixed
company, even in the presence of your children.
I don't think the Swiss give
it a second thought. Communal nude bathing (the horror!) is as natural to them
as having a slice of viande seche. Of course, for certain activities you must be
naked, no matter what your shape or size. Imagine.
Imagine indeed. A family
enjoying a sauna and frigid plunge pool or romp in the snow is hardly a
perversion, though there are some who find the idea immensely repugnant. The
truth is, Europeans have had centuries to become immensely sensible about their
bodies. They don't mind having them.
 In
the mid-1960s a starlet posed topless in St. Tropez. It made a few headlines
in the European tabloids, but more was made of it in the States. By the late
1960s, topless beaches took hold all over Europe, and no one seemed to mind.
As the years passed, bottoms disappeared too. Now, nearly every beach in
Europe has at least a portion laid aside for people who prefer to sun and swim
in the all-together. The families that enjoy them look just like the families
here except they're naked, with breasts and bottoms fully blessed by the sun.In the U.S. we seem to prefer
pale bosoms and behinds (recall that precious Coppertone ad and Playboy circa
1965, before the horrifying advent of pubic hair).
So the Europeans are not as
most of us already know picky about who views their particulars, whether within
families or among strangers. A body is a body and whether it's beautiful or a
temple of unimaginable proportion, it is what it is. Spending an hour in a room
full of naked people is not sexually arousing. Actually, you sometimes begin to
imagine everyone with their clothes on, if you're looking at all. Interestingly,
clothing suddenly seems sexy. In the flesh we have no secrets.
Family nudism in Europe is
really a misnomer. Simply put, there are activities better done in the buff,
whether alone or in groups, among family, friends or foreigners. Yes, there are
purist nudist resorts in Europe (particularly Eastern Europe), though not in the
number you may have been led to believe. But their activities seem wholesome
(compared to Hedonism II, for example) and harmless.
Sex is an intimate and private
enjoyment, and our bodies know nothing of it unless we engage our imaginations.
Yes, the sight of a beautiful naked woman (or man, depending on your preference)
may produce degrees of desire, perhaps even an embarrassing quiver. Why not? It
happens among clothed people all the time. No harm is done unless you display an
amazing lack of courtesy. Even European teenage boys know when to divert their
attention, or remove themselves if incapable of controlling their avid hormones.
In truth, they seem invariably nonchalant about the whole
Naked
Girl in Nature Russian thing.
In short, labeling a casual
attitude toward nudity as anything but that serves no useful purpose. We are all
nudists before we get our clothes on. Some of us aren't in a rush.
If a family has no hang-ups
being in the buff in a communal atmosphere,
they're not nudists, particularly in the American
sense of the word. Nor are they perverts.
They're simply naked.
A. Mobley
from "a nudist
magazine on the web"
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Miami Nude
Beach Nudity, Please Read!
There's something liberating about the antic of being naked. The
freedom. The exhilaration. The lack of pocket lint. Unfortunately, for
most people the notion of nudity requires some rationale - no matter how
silly that rationale may be. Streaking across a football field.
Skinny-dipping in a lake. Mooning for the camera. Photocopying your
butt. Playing naked Twister. Flashing a nun after sixth-period class,
hoping she didn't recognize you and isn't at this instant phoning your
parents. For most people, it's all about the naughty thrill of getting
caught or exposing a private part. But not for all. No, for many it's
perfectly routine, as normal and natural as, say, kissing hands or shaking
a baby.
Nude beaches are the perfect denominators for these two groups, the
puritans and the pure exhibitionists, the fakirs and the non-fakers. Think
of it as a big game of strip poker where everybody has crappy hands. The
thing to remember is that nude sunbathing isn't about sex or exhibitionism
- we'll leave that to the nudist colonies and Courtney Love. Nude
sunbathing is about elation and free-spiritedness (and avoiding wedgies
and ugly tan lines).
I've made the trek to No Clothes Land many a time. I've dropped trou in
Europe, where it's no big deal - heck, even the Royal Family has displayed
a boob or two (not counting Prince Charles). Black's Beach in San Diego
is world famous for nude sun worshipping. And, of course, here in Miami,
we have Haulover Beach.
One of the misconceptions about nudity is that every human body is
beautiful (Right). The key to inoffensive nude sunbathing is to do just
that - sunbathe. Do not play volleyball in the buff. No grilling or
barbecuing. Even if your Playgirl's Mr. January, do not perform an oil
and air filter change on your auto while naked. An watch the jogging -
you could poke somebody's eye out.
Nude beachgoers often have their social cliques and routines. They picnic
and fraternize, and they love to mingle. Zoiks. These people who sashay
up and down the beach wearing nothing but a smile and a spare tire are the
same folks you find in the receiving line at a wedding wielding a business
card and a can of Binaca.
When I venture to Haulover, I stick close to my blanket or hit the water.
I don’t wander about. It’s like you want to work the room, but there’s
no place to put your hands and no appropriate place to hang your Walkman.
(Plus, you feel like you’ve gone to a party and everyone’s wearing the
same thing.) Personally, I happen to like being naked. It’s never
bothered me. I often get home from work, disrobe, and sit naked on my
couch eating cereal. (Did I just cross the line of too much information?)
Some people are uncomfortable naked. I’m not. What I do have a problem
with, however, is being ugly and naked. Statistics show that the number
of people who enjoy nude sunbathing is proportionate to those who should
put something on. Like a tarp. Or one of those tents that they use when
they’re debugging a house. That one of the reasons why I prefer the
sanctity of my blanket. I can feign sleep (or death, if necessary) should
some naked old man approach me and start to discuss today’s undertow as he
squats liberally in front of me.
Sunscreen: I’d be remiss if I didn’t stress the importance of proper
protection. Those regions that rarely see the light of day are the first
to succumb to the sun’s deadly rays. Hence, watch your behind, or your
buns will be toast. As for – how do I say this politely – garnishing your
weenie, yes, your little buddy needs sunblock, but remember, you’re in
public. There a fine line between safety and pleasure when applying
lotion to Mr. Happy. I’ve seen guys go at it like they’re greasing a fire
pole. So take it easy. Don't make things hard on yourself.
When it comes to accessories, there are certain things you should and
should not bring to a nude beach. Telescopes and binoculars are definite
no-nos. You may think of this as a ball game, but I’m sure the Red Sox
would beg to differ. Likewise with a camcorder – carrying a video camera
at a nude beach is the pervert’s equivalent of driving by a schoolyard
with a van full of candy. As for ready, avoid books with titles like
Justice of the Piece. Stick to Field and Stream, Reader’s Digest or the
Gideon Bible. Sunglasses are a must. If you’re gonna ogle, at least do
it behind your Maui Jims.
As for your random beach bump-ins, there are obvious encounters. Besides
bodies that you’d rather not see naked, piercings are immensely popular.
Popular, I surmise, because they’re in places that wouldn’t necessarily
be exposed at Publix (unless you shop at the new one by the bay). I’ve
seen nipples that look like parachute rip cords.
And below the belt, I’ve seen piercings that made me recoil. (Come to
think of it, I’ve seen coils down there, too.) And little napkin rings.
And something called a Prince Albert. I’ve seen less metal at a gun
show. And shaving. Hmmmm. Apparently trimming the hedges has become all
the rage. Some folks go for the close cropping; others like it smooth. I
haven’t seen topiary this creative since I was at the Botanical Gardens.
Nude sunbathing can be a kick, an exciting way to liven up an otherwise
dull day at the beach. For the ladies, it means being able to wear a
sundress without worrying about unsightly strap lines. For the guys, it
means there’s no need to adjust the boys: it’s a wind sock now. For all
of us it means an escape, a break from our daily worries and cares, a
moment’s freedom where less is so much more – except when it comes to that
sunscreen.