MY wife and I are nudists. During six years of traveling—which included circling of the globe from east to west via Australia and the Suez Canal—we participated in a wide variety of nudist activities.
In addition to a number in America, of which we have been members, we have visited nudist resorts in Australia, New Zealand, England, and Denmark; and we have been to two of the world’s countries where nudity is an accepted part of the culture.
At the first of these, Sweden, during two weeks at Goteborg, we endeavored to find out if what we had heard of the Swede’s casual acceptance of nudity was true.
With the numerous examples of statuary, mostly complete and detailed nudes, that adorned the boulevards and parks as an indication of what we might find on the sea coast, we set out for the nearest beach.
A few people dotted the shore, all of whom were attired in the most ordinary of bathing suits with not a bikini among them. Even not-so-staid old England had displayed a goodly proportion of these. One thing though, a few women stood at the water’s edge supervising a group of naked kiddies who paddled within the barrier.
We chose a high rock as a vantage point, the beginning of a ridge that led out to a rocky headland, and settled ourselves on our blanket after removing the clothing we had on over our bikinis.