Nudism. It is done. Just by hearing the word it is almost inevitable that you have imagined a beach with naked people, probably older and unshaved, who like to show themselves off and watch others doing the same. But you just have to google this word to know that the conception we have of naturism, a much broader movement than nudism ‘just’, is still a bag of prejudices. For me, as a millennial woman who tries not to judge her body every day, I am still incapable of going topless if there is a member of my family or a man that I know who is not my partner. So I thought if so many people do it, a lot of good it must have and I want to know what it is. And I went looking for it this time completely naked , in one of those centers of respect for the body and nature: a nudist campsite.
After driving an hour and a half from Barcelona to L’Hospitalet de l’Infant (Tarragona), my partner and I (who I will call M. from now on) arrived at El Templo del Sol , one of the nine nudist campsites that currently exist in Spain and that, according to Ferràn Pujol, its Director of Communication, is one of the best considered. Ferràn awaits me at the entrance to welcome me, to my relief, dressed. He explains that all the employees there wear clothes to avoid misunderstandings. So M. and I still have a few minutes of margin to ‘face’ our public nudity and the concern generated by the thought that he is going to spend the whole day spliced.
The campsite, which, by the way, is so full of people that there is no bungalow, caravan or free tent where we can spend the night, is the ‘watchtower’ that takes care of the area. The only thing that the naturist association that protects the natural beach of El Torn and its surroundings allowed to build in order to repel the skyscrapers and the typical townhouses of the Spanish coasts. Today, approximately 2,000 people fill this complex, created 25 years ago by a French couple in love with naturism and the Costa Dorada, and spend the summer barbecuing, bathing in its panoramic pool and riding their bikes. The same thing that you or I would do in a campsite, but naked.
It sounds simple, but spending a few days in one of these oases of nudity is not as easy as showing up and paying. “Everyone who comes for the first time is required to have a naturist card. If they do not have it, they will not be given accommodation,” Ferràn tells me. It is not that this is a select club or anything like that, but that it is a preventive measure against peepers – a plague that naturists have always suffered and that is almost impossible to eliminate – people who associate campsites and nudist beaches to easy sex and, worst of all, pedophiles and pedophiles. “There are people who come to what is coming and this is a way to give confidence to the families who stay here and to have everything under control,” he adds. So controlled that, Ferràn warns me, we will not be able to take photos while we are inside the campsite. Naturists normalize the nude, but more than one bad experience has led them to be suspicious (and rightly so).
The time has come to take off your clothes and prejudices. People look at us because they don’t know us and, even though we go naked, we don’t wear the bracelet that identifies those who stay there. Or because they see us watching everything too insistently. We come across the first penis and it gives an impression. We glance at the people from the side, for the first timers it is almost impossible to walk there without getting stiff neck from hiding so much. We walk through the campsite to the pool area and the bar, where it is required to cover or put towels on the seats simply for hygiene.
Source: Codigo Nuevo
Original publication 8 August, 2017
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