Fine silvery needles of light stabbed through the small holes in the security blind and reached deep into the darkened room. One pierced my consciousness and brought me awake to the new morning. I was aware of how warm the room was and when it became too much I got up and went through the lounge and opened the door to the world.
A little after eight it was a fine day already with a clear, blue sky and just the gentlest movement of air that barely rustled the palm trees outside my apartment. It was quiet with few, if any, people yet about. This was not the day for the gardeners and no one was around to take an early morning dip in the swimming pool that lay still and unruffled like a mirror. I took a trip to the bathroom to freshen up and grabbed a drink of water to quench my thirst. Then, picking up my hat, placing it firmly on my head and ensuring I have the keys to the door and to the gate of this small urbanisation, I left quietly so as not to disturb my wife who was still sleeping.
The grounds around this apartment are kept beautifully with green, clipped lawns, palm trees and shrubs. A star-shaped flower bed here, a fountain there and a clean path still damp from last night’s sprinklers that cuts through it all leading me down to the gate which I opened and stepped out onto the pavement.
When I said that I had picked up my hat and keys I meant just that. No clothes, not even my flip flops. Just my hat to keep the sun out of my eyes and the keys to unlock the gate when I come back. Oh, and just one more thing – a euro coin.
Now, there will be people out there wondering just what I am doing standing naked on a public street. Surely this is the stuff of nightmares. But to a naturist like me this is life as it should be for I am at Vera Playa in Spain, one of Europe’s top destinations for nude living and holidays.
A long time ago someone had the good sense or grace to make this stretch of coastline a naturist beach. Maybe that someone was a naturist and maybe he wasn’t but whatever he was he clearly had the goodness to see that many people would like it to be so. Then, in years to come, as if to compound or reinforce that original decision, they extended the beach into a naturist zone from the shore right up to the road some half a kilometre away and two kilometres long. To make no mistakes over this it was then legally constituted. The roads soon followed, then the hotel, the apartments, shops, restaurants and bars. And then there were the people who came from far and wide to dress in nothing but their happiness and conviction that nudity is their natural state.
Doing my bit to ensure that the foresight of the zone’s creator was not lost I nakedly set off down the tree-lined road where the pavement is wide, clean and smooth enough even for my soft feet. The day was not yet old enough to have baked the ground and so being barefoot was very comfortable and allowed me to feel the ground beneath. There were a few other people going about their business – to the cafe, for a stroll, jogging and all of this is with or without clothes as desired. Turning the corner the road leads to the beach and I passed a man walking his dog. Both were naked. Yes, I did mean the dog too. All too often humans condemn humans for being nude whilst conveniently forgetting that it is only our species that wears clothes; the rest of the animal kingdom is naked all the time and we don’t notice. In fact we usually see it as ridiculous, if not abusive, to dress animals in clothes. The dog passed me by with barely a glance.
The beach is a vast expanse of sand, deep and wide that has large, flat swirls making patterns on its surface – the artistry of the tractor that grades the beach in the early morning. My feet left a wandering trail behind me as I strolled down to the shore to dip them in the cool sea. To the east the beach stretched away to the mountains in the distance and the town of Villaricos. To the west, Garrucha and the mountains behind that are misty today and indistinct. The hill town of Mojacar with its white walls was in shining, bright contrast like a beacon on this Mediterranean coast.
Turning east I walked into the early morning sun that had not long risen. A few other people were also out for this early paseo and formed a straggly line out into the distance. Some were clothed but most were not. There is a hotel on the coast road and this is their nearest beach and it happens to be in a naturist zone. I wonder if they know that before they arrive. And, oh, what sweet reversal of fortune, what a refreshing change it must be to hear that the resolutely clothed who don’t want to see nudity are being directed to the far end of the beach. That’s the bit that is difficult to get to, that is unkempt, has no facilities and no beach bar. In fact, the sort of treatment normally reserved for naturists in Britain.
Here and there some regular, early morning beach-goers have already claimed their favourite spot and marked it with an umbrella and towel. This hardly seems necessary on a beach of such expanse but perhaps they are German.
The chiringuitos are being unlocked with the staff arriving to prepare for the day. The boardwalks are swept, tables cleaned and chairs tidied. There is food to cook and bars to be checked for during the morning until early evening there will be a steady stream of people turning up to eat and drink. The Cota Zero is my regular haunt with good, cold San Miguel beer and the best patatas bravas that I have yet tasted. How civilised it will be later in the day to wander nude to this shack on the beach, to sit in the shade and eat a fine lunch with my feet in the sand.
After a while I reached the eastern end of the beach by the rocks and turned to see how far I had come. About a kilometre I reckoned. Now it’s time to go west so I set off along the wet sand where the waves lapped gently on the shore and slid up to wash my feet at every step. The day was warming up nicely and already I felt as though I needed a cooling swim. I put my hat upside down on the beach out of the way of the tractor and threw in my keys and coin and went back down to the sea. This was very easy to get into with no shock in the Mediterranean summer. The sand under the water was interrupted by a line of stones that was just a bit uncomfortable to hobble over but then the sand returned once more. My shoulders slid under the surface of the water and I was instantly refreshed.
Swimming in the quiet of the morning is as good as it gets. The day is young and fresh with the promise of so much to come unlike the lateness of the afternoon which has become care-worn, hot and tired with only the sunset to see off the day in a blaze of glory and a last hurrah before fading into night.
In a while I walked back out of the sea, collected my hat and headed back up the beach. The sand stuck to the wet on my feet and ankles and so I made for the shower. In Spain, unlike anything I’ve ever found in Britain, the beaches are well managed and have fresh water showers at regular intervals just so we can clean off the sand and salt and go away in comfort. Having rinsed off and dripping with water I made my way up the wooden boardwalk towards the road and became drier by the minute. By the time I reached the cafe I was quite dry so I went in and bought the bread with the euro coin. In Vera Playa this is all quite normal – if only it could be like this everywhere.
Home now and keenly ready for a breakfast that I shall eat in the shade of the patio and contemplate the day. Life eh!