I drove a 40-minute diagonal across Antigua from southeast to the northwest and parked my rental just outside a guard shack at the entrance to the Hawksbill Beach resort. “Are you a guest here?” the crisply uniformed guard asked me. “No, just here for the sun,” I replied. “Oh, the nude beach,” she said. “Park here and follow this road up around the outside of the resort. Pass the tennis court and go up the hill. Go through the white gate at the end of the road and you’re there.”
I locked my camera and mobile phone in the car and started walking. I figured an unaccompanied male taking photos at a nude beach would be perceived as some kind of pervert, regardless of where his lens was pointing.
Maybe the resort has seen better days, but I doubt it. The place was built ugly. I passed rows of identical cottages, nearly windowless on three sides and painted white and beige. The only thing that prevented the resort from looking like junior officers’ barracks circa 1965 was the Queen Ann style gingerbreading at the edge of the corrugated metal roofs.
I passed a twisted chain link fence that enclosed a dingy tennis court. The road–really more like a path at this point–began to rise. At the crest were two white cinder block posts and a gate made of white lattice. I passed through and beheld a stunning view of the sea and a pristine beach.
In the distance I saw a naked man, bronze all over, walking the shoreline. There was no one else to be seen. On the hillside by the path, white rocks were arrayed to spell out “Eden Beach,” which is what the clothing-optional section of Hawksbill Beach is called.
I’d found it. I was here:
I sat down on the edge of the first lounge chair I came to, pulled off my t-shirt, dropped my swimsuit, and went for a naked stroll.
I’ve never felt self-conscious about my body. I’m hardly an exhibitionist, but neither do I go in for the show of false modesty some people display when they feel like they’re supposed to be embarrassed by their nudity. I found another lounge chair, dragged it beside a palm tree, and called it mine.
The sea was a calm blue green. The swells were barely breaking. About hundred meters from shore was a large rock formation, thrust up from the sea floor. It looked like an arrowhead turned on its side — or if you prefer, a hawksbill.
There were a few small puffy clouds in the sky. A jet ski whizzed by. Then a catamaran. Then a helicopter. A couple sunned themselves at the other end of the beach. Mr. Bronze swam a bit and then left. Soon the couple disappeared and I had the whole 350 meters of beach to myself.
Well, not quite. After about an hour, I took a dip. The water was so clear I could see the bottom. It was warm but refreshing. As I walked back to my beach chair, I saw a woman’s silhouette in a shack that stood near the treeline. I walked up to the hut, me full starkers and her dressed in crisp park ranger brown-and-tans. I greeted her and asked whether the rock formation had given Hawksbill Beach its name. She didn’t know, but neither did she betray the slightest sign of discomfort at the sight of my body. I guess if you work as a ranger at a nude beach, seeing some random naked guy is just another day at the office.
I returned to my chair and soaked up more of the sun. I rested and thought deep thoughts. I may have dozed off for a few minutes. Eventually, my gaze fell on the swath of pallid flesh that starts two inches south of my naval and ends six inches north of my knees. The skin above and below that pale stripe was lightly browned and healthy-looking. But the area that hardly ever sees the sun looked sickly and scarred, like dirty white tissue paper laid over a spatter of pink paint.
Didn’t I just say I’m not self conscious about my body? Hah! I’ve got my vanities like most everyone else.
I didn’t want to broil my goolies, so after about 90 minutes of basking, I put on my swimsuit, t-shirt, and sandals and reluctantly walked back through the white gate into the fabric world.
This wasn’t my first time on a nude beach, but it was the first time in this century. I enjoy feeling nothing against my body except the sun, the wind, the sand, and the surf. I like being reminded that, like every other animal, we come into this world naked. Being embarrassed about our bodies is a learned behavior, not an innate condition. So whether it’s in Antigua or somewhere else, I look forward to going au naturel again.
Speak Your Mind