Tag Archives: nude beach

Pardon me: Can I display my T&A? Nude on a non-nude beach

Raise your hand if you’ve been chastised for being nude on a non-nude beach?

Dagmar and I can now proudly raise our hands if asked that question.

This is that story.

Initially I had some questions ...

Initially I had some questions …

We’re not nudists. I mean, we’re not naked every moment we possibly can be, which, in loose terms, I think, is what being a nudist means. I can’t be bothered to look up the definition of nudist because who cares how it’s defined, we don’t fit that description except …

Somewhere around 2007 my wife and I went to our first German water park. All German water park’s have a nudist area. These areas typically feature places to sunbath, saunas and swim. All of which is done in your birthday suit.

I’ve discussed the sauna parts before here on the blog, but I believe a brief refresher on the German sauna experience is in order.

Inside the German sauna everyone is naked. At certain times a clothed sauna “Meister” enters the packed, and I mean crowded-like-sardines packed, sauna, and closes the door. The Meister then fans a towel pushing waves of scorching wind that you have to feel to believe. He or she cracks a few jokes. Sometimes they pass out things like salt, honey or ice that you rub on your skin and then, after about five minutes, when you just can’t take another second, they open the door and let you out.

During that 2007 visit my fully clothed wife, with her typical “bull in a china

Stop judging us

Stop judging us

shop” sense of curiosity, plowed into the nude area of the waterpark we were visiting, dragging behind her a typically confused and embarrassed me. She strode up to the sauna just before the Meister was about to close the door and in broken German asked (I speak less German than I understand) what the fuck this was all about. I couldn’t understand a word that was being said as I stood there in my T-shirt, shorts and flip flops surrounded, literally surrounded, by naked people.

The conversation was short and quick and ended with my wife thrusting her hand from her throat down to her legs in a quick motion and asking, “Alles weg?” or in English, “all is gone?” She meant of course, “All your clothes?” The Meister chuckled and every naked German inside the sauna erupted into laughter.

So, in addition to being yelled at for being nude on a non-nude beach, I guess I also have “Getting laughed at by sauna full of nude Germans” going for me as well. I’m not sure if that belongs in the plus or minus column of life experiences, but it’s a moment I’ve never forgotten.

Needless to say, we were in the buff a short time later. I think I demanded a beer bracer before going Full Monty into German sauna land, but there was no stopping my wife.

Since then it’s just become a thing for us. If there is a nude beach nearby where we’re on vacation, we’re going. I don’t care. Really, I don’t care. Hell, I’ve learned to enjoy it. Forget your preconceived notions for a moment if you can. It’s not a sexual thing and it’s not sexy. Sure there are attractive people there, just like there are in any group. But it’s really, really not about that. When everyone is naked in a non-sexual manner, well — everyone is just naked. It becomes matter of fact. It ceases to be a thing.

Cut to the non-nude beach episode.

It was this past Memorial Day, it was hot out and there was a lake Dagmar knew of only 15 minutes away. She remembered it had a nude beach.

Scene of the crimes ...

Scene of the crimes …

She knew this because while she TDY’d in this area of Germany years ago she and a few friends went there and walked around the lake. During the walk she and her friends ran into a naked man on the nude side and Dagmar, after muddling through in broken German, “Why are you naked?” – shook his penis. (That’s fucking funny! ~Fran)

That’s not a metaphor. She didn’t have any sort of sexual contact with him. She grasped his flaccid penis in her hand and moved her hand up and down twice like you would shake a person’s hand. She did this because she’s funnier than I am.

Dagmar, when asked to recall the story, started to describe the event with, “I think I had a few drinks when we …”

So there’s that.

So with Memorial Day at hand, we arrive at the lake to find it devoid of people. The person in charge of the snack bar is bored, there’s one old man reading the paper at a picnic table and one lone woman sunbathing in a bikini on the beach. That’s it.

We survey the lake and conclude that the nude beach is “that” way. We base this decision on the data point that it’s far away from the clothed beach, requires an effort to get to and really isn’t close to anything. Those facts, coupled with the fact that the entire opposite side of the lake is covered in reeds with no beach of note, led us to this conclusion. Nude beaches are always tucked away out of sight and they usually take a bit of effort to get to. “That” beach was the logical conclusion based on the aforementioned facts.

Loaded up like a pack mule with folding chairs, ice chest and a backpack, I followed my chipper wife carrying our towels for the 20-minute death hike to the beach. Once there, on the empty beach, we still selected the furthest end of the beach. You know, as a courtesy to others, or something.

Towels were laid down, chairs were set up, clothing came off and my wife quickly fell asleep while I read. While my wife slumbered I noticed, in the distance, on a ribbon-thin strip of sand among the reeds, another nude couple.

Why would they choose that place, so out of the way?

Perverts, I decided.

Why else would you go there to that shitty bit of beach when you could go here? They were obviously slipping into the reeds to commit awful sexual acts to destroy the simple serenity of the nude sunbathing experience.

Yet, they never seemed to move, you know, to commit those awful sexual acts.


Then a man happened upon our beach, and as Dagmar slept through this development as well, he picked a spot exactly opposite us on the other end the beach and stripped down to his … swimming trunks.

Stupid German, I thought.

I turned back to whatever shitty thing I was reading on my Kindle and sunk, in all my naked glory, back into the chair.

Hours passed. OK, it was only about an hour, but it still passed.

Then I heard a boat engine start up. This is a very small lake. The only boat on the lake, logic told me, is the one that the manager of the lake uses. The lake is too small for any other boats.

OK, fine the manager is doing something in his or her boat. Looking up from the Kindle I noted that the boat was slowly coming toward us.

I ignored it as long as I could, but when the boat stopped off shore 20 feet from  me and an authoritative German woman spoke loudly and quickly at me, I could ignore it no more. I understood one word in 10 but I understood exactly what she was saying.

It boiled down to — we were naked in a place where we were not allowed to be naked and, although we were bugging no one, we could not be naked here.

Dagmar tried to pretend she was asleep, but when I beat her on the back with my Kindle enough times she was forced to acknowledge, along with me, that yes, there was a woman on a boat yelling at us. We could not be naked here.

Dagmar translated her words: “We could move into the reeds and be naked there, but we could not be naked here.” We could stay and Dagmar could be topless, but we had to put our bottoms on.

Feeling certain we understood we were naked in the wrong place, the German woman backed her boat out and left and I realized that I had just been yelled at by a German for being naked on a non-naked beach.

This might have been a federal offense in the U.S. In some U.S. states, if convicted of wagging your wiener in public you could be made to register as a sex offender. My mug shot would have plastered across the local evening news.

Not here in Germany though, here I just had to go into the reeds*.

* The area behind the reeds was actually very nice. You just would never have guessed that from the entrance to the lake.

F’ you skiers, F’ you snowboarders and mostly F’ you February …

Too much snow to continue

Too much snow to continue. Earth to retards, any snow is too much snow to continue. Too much snow … (Photo credit: will_cyclist)

If February was a person and I had the chance to kill him I’d do it. I wouldn’t draw it out either. It would be a quick and painful death. Mostly quick though — not because I give a shit about February, but because I hate this month so much I just want it dead.

February is a bullshit month and we should all just stop recognizing it. You fuckers with your skies and your snowboards are all insane. When I’m king you will all be exiled to the tops of mountains where you can bother us sun lovers no more. I’ll build one of those ski lift things, but it will only go up. I’ll make sure you have adequate sustenance, but you’re verboten from ever coming down because cold stuff sucks. And therefore, you do too.

Really, you people who get excited about frozen water falling from the sky so you can strap planks to your feet and barrel at breakneck speed down mountains are beyond my (admittedly dysfunctional) comprehension. You’re all freaks.

There. I feel better.

See, it’s the end of February and I am ready to put another fucked-up winter behind me. February is the worst month too because it’s so close to spring, yet so willing to fuck you over with freak snowstorms and cold temperatures.

Two more days February and you can kiss my ass goodbye for another year.

As a way to break up the cold winter, my wife and I begin planning a warm vacation for May or June. Huddled in the living room cursing the vile snowfall outside, we ponder the pros and cons of vacation spots like Italy, Spain, Greece, the Canaries, or Croatia.

First-world problems, I know. Fuck you.

But it gives the mind something to relax upon as the snow accumulates on the car and I endure another chilly morning commute.

 Like this, only with fewer tree stumps.  (Photo credit: got sound)

“Cheer up dude, in just three short months you’ll be roasting your buns on a beach somewhere on Malta,” I tell myself.

Vacation planning gives me a glimmer of hope on this shitty frozen tundra (I considered saying TURDdra here, but thought it too high-brow) overrun with psychopaths spouting about fresh-powder and black runs. Again, you are all sick, sick individuals.

But, no vacation planning this year. Nope.  Even though we’ve had the vacation time scheduled for months, “Anal Alice, ” aka my wife, can’t decide on where she wants to go.

Is Portugal nice? How about Spain? We loved the Canaries, why not go back there?

“Shit-or-get-off-the-pot” doesn’t even begin to describe my thoughts. I even offered up Hvar, Croatia because, A: None of you have ever heard of it and B: You can totally rent a boat for the day there and that’s level cool 0ne million.

Indulge me for a moment as I take you through our trip to Hvar — We check into our small hotel room, I talk to the clerk to determine how to rent the boat, and then I rent the fucker. The following day, after a good night’s sleep, a European breakfast and a quick shopping trip for beer, we’re launching our little boat into the Adriatic Sea. Drifting about in the ADRIATIC SEA (Take that classmates at Desert Sands Junior High in Phoenix, Ariz., where the evil Tanya tortured me daily) we’ll discover a secluded  beach where we will frolic naked as the sun bakes our glistening (albeit middle-aged) bodies and we pound beer, after beer, after glorious life-affirming beer.

All I want is the firm knowledge that, “Yes, we are going someplace where its warm, there’s a body of water and, again, it’s warm.”

We’ve been in Deutschland more than 10 years.  I no longer care to visit “Castle Crappenstein” (Would you believe Todd misspelled Crappenstein – “Crapenstien”? Well, he did ~ Editor) built by Baron Krause Von Balllicker. Seen it, took the crappy tour filled with Japanese tourist. It was all cold and drafty.

This always beats snow.  It just does.  You know it, I know it, they know it.

This always beats snow. It just does. You know it, I know it, they know it. (Source: Wiki)

How about a visit, Todd, to the giant cathedral built entirely out of foreskins by Monsignor Luigi “Come Here Little Boy” Russo in 15-who-gives-a-fuck-0-6? Couldn’t give two shits about it in the winter, and when a beach is nearby and the temperature is over 90 degrees outside, well then, I couldn’t be bothered to give even one shit. Been there, done that. Where’s the beach?

Seriously, there’s lots of “behind the scenes” research that goes into these trips. Plotting the route to the nearest beach is only the tip of the iceberg … wait fuck icebergs … tip of the sand dune.

Where’s the nearest bar? What times does it open? What’s the national beer? Does it suck? How long will I likely have to wait each morning for my first cup of coffee/beer? Where’s the nearest nude beach? Does it have a bar/store, (I’ll let you write your own, “Where do you keep your wallet at a nude beach” joke here. Go ahead, I’ll wait…. Did you write one? Was it funny? I hope you enjoyed it.) and how close to the hotel is that beach?

But even without the specifics of where the hell we’re going, I at least know it’s going to be warm, warm and wonderfully warm. Hot even. Unlike this godforsaken month where the sun rises whenever the fuck it want and sets in time for an afternoon nap.

And yes, that’s it. This is the shittiest ending since Mister Shitty ended his shit with some shit. Yeah, I did that shit. You might be asking yourself, “Did he just start talking about why he hates winter, segue in some bizarre rant about how his wife can’t pick out a vacation spot and then very lazily go back to hating winter in what might be the worst tie-back ever?” Yeah I did, “Fuck you very much.”

Also, when the fuck is it going to get warmer, goddamnit?

Stop F’ing with me Germany … also I feel a bit paranoid. We should go to the sauna.

Germany is fucking with me.

Or maybe it’s the weather that’s fucking with me.

It’s likely best if you imagine me as a meth addict saying those two things.   A meth addict that’s been awake for eight days, hasn’t showered for 10, is covered in sores and this has gotten way off topic.

Look, I know, just as I know I will write another retarded update to this blog that the gray clouds and constant drizzle are about to hit us but, at of this mid-September point it is all 70-degrees and sunny.   If the easiest job in the world is

Brussels, Looking Hot

Like this only in Germany and crap. (Photo credit: clappstar)

Phoenix weatherman (It’ll be hot and sunny tomorrow) the second easiest should be a weatherman in Germany (bring an umbrella!) and its taunting me because you can feel the weather SLOWLY changing but without any of that normal half cloudy, half rainy crap that September usually seems constructed of.

But I’m VERY sure that in all the Septembers I’ve been here in Germany (five of them if I recall) I’m pretty sure I was wearing a jacket at this point.   But not this fall, not this September, its 70 degrees in the afternoon and I should love it.

I should …

You see I grew up in Phoenix, hence the weatherman joke a moment ago, where the sun told you to shut the hell up and get back inside on or about March 1st and didn’t stop flailing your hide until about December 15th.

Dagmar grew up in another hot … oh wait it snows there in the winter.   Half-credit only honey and really it never was that hot when we visited.  Warm yes.   Phoenix hot?  No.

The point is we both like hot weather.   We love it.   LOVE it.  We’ve actually told friends we love hot weather with capital letters.   “Hi, we love hot weather with capital letters,” we said.   It was awkward.

But it’s a good job here in Germany.   Good people, interesting work and I’ve since learned (being from Phoenix) that snow is just water, it can’t hurt you and if you put on more clothes the cold can be tolerable.

Who knew?

Which brings me to the German saunas, always a popular topic if the word searches that lead people here are any clue (perverts!).    Besides sweating while naked next to total strangers, during warm weather, there are ample places to lie out in the sun at the Sauna we go to.   There’s also a heated pool and sleeping rooms and there’s even a natural lake, and back in July and August when the sun was just ‘a-rockin’ it was awesome to jump into its cold water.

Point is we both like to tan and if you can tan in the buff why not do it?  We even seek out the nude beaches here in Europe when we go on vacation, again if you’re going to tan and you can tan in the buff, do it.

I’ll giggle like a school kid on my death bed if the cause of my demise is skin cancer, and I’ll ask for a beer and a smoke after the diagnosis.

We went there all summer long and it was awesome.    Dripping with sweat from the good old sun Dagmar would ask me if I want to go to the next special ‘honey sauna’ and I’d laugh and laugh.

No dear, I’m covered in my own sweat at the moment and when I get tired of that there’s an ice-cold pool right there to turn-off the heat.  Why would I subject myself to being in a super-hot box when obviously Mr. Sun is right here more than happy to meet my needs, and I’m getting tanned to boot.   You’re ice sauna doesn’t do that does it?

We even talked another couple we’ve been friends with for years and years into coming with us by using phrases like, “look you’ve been in Germany for years, shouldn’t you at least try it,” and “wanna see my weiner?”

Cover of "National Lampoon's Vacation [UM...

Naked vacation with friends, we can invite Chevy Chase and make a movie … only it wasn’t. At all.

I had this whole idea that I’d blog about going to the naked sauna with friends and what that was like.  I even told Oh god my wife is German dude I would but in the end it was about as funny as unpacking the groceries.   Maybe even less funny, depending on what you bought.    They’re good friends, seeing them naked didn’t cause any bit of whacky-funny stories like you’d see in a National Lampoon Vacationmovie, damn it.

Friends if you’re reading this, thanks for nothing, assholes.

Dagmar’s going to proof read this in a moment and say something to the effect of, I thought this was about the weather?   And she’s wrong, because it is about the weather and the sauna because the two go hand in hand damn it.

Last week I scanned and scanned the weather.  I checked the iPhone weather app like I was expecting a call from my dealer, I hit refresh on weather.com and weather underground like a junkie.  I even asked the guy that empties our trash.   Everyone agreed, Saturday would be nice, clear with a high of 70 something.

So what happened Friday?   Sunny and 70 is the correct answer.  What happened Saturday?   Overcast with a 100% chance of rain on the way to the sauna?  Yes it was.  What happened Sunday?   Sunny with a temperature of 73ish you ask, yes it was.

Why are you fucking with me Germany?    Also I think the cops are watching from the retired German neighbor’s house across the street.   Yeah, I sound a bit paranoid.

So, what happened today after I drove home in the 70something degree weather with my windows down enjoying the clear blue sky?   Yeah, I Googled it.  There’s a dip on Thursday, with a chance of rain, but otherwise clear skies and 70s.

I’m totally buying tickets tomorrow, one more ride on the sun train.  Chase the dragon man  …