“Yes, about 300 people stay full-time.” He looks down at my shirt. There are far fewer tourists here now than there were in August, he says, when there were close to 40,000. “I live here in the village and work at the bar over there.” He tells me the bar is closed until next summer like many of the other businesses. Others smile and say bonjour.Ī pudgy middle-aged man approaches and asks, “Is this your first time in the village?” I nod. Many people watch me curiously (I am after all the weirdo with the clothes on). I think to myself that that has got to be unsanitary, not to mention uncomfortable. I stroll along the path running parallel to the coastline and pass restaurants, shops, playground equipment and Pétanque courts. I look out at the mile-long stretch of fine yellow sand dotted with nude bodies. Céline said there’s been talk for years of shutting the village down, or at least enforcing more family-friendly behavior, but the mayor opposes such efforts for the local economy’s sake. It’s apparently normal for couples to go at it openly on the beach or in the discos. My French friend Céline informed me that it has become a libertine vacation spot for those specifically seeking a partner-swapping getaway. You wouldn’t know it from reading Le Cap’s Office de Tourisme website, but the colony has gained an x-rated reputation. When I think of nudist communities, I picture hippie families gathered in the yard, grandma naked in her lawn chair and brothers-in-law discussing social issues while passing around a pipe.īut I’ve heard this particular naturist village isn’t so innocent. Still, I admire people who are carefree when it comes to their own and others’ bodies, people who view nudity as what it is: natural. Add to that teenage body-image insecurities, and you get a girl who wore only one-piece swimsuits until she was 22 years old (even now it’s a tankini). I grew up in a conservative Midwestern household where it was less than encouraged. Even among my American friends, I’m one of the most prudish. Probably because I’m so uncomfortable with nudity myself. I find the idea of nude beaches and villages funny, impressive and disgusting all at once. So I look straight forward and meet their gaze when they nod and say, “Bonjour.” I wait until they’re out of earshot before bursting into giggles. I don’t want to look directly at them, but I don’t want to seem like I’m averting my eyes. This is downright normal, I think.īut nearing the beach, I see my first naked couple walking hand-in-hand towards me. I pass parking lots and hotels as I walk toward the ocean, surprised and kind of disappointed to see that everyone around is at least partly clothed. “Do I really have to pay if I’m just checking it out for a few minutes?” She smiles and slides me a ticket. Zut! I realize I didn’t bring any money and, anyway, six euros seems a bit much considering I have no intention of staying long or taking off my clothes. Stopping at the gate, I look at the day-pass prices. How could I say I’d lived in Le Cap d’Agde for an entire year and never saw this famous Mecca for nudists the world over, especially when it was only a 15-minute walk from my front door? And a nudist beach seems so quintessentially European. I didn’t exactly want to go, but I have this compulsion to explore every aspect of a culture that I can whenever I’m traveling.