Beach promenading



With the sea closed for bathing, a morning ‘promenade’ of the naturist beach is the first action of the day. Sylvia and I were heading down to the beach earlier when we ran into neighbours from a few apartments away. I don’t often appear to be in the resort at the same time as this Dutch couple, who speak excellent English, but they’ve been here this week and of course Sylvia has been happy to chat away to them.

When we reached the beach Sylvia and Sanne, the wife of the couple, decided that cafe con leche, milky coffee, was preferable to a stroll, leaving Johannes and myself to walk to the naturist beach’s boundary. Cheeky Sylvia also snapped the photo (above) as we headed off, and others as we returned…but I’m not going to post those! 🙂

It should provide a sense of the unspoilt naturist beach here, though.


How drunk did I get, Sylvia?

Oh, my goodness! 😦

How drunk was I?

I don’t really get drunk. I like a glass of wine (singular) with a meal from time to time. We sometimes pop open a bottle on a Friday night while I’m logged in and we enjoy Sunshine’s ‘world music’ at Commune Utopia. So that’s a couple of glasses at most, enough to make me ‘tiddly’. That’s my limit. I don’t go beyond it.


I’ve also done St. Juan’s night before and certainly run naked into the sea at midnight, like so many other people, many of whom would not identify themselves as naturist. But it’s a big night in this part of the world, and there is much drinking and partying going on.

I’m repeating myself in what I’m about to say, but it’ll save you prowling the archives…at midnight, on St Juan’s night, you throw a pebble over your shoulder into the sea, turn around three times and then walk backwards, naked, into the sea and your wishes will be fulfilled.

I’ve done it in the past. I did it again last night. However (the Sylvia influence!) we ended up in a hippy beach bar with a band, world music and reggae playing on the sound system, the heady odour of ganja in the air, and very strong Mojitos!

Bonfires are also lit right along the beach.

As they die down, people run and jump over them. Sometimes naked people run and jump over them. I’ve no idea if jumping over the fire provides an extra layer of luck, dressed or naked, but lots do it.

And this year….yikes!!!…drunk!!!…it was my turn! Naked.

As I say, I’ve previously undressed and taken a midnight dip, but as soon as I’m out, the clothes go back on. This year was so very different it’s almost as if it wasn’t me.

On exiting the sea we (Sylvia was in too) decided not to dress. We weren’t alone. There were a few naturists (or non-naturists who’d simply gone naked, it’s very much a time for greatly diminished inhibitions even by non-naturists) at each bonfire on the beach. So far, so good.

We weren’t dressed in much to begin with. Just sun dresses we could throw off and on, in anticipation of our midnight dip. Sylvia says I simply handed her my dress and then I ran and jumped over the fire!

I wasn’t alone. Others were doing that too, so at least I have the knowledge that this wasn’t an entirely solo performance.




The sign on the beach says it all…’Paradise, 0 kms’

Sylvia took photos. When I wandered back over to where she was she handed me the clothes, instructed me to take photos (I was still unaware she’d taken photos of me at this point) and leapt over the dying fire herself while I snapped away.

I’ve seen the photos this morning. Blurred in some, and taken on my digital compact. Unfortunately I’ve forgotten to bring the cable that connects the camera to the computer with me, so I can’t upload any of these until I get home.

Still, the bonfire photos should (eventually) give you a flavour of how it was on St. Juan’s night. To replicate the events of last night, I’ve done one (at Su Casa) to capture an SL replicated flavour of it all. I have to say the flamenco music was excellent and went beyond 100am. By the time we left, still naked and now in a strict minority of two, the party was still in full swing.

ella bonfire st juan_001b

This morning, I’m a bit hungover (a relatively rare, and certainly not recent experience) but also a bit, secretly thrilled to have done something like that.

We’re not off to the sea for our early morning dip this morning. Only after we exited the sea were we informed there was an algae bloom in the water, with no swimming permitted until Saturday, because it causes respiratory issues and cold-like symptoms. So if I’m not posting next week, or later this week, you know it’s because I’ve been laid low by sickness



Postcards from Spain: 2015/1, Day 1, A bit of a shock


I landed in Alicante earlier today, and then had to hang around for 90 minutes in the airport until Sylvia’s flight arrived. Next week it will be her who plays the waiting game, as I’ll be flying home while she hangs around waiting for her flight.

90 minutes wait was fine. I texted home to let them know I’d arrived safely, then killed time with a couple of cups of coffee. I don’t like coffee much, being much more of a tea person, and getting proper tea -English breakfast tea- is a tough ask in an airport. Much easier in resort, where there’s enough of an ex-pat community to understand what you mean by ‘a pot of tea’. 🙂

So it was a couple of cups of over-priced decaffeinated coffee and a ‘read’ of a Spanish newspaper. After several years holidaying in the country, I can usually flick through El Pais and pick up the gist of the stories, even though my Spanish is rudimentary.

I’d pre-arranged to meet Sylvia at the baggage carousels when her flight arrived. She recognised me although she was…almost unrecognisable when she came running up and gave me a hug! The person I remembered, and re-imagined for SL purposes a couple of weeks ago has changed quite a bit.

sylvia C

My SL re-imagining of Sylvia as I recall her the last time we met in RL.


sylvia B


Once we’d driven up to the resort and were getting settled in, I had to hop onto SL in order to revise my re-imagining of her for this week’s ‘Postcards from Spain’ series.

Her hair is almost shaved at the side now, a more masculine (to my eyes) kind of look. We unpacked and undressed…well, we undressed in our respective bedrooms first and then started the process of unpacking. And I put the kettle on. Yes, more tea.

Tea made, bags unpacked and clothes removed, we sat in the shade, on the terrace, for a further catch up; the two hour drive from Alicante was a constant buzz of us talking that still isn’t exhausted. We shared photographs, memories, and laughter before Sylvia opted for a bit of a lie down, leaving me here on my own, and not feeling exhausted for once. Often, I find travelling exhausting but I feel absolutely alive right now.

I had a quick rummage around the SL blogosphere and, courtesy of Julianna Seriman at the Fab Free blog, I spotted this long tank, which is on sale (L$49) at Mrs. B’s Designs. Intended to be worn with a matching denim skirt, according to Julianna’s review, I opted not to purchase the skirt 😉 because this is very much something that can be worn as nightwear and, in my current circumstances, early morning day-wear for that early morning trip to the beach, and maybe an early morning skinny dip (depending on the waves). I have, indeed, packed something similar for nightwear purposes this holiday, and so I’ve opted to model it as I may do tomorrow morning on the playa.

ella sunrise long tank_001bc

Photo taken at Su Casa Naturist

In a departure from the usual ‘what I saw today’ postings that form the basis of the ‘Postcards’ series, I’ve decided that what I’ll try to add into them when I post is a secondary theme, ‘How I stocked my holiday wardrobe after the airline lost my suitcase’. It has happened to me before. Fortunately, it happened when returning home. My plane landed at Manchester, my suitcase in L.A!

There’s such a lot of great summery things around at the moment that I would like to imagine the need to head out with a credit card in order to be able to quickly build a wardrobe. Even naturists need clothes!

I’ve no idea what we’re doing for the rest of the evening. I may get on to SL a little later. Oddly enough, I find that my in world time increases when on holiday. The blog has one focus, the ‘Postcards’ series, and I can concentrate on merely replicating what I’ve seen in a RL naturist context during the day.






My nude debut : Sylvia

As I’ll be on holiday with Sylvia, I thought that I’d get her to tell us a bit more about herself. She’s not an SL player, so the photos we’ll be using are from one of my alts, the ‘Eve’ that gets rolled out a couple of times a year. I’ve tried to create a bit of a resemblance to the real life Sylvia in terms of hair length and colour, and also in terms of her style (which isn’t the easiest thing in the world to do on an ‘alt’ I don’t wish to spend money on).

sylvia style1


The photo I used yesterday in introducing her wasn’t quite her style, as I recall. A forty year old woman doesn’t really go out in booty shorts and nothing but a bra under her jacket. 🙂

The leather studded jacket was, however, very much ‘Sylvia style’. It certainly was the last time I saw her in real life, paired up with a shirt and a pair of jeans. Going bra-less with a tank top is also something that would qualify as ‘Sylvia style’.

I’ve not spoken to her in advance of relating her nude debut, but we’ve spoken enough of it in the past for me to be able to describe it.

As is the case for many of us, a car offers our teenage selves the chance to spread our wings in terms of independence, and so it was when Sylvia and her contemporaries began to drive. In the UK, almost everyone begins to learn to drive when they turn 17, and many people will be given a set of driving lessons for their 17th birthday. This was how it was for me, although it’s rather daunting learning to drive in central London! In Europe, people aren’t quite so eager to learn to drive as soon as possible, it seems, and certainly the proliferation of bicycles in Amsterdam, and the compact nature of the city means that many teenagers still prefer to use their bikes, only learning to drive when it becomes necessary, such as getting a place at a university some distance from home, or else when it seems that a job will require it.

A group of friends decided to spend a day at the seaside when one of them got a car, but Sylvia says that it wasn’t even planned as a beach day, they just drove out of Amsterdam and headed north, eventually stopping at a beach called Callantsoog. None of the party were aware it was a naturist beach. After much giggling at the sight of the naturists on the beach, typical teen bravado and dares were offered.

After much ‘I will if you will’ challenges, coupled to the fact that it was unplanned, so no one had brought towels or swimwear, the mixed group began to encourage one another. As Sylvia remembers it the entire group had stripped down to their underwear on a scorching hot day, and they thought that a swim seemed to be a delightful thought. Go into the sea wearing underwear? Someone logically said that, when back out, they’d have to sit in the car in damp underclothes all the way back to Amsterdam, and it didn’t seem an attractive proposition to any of them. Besides, if they all returned to their clothes, they’d have to remove their underwear to get the rest of their clothes on again to avoid this discomfort on the trip back home. And as it was a naturist beach, and they’d been observing naturists for almost an hour now, didn’t it make sense just to go nude like everyone else?

For me, I think it would have been a daunting prospect. Going nude in front of strangers would certainly be easier than going nude in front of friends you’d known for years. Maybe you quietly liked that guy, or that girl, imagined what it would be like to kiss them, hug them, dance with them, make love with them. Going naked in front of them? Would it not wholly change the nature of the relationship? I say this because I’ve never experienced it in real life. Yes, I’ve seen several female friends fully naked when we’ve taken our children swimming, but I’ve never been in that situation regarding male friends. Of course, I’ve subsequently met naked people on holidays and they’ve become friends, but there’s a different perspective there. What’s your take on this? Would you find it more daunting to strip off in front of someone you’ve known for years as opposed to a total stranger?

Eventually, our little Dutch group did strip naked and run to the sea, hands covering as much as they could manage. By the time they emerged from the waves, all sense of feeling bashful appears to have gone, and they lay around naked on the sand until they’d dried off, after which they dressed and headed home.

For Sylvia, it appears to have been a cathartic moment, and the realisation that she loved the range of feelings being naked outside provided. While her friends saw it as a one-off, wild, teenage experience and a bit of a giggle, Sylvia determined to repeat the experience, pretty much on a weekly basis, for the remainder of her summer holidays, often travelling to Callantsoog alone to spend a couple of hours sunbathing and swimming nude, feeling more relaxed about the experience of being naked outdoors with each subsequent visit. It was on one of these day trips she got into conversation with an elderly couple, she told me, who spoke of their naturist club. Sylvia subsequently joined the club herself, and was thereafter able to enjoy winter-time naturist swims in Amsterdam.

Thus, we reached a point where Sylvia was a confident and ‘experienced’ naturist. I, about 18 months younger than her, was still probably unaware of any such lifestyle and had no idea how much of a role it would play in my life. The rest, you know about. My uncle’s friend owned a cafe in Cap D’Agde, and was looking for staff for the summer. My uncle suggested Sylvia and, in turn, I got invited along.

The instant we got there, Sylvia eagerly went naked when she could, mostly in our apartment. Not that she was afraid of being naked in public, more that neither of us were aware at that time of the naturist etiquette. She would most certainly have walked naked to and from our apartment before and after work, but it took us a couple of weeks to accept it was normal for us to do so at 100am, and walk nude the distance between the cafe and our cramped little apartment.

That first day off we had, Sylvia walked confidently and nonchalantly around the pool area at a time when I was still in a bikini. In a sense it was Sylvia’s devil-may-care lead that I took my cues from. It was in Cap D’Agde that we came of age, in terms of our naturism.

Since then, Sylvia and her family have taken naturist holidays on an annual basis. She’s been nude on a beach while eight months pregnant (something I would not have done!). We’ve spoken about our attraction to the lifestyle. Is there something in our genes that attracts us to it? Is it something we’ve come to simply through exposure and experience of?

I imagine we’ll be discussing these aspects of our naturist lives in a couple of weeks. I can’t wait!