Bare-breasted (written August 18, 2011)

As previously stated I post things on my own schedule and am not nearly as ambitious as Hamilton in this regard, here are a few reflections (mostly on nudity) from our European experience, the rest will have to come in our book.... Unfortunately the hard drive isn't working so no pictures this time.

Written on August 18, 2011

Yesterday we drove into Split, Croatia and within an hour were parking our car on a ferry headed to Hvar where we hoped to stay with our new and 2^nd Couch Surfing host Didier. Ham and I were particularly annoyed with each other by the ferry ride—mostly a result of the logistics and positioning required to board the boat. Its so amazing how feelings change moment to moment—the night before I was crying my eyes out about feeling like a circus freak due to all of the stares I continue to receive from throngs of vacationing Europeans. The night before that we spent the last night of camp Pila on Krk Island exploring the rocking beach front by full moonlight. We sat in silence for quite a while, watching the stars disappear at the ever increasing presence of the lunar light. I stared at the moon and the sea, letting it speak to me, filling me with passion for my husband. His smell and taste were particularly sweet that night, leaving me to feel even more ridiculous about my stances regarding proper bathing techniques.

After a relatively silent, civil 2 hour ferry ride we were on Hvar, driving our tiny black convertible through beautiful countryside weaving our way to our new home. We have neglected to properly introduce our valiant steed for the European junket of our travels. She is French, neat and tight, and her jet black appearance draws many admiring glances everywhere she ventures. So the 3 of us road around narrow winding paths, with the top converted back baking us under 33 degree Croatian sunshine and salty air. She is typically fashionable vehicle speckled in the dust of mountains and salt—disheveled like a carelessly assembled ponytail. As the Italians say (according to our guidebooks) she cuts a dashing figure.

I call Didier to give a very untimely confirmation of our arrival and am greeted with further directions. We passed a small market and Hamilton skillfully maneuvered rural courtesies, allowing other cars to pass us by backing up to a small shoulder (for lack of a better road). Other times the same was extended to us as we pumped up steep inclines. Everywhere we were met with gray rock and green mountains and hills on one side and expansive crystal blue waters separating us from neighboring islands. Early in our travels we were told that Croatia is what one would imagine old Italy to look like. It is one of the most beautiful places I've ever visited, a paradise where gray cliffs explode into rocky beach fronts.

We drove through a narrow tunnel cut several kilometers through a mountain traffic is regulated with a traffic light on a timer to facilitate one way comings and goings. It always drops several degrees in tunnels this deep in. We emerge and wind down to a rock and dirt road. These roads give the red dirt roads of North Mississippi a run for their money, there is no firm red clay to hold you up here. Our fierce Wind Coupe performs magnificently, up for this new challenge and forgiving us the occasional teeth clenching scrapes to her undercarriage. It takes us at least 30 minutes to cover the rocky 4 kilometers to our destination, we stop after passing through the almost non-existent town of Grolin Dolac and coming to a 90 degree turn in the road we parked, grabbed our swimsuits and tent and walked the rest of the way. As promised we spotted a 2 story cinder block structure with flags out front. We walked the wrong way through dried grass and bush at my suggestion, and came upon 2 young women bathing in their swimsuits on the back deck. They seemed either not to notice us or not to care. We walked around to find Adrienne and Didier with a powertool attempting to fix the door to the outhouse. Both were beautifully bronzed from the sun, and wearing a speedo and small swimming shorts, a welcome sight on all accounts. We put down our bags and proceeded to introduce ourselves.

First were the 2 Polish girls that we had seen bathing, they were dressing from their evening swim. After the usual courtesies we continued upstairs to meet Alessandra from Sardinia, and 3 young Polish guys, all 20-22ish making pancakes or crepes with marmalade or chocolate for dinner. We then chose a campsite facing the sea, surrounded on almost 3 sides by opulent blue waves. We stripped down, pulled on our swimsuits and got in a nice evening swim. The beach was only a few hundred meters away, we stepped down some very sharp porous looking rocks, the kind you wouldn't dream of stepping on without adequate shoes. But then we were met with a great surprise. The actual beach was covered in flat smooth gray pebbles, most unexpected, the sort you find at fancy massage parlors when you receive the hot stone treatment. The stones were pleasantly cool in the evening air and swallowed our feet up in the first few steps into the water and upon leaving the water. In fact exiting is down right painful, there are always sharp howls followed by walking on all fours for 2 or 3 steps until the west flat stones change from a sort of quick sand back to firm ground. It is all worth it though to submerge one's self in the cobalt blue Adriatic Sea where you can see the bottom at almost any depth.

Didier's vacation home is paradise and corner for building community. For 2 nights of our stay we were 15 people in total. That first night 5 of us piled into 2 cars and headed into town for groceries, dinner, and to pick up 5 more guests who turned out to be an awesome Swede, Robin, the fantastic girls from Barcelona, and the cocky Alaskan. With the aide of my evolved packing skills we were able to repack our tight trunk with a new backpack and the groceries of 4 people in addition to our own large packs and other cargo. I volunteered to carry Nuria, the smallest of the Spanish crew on my lap. We did this for a couple days over multiple trips. We'd fly around the tight mountainous curves and dirt roads with the top down at the more perilous curves I'd tightly wrap both of my arms around her waist, careful not to catch her belly button ring. I told her she was like my little baby and I wouldn't let her fly out of the car, so to let me know if it was too tight or uncomfortable. For the rest of her days there she affectionately referred to me as her belt, thereby solidifying our invite to Barcelona.

It was a pleasure sharing the beach with our small early morning crew. Every morning Ham and I woke up around 7:30 ish due to the heat in the tent. And no fail as I headed to the beach first thing every morning I was met with the sight of Adrian's beautiful golden, muscular body catching the sun's early rays before the shadows all disappeared and the oppressive heat was upon us. Maybe an hour thereafter the Spaniards would proceed down to the beach solely in their bikini bottoms and would get completely naked to swim and sun bath on our private beach. I was inspired and for an hour or so I too lay bare-breasted in the sun.

Their nudity was so natural and left me to reflect on my own body image and the many taboos around public nudity (or even private for that matter) that westerners entertain. There was something about their presence and the nudity of the children and topless sunbathing women throughout the region that screams out “I am not my body, this is merely a form I identify with, it is a container for my soul and spirit. I have no need to hide it or be ashamed or embarrassed.” I'm still working on loving myself just as I am and am not, but I promise time on the beaches of Europe will damn near get you there.