Places To get Naked: Pacific Rim

Moorea

Tahiti and next door neighbor Moorea island have a history of sensuous dance moves and beautiful unclothed women, made famous in artist Paul Gauguin’s paintings. Is it any wonder that these islands still lure in frisky travelers, amorous honeymooners, and lonely sailors searching for the beaches where nakedness reigns supreme? Moorea, the less touristy and more pristine island of the two I would argue, does not have any official nude beaches. However, there are coves and beaches around the island where velvety cliffs rise up from emerald lagoons and you can get away with going au naturel. After all folks, this is French Polynesia, and you may do as zee French do.

Tanna Island villages

In the distant archipelago of Vanuatu, on the far-flung island of Tanna, we found active volcanoes spewing lava, the John Frum cargo cult, and men with nothing but leaves around their penises, called nambas. What’s more is that the island nation has long been fraught with conflict between the men of the Little Nambas and Big Nambas tribes. One would think that the Little Nambas would frequent the gym and drive Corvettes, but this was not the case. For a small fee, you can be taken to one of these traditional villages on Tanna where life continues as it has for centuries. While nakedness is the norm, we opted to keep our clothes on.

Odeo Onsen Hot Springs

Although Japan is not a place you usually associate with nakedness, the Japanese hot springs, or onsen, are clearly the place to shed your clothes and your, ahem, inhibitions. I visited Odeo Onsen in a Tokyo suberb, and without the guidance of my Japanese-speaking male companion I was left to figure out the hot springs etiquette on my own. A kind woman in the dressing room tugged at my yukata robe, demonstrating the left side needs to be pulled over the right side of the robe, the strap tied and then rotated to the back. In the baths, I learned to put my washcloth on my head, rather than in the pool, presumably to keep the pools from washcloth ickiness. As the only white woman in the place, and blond to boot, I was self-conscious already. A sign in English forbidding entrance to anyone with tattoos immediately put me on alert and sent my hands scrambling to my lower abdomen to cover my tiny ankh tattoo. Could they have at least posted this sign at the entrance rather than a place where I was already wet and naked? Apparently tattoos used to be a sure sign of a Japanese mafia member, and this rule was a convenient way to keep them out. I wondered if I could pass for Japanese mafia. So I spent the rest of my soaking time with a washcloth plopped on my head and my hand hovering near my crotch, trying to hide my tattoo, while still appearing nonchalant.

The Wool Shed Char Grill & Saloon Bar

As they say in Cairns, all roads lead to The Woolshed. No matter where the party starts, The Woolshed—a sort of nightclub Pied Piper--ultimately scores the biggest numbers at the end of the night, and week after week consistently packs ‘em in. And with this popularity comes nakedness. This central pub/eatery/nightclub unashamedly announces its nightly promotions with suggestive photos and all the sexually charged enthusiasm of a 14-year-old boy. Mr. and Mrs. Backpacker Contest! All You Can Drink Night! Wet T-Shirt Contest! Not unlike an episode of The Jerry Springer Show, on any given night at The Woolshed breasts are flashed, butt cheeks exposed, and girl-on-girl action is standard fare. Oh, and their burritos aren’t bad either.

Pu'u Ola'i Beach

Families frolic on Maui’s southern beaches, but climb over a rocky outcrop at Pu'u Ola'i Beach and you’ve got a different scene altogether. This clothing optional stretch of sand, or “Little Beach”, boasts both little and big sights. The sounds of djembe drums and the smell of patchouli underscore that yes, this is the place of The Happy Naked People. As two of the only non-naked people here, my husband Peter and I mostly stared at the sand and mumbled excuses for not dropping trow. When Peter was body surfing, he noticed Happy Naked Guy struggling in what looked to be a rip current. Faced with the choice of grasping Happy Naked Guy or letting him drown, Peter thankfully chose the former and then helped him back to the beach. Happy Naked Guy heaved in one spot for about 20 minutes, leading us to conclude that here, in the face of Maui’s deadly currents and its residents’ floppy bits, perhaps we were in over our heads.

Harbin Hot Springs

Harbin Hot Springs, near Calistoga in central California, calls itself a clothing-optional resort, but I was cautioned in hushed tones that it doubles as a swingers retreat. I thought I might dabble in the whole naturism thing, and I could shed my clothes slowly as I got used to the place. However, when I entered the springs area, everyone was naked. They should have told me “clothing-optional” meant “if you’re wearing clothes you’ll look like an idiot”. So I tried to casually sunbathe, read a book but not really reading, watching an assortment of body types cavort in the springs. When I waded into the pool, a 30-ish woman crouched down at the poolside, giving me a full view of her not-so-private area, and asked if she could use my suntan cream. I obliged, trying to maintain eye contact throughout. She rubbed the cream exclusively on her nipples for an uncomfortably long period of time, saying something about how she and her male companion didn’t want to burn their important parts. I smiled meekly, returned to my towel, stuck my nose in the book and pondered. What was that encounter about? Was that woman hitting on me? Were they swingers or just cautious sunbathers? I never stuck around to find out.