An unexpected night in a Hungarian nudist camp
Photo by Stuart Milne
Four weeks into our Amsterdam to Belgrade road trip, and having travelled through ten countries by this stage – I thought it was finally time to let my partner, Stu, book us a place to camp for the night.
Experience should have prepared me for the worst - after all, this is the guy who when given the task of booking the registry office for our wedding, managed to book us in for a civil partnership instead of a marriage (at a time when civil partnerships were only available to same sex couples).
Nevertheless, hoping to be pleasantly surprised (or at least not disappointed) by his planning, I mapped and directed us towards his chosen destination.
It had been a long day of unsatisfying driving due to delays at the Serbian border. By now we were eager to settle for the night and get some food in our bellies. It had begun to rain and we were anticipating a storm to come.
The first thing we noticed as we pulled up towards the campsite was a huge sign with various symbols indicating that - among other things - no bikinis were allowed. We knew there was a lake on site and we assumed the sign meant there was a preference for one-piece bathing suits (something we had previously encountered).
“As he registered our clothing, we instantly saw a change in his posture and demeanour.”
The site was fairly quiet and Stu quickly booked us in for the night. We’d been given the option of choosing our own pitch and drove slowly between the tents and chalets seeking a suitable spot. As we passed one chalet, a gentleman stopped sweeping his porch to turn and wave at us, stark naked, broom in hand.
Dumfounded, we waved back.
“Uh oh…” I heard Stu mumble as his miscalculation sank in.
“For f*ck’s sake… is this a nudist site?” I asked, shaking my head, in disbelief.
I snapped at Stu that he’d better go back to the office and explain his mistake, get a refund and swiftly find us somewhere else for the night. M was awake now and we were all in need of food.
After an embarrassing admission to the desk clerk that we weren’t nudists after all, Stu returned to the van – a little too quickly.
“So… we’re just going to stay here tonight.” He said, starting up the engine.
“What?!?”
“It’s ok, we’re allowed to keep our clothes on tonight because it’s raining. But anyway, it’s late, there’s nowhere else, we’re staying.”
We proceeded to find a pitch as far away from everyone else as possible, vowing to leave first thing in the morning before we had to encounter any naked people.
After an unglamorous meal, cooked on top of our bed as a result of the rain, and our fear of encountering more naked people in communal cooking areas, we fell asleep listening to the storm outside.
In the morning, we woke to the familiar, stuffy heat of summer mornings in the van. In the daylight, the campsite was quite beautiful; we’d managed to find a pitch with a lake view and there was only one other camper to be seen, some distance away.
Still a little apprehensive of the nudist element, we decided to take the walk to the toilet block together (fully clothed).
As we approached, a very overweight, sun-baked man emerged. He had a kind face, which broke out in a huge smile when he saw us approaching. Keeping my eyes trained on his face, I could not escape the moment his smile disappeared. As he registered our clothing, we instantly saw a change in his posture and demeanour.
He nodded a hasty greeting to us and shuffled away, his disappointment visible as he averted his eyes; he appeared more affronted by our clothing than we were by his nudity.
After a quick wash we returned to our van. We felt unsettled, but oddly, it wasn’t due to his nudity - it was, we realised, due to our clothing. As we prepared our fresh clothes for the day we hesitated. Looking at Stu I knew we were both thinking the same thing.
The campsite guests had obviously sought out this particular site for the freedom it offered them to be nude. Our presence, whilst clothed, was clearly presenting an obstacle to their being able to enjoy that freedom. Our clothing was more than a mere covering, it showed not just our own discomfort but also our judgement and condescension over their choice of lifestyle. More importantly, it embarrassed the nudists and made them feel uncomfortable in a place they had sought because it billed itself as a safe haven for them to enjoy their nudity.
We knew all of this from the way the friendliness and joy on that happy camper’s face had fallen away upon seeing our clothes. In the first few moments of our encounter when he’d looked only at our faces we’d caught a glimpse of friendliness found only in the most positive forms of travelling encounters.
“...what transpired was perhaps one of the most memorable breakfasts of our six-week trip… ”
We saw that he had no interest in our bodies — his eyes hadn’t searched for the parts of us we were so used to having hidden away, he’d looked straight at our faces, focusing only on our clothing when he realised (albeit it quickly) the contrast between our clothes and his own lack thereof.
I can’t recall now who suggested it first, but what transpired was perhaps one of the most memorable breakfasts of our six-week trip… spent in the nude.
The experience was liberating and it felt truly wonderful to feel the sun on our entire bodies. We realised that we harbour so many insecurities as a result of the society we live in, and unintentionally we were passing those on to M. As we watched him, totally unfazed by his own nudity, or ours, we realised that it was absolutely the right decision to embrace the situation we had found ourselves in and let go of our inhibitions.
The experience was so enjoyable that we even stayed on for a post-breakfast kick around beside the lake.
Admittedly there were very few people who saw us, perhaps only that one camper we’d bumped into whilst fully clothed. But he did see us again, and this time he waved and we even managed a little small talk.
Having conformed to the no clothing rule, we decided to break the ‘no photography’ rule instead. The result is this… our most prized family photo.
Photo by Stuart Milne
