The naked truth

I used to think that I was relatively open-minded and at ease-ish with my own body. But that was before I moved to Germany, where some people have a whole different approach regarding what can be seen and shown, and what should be saved for a more restricted (and, of course, privileged) audience.

The first blow came one summer afternoon when, like any good Berliner, I decided to beat the heat by going swimming in a lake. A digression here: if you reached that stage it means you're already well integrated within your host community; indeed most of us expats in our right mind would first think about various objections. Namely, how many bacterias are developing here while I'm swimming, I hate noisy children, there is a lot of muck here and, last but not least – why would I go in there it's bloody cold anyway and I don't like wearing a bikini. For the latest of these protestations, German practical minds found an easy solution. No bikini, no fashion faux-pas. Naturally I had heard about naked people here and there, but unless you witnessed it you don't quite measure the impact it can have on how you perceive the surrounding sceneries. Not that it was my first encounter with naturists. I remember acutely well that dozen of swiss-german pensioners sunbathing au naturel along the Rhine river on a narrow path that I, as a very innocent teenager, had to cross as I was following a guide who was giving us an "Art-in-Basel" tour. We all would have liked to have the possibility to look away, only that path was really narrow. Anyway, we made sure not to walk on anything of value. Back to my Berlin lake, I thought I had seen it all, but no, here I was again. This time however, I could only marvel, not at what I was seeing (bizarrely, it seems only elderly and out-of-shape people are stripping it all), but at how organised it all was. A beach for the children, a beach for party-goers, and one for naturists. A well-designed segregation that seemed to suit everyone. As a blushing ingenue stationed in the children area, then how comes my eyes witnessed what they did? Well, because some people do have their favourite spots, and you won't deter a pensioner (yes, again!) to bath where he wants and how he wants, even if that means that he will be the only naked person swimming amongst a plethora of toddlers.

All in all, that was an expected – though unwanted – experience, so the second blow hit even harder as it came out of the blue. Here I was, an enthusiastic swimmer, ready to enjoy a dip in some nice thermal bath, with a stunning view on the German capital. On my way to the pool, I felt quite unsettled by a number of elderly people (a redundant theme here) eyeing me in the changing room. I found them quite rude and not very subtle, but here I was, in my swimming suit, eagerly walking towards the water. By the pool though, the look of others became heavier, and I had the awkward feeling that something was wrong. With me. Had I forgotten to take off my socks? A quick look down reassured me on that point. Only now another uncomfortable thought crossed my mind – had I forgotten to take off something else, something that…other people…*eyes raised, widened in shock*…are clearly not wearing? Yes, again, I had been tricked by my foolishness not to double-check what was written on the therms' website. I quickly thought that I would be more looked at with my swimsuit on than without, so I tried to act like I was very used to what was happening and just stripped it all off before quickly jumping into the water (no objections that it was too cold, which it was, in fact). After all, those strong feelings of self-consciousness and shame didn't kill me, I realised. I decided to not think further about it, and began to swim, saying to myself that I had made a fuss over nothing, it wasn't so bad after all. But what really made me leave the pool was when I instinctively turned at some point to see a man my age swimming behind me under water. With goggles. Now therms are usually quite expensive, so one better has to make the most of one's time there. I swore I would never get caught again in that kind of unwanted situation. It happened once again, I tried to fit in, opened that sauna door, only to see three men old spread-out on the benches like octopusses, closed the door, and walked away, thinking that it was the worst 17€ I had paid in my entire life. Naturism wasn't for me.

All that happened a long time ago – so when yesterday's outing at the gym happened, I was quite unprepared. I thought that after all those years spent here, I was getting quite used to the local way of life. Once again, here I was, in the changing room of my women-only (see sauna traumatism above) fitness club. It isn't unusual for me to open that door and have to face a pair of boobs, or any below-the-belt item, heads or tails, that I don't feel particularly keen on seeing in that context. Yes, it is all very pretty (most of the time), but frankly, after breakfast, or after work, in fact after anything else I have been doing, I'm just not keen. Anyway, I made my way to the locker, not paying much attention to that naked woman over there. Deep in my thoughts, I was getting ready, when she came towards me, as I was only wearing my skirt. She smiled and seemed to be particularly interested in my last item of clothes: "heyyy, I love your skirt, it's really nice! where did you buy it?". So, while my hands didn't quite know where to go – they had started covering my breast but then I realised the other one was naked anyway – and my eyes didn't quite know where to look, I mumbled some kind of answer, and I thought to myself that, after all, it must all be part of the exception culturelle.