“Are there any clothing optional beaches in Dubrovnik?” asked a reader to my newspaper, it certainly isn’t the most unusual question I’ve ever had, “You mean nudist beaches,” I replied. There is of course a whole range of nudist beaches, or as the Germans call them FKK beaches, up and down the coastline, Dubrovnik included.
Ever since an English King and his American bride-to-be brought nudist tourism to Croatia, well allegedly. The famous couple cruised Croatia in 1936 on the yacht Nahlin, yes celebrities cruising the Adriatic is nothing new. During their cruise they stopped at the island of Rab where King Edward VIII obtained a special permission from the local government to swim without clothes, skinny dipping as we call it now. The permission was granted and hence nudist tourism was born in Croatia, at least that is the legend.
Not being a nudist I tend to avoid the known naked beaches. I have nothing against people getting free and liberated by taking their clothes off, but I really just don’t know where to look when everyone around me is naked. On the other hand my wife has a favourite beach in Zupa that just happens to be a nudist beach. Normally this beach is empty, especially as my wife goes swimming at the crack of dawn. However recently she had a rather crowded experience. My wife had found here early morning spot on the rocks, the dogs were hiding in the shade, and as the sun rose she dived into the August Adriatic.
Only a few minutes had passed when a group of German tourists, all aged in their late-forties, came wandering down to the beach, one lady and three men. She presumed they had just finished breakfast and fancied a swim. In a flash all their clothes fell to the ground. But swimming in the Adriatic was the last thing on their minds. “Ja! Ja! Ja!” alerted my wife to the unfolding scene on this Zupa beach, as Helga found herself rather busy with her three male companions. By the way - I used the name Helga as her stage name, it was the first name that popped into my head from that wonderful series Allo, Allo.
Seeing the unfolding 1970’s porn movie scene in Zupa my wife swum back to the shoreline a safe distance from the group entertainment. I have always had my suspicions that nudism was just a smokescreen for sex parties, and now that suspicion was being confirmed. Jumping out of sea to the echoes of “Ja! Ja! Ja!” and Helga twisting into ever stranger angles my wife decided enough was enough.
She has never really been shy, that’s just not in her nature. Wrapping herself in her towel, presumably to prove that she definitely wasn’t a nudist, she stormed over to the Zupa seaside orgy. “Stop, stop,” she cried. Although it would have been much more hilarious if she has shouted “Halt! Halt!” but that my twisted English humour. Four pairs of eyes now looked up at her. “Stop, what do you think you are doing?” she continued.
Again with my sarcastic wit I am pretty sure it was quite obvious what they were doing. And then one male German voice replied, a little sheepishly as he was caught in a compromising position, “But this is a nudist beach.” It was the that my wife made up for all the past errors at the beginning of this encounter when she replied “Yes, but it isn’t a f***ing beach!” She was correct, if a little blunt. What they were doing was not only never mentioned in the Karma Sutra, but it was also illegal, and quite frankly a little painful for Helga (although she wasn’t complaining.) And with that one line from my wife the German men lost their will to continue and in fact the means with which to continue and their manhood retreated.
As they wandered back to the safety, and indeed privacy of their hotel room, my wife was cursing herself for not phoning the police first. Helga and the three Musketeers will probably do the same thing again; in fact, they probably did the same thing on that same beach the next day. And one day a group of children will be walking past. If you want to get nude, no worries. If you want to do the mattress mambo then get a room.