Last Wednesday, Scott and I found ourselves taking a sunset walk with a purpose.
Our mission? To find the nude resort that was rumored to be just ten minutes from the hotel we were staying at in Mexico. Hand in hand, we walked barefoot through the sand until we saw it — a large sign advertising a clothing-optional beach, complete with a warning that cameras were strictly prohibited.
“Look, Scott!” I chirped with excitement, “This is it!”
As you may or may not know, I don’t care about being naked. At the age of seven, I even composed a song with my sister entitled “Everyone is naked beneath their clothes.” Scott likes to give me crap for this until I promptly remind him that he used to make up songs about feces– this instantly eliminates all of his credibility, and I’m free to continue bragging about my songwriting skills.
Scott had never visited a nude beach, but was certainly intrigued when he learned we were just a hop skip and a jump away from dozens of birthday-suited strangers. Naturally, we both decided to crash the resort and take a skinny dip in the Gulf of Mexico, just to say we did.
When we informed his family of our plans, we were met with mixed responses. “It’s just a body,” I explained, “If you think about it, a butt is just like a nose — everybody has one!”
They swiftly explained it wasn’t the butts they were worried about. This was probably for the best as despite being very comfortable in my own skin, a nude romp with the in-laws could end up being more than a little awkward.
As Scott and I crossed the perimeter into clothing optional territory, we noticed the beach was jam-packed with cabanas full of naked people–none of whom were swimming in the ocean. There was quite a bit of seaweed that day, and I can only guess that battling Mexican kelp without a swimsuit could get a little bit…um…sticky.
“I don’t think we should use a cabana, Scott. You probably have to reserve those.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “But look up there at the pool — everybody’s naked in there, too. Want to just go over there?”
Everybody was naked. And there was no seaweed!
“Sure!” I responded a little too excitedly as we climbed the steps up to the private pool area.
Apparently, this was a bad idea.
A very bad idea.
Ten feet away from the entrance to the pool, a man in what looked like a police uniform approached us.
“Excuse me, you two. Are you guests at this resort?”
“Yes.” I lied.
“Well then, where are your bracelets?” he inquired sternly.
Somehow, the plethora of body parts had distracted me from the fact that every single person wasn’t totally naked. Looking around, I began to realize they all had a small black and silver band wrapped loosely around their right wrists.
“I’m sorry sir,” I said in my very best I-didn’t-do-it voice, “I think we…um…left them in our room?”
Scott rolled his eyes. Apparently, I wasn’t very convincing.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t visit the pool unless you are a guest at the resort and have a bracelet. You can walk past on the beach, but this area is private, so you aren’t allowed to stay.”
Our heads hanging in defeat, we retreated. It was looking like we were going to be all talk and no walk in regards to our clothing-optional adventure. And then, just as I was about to give up all hope, Scott had a breakthrough.
“Hey…we could probably go skinny dipping on this part of the beach. Technically, we’re off their property.”
“Pfft.” I chuckled. “Only by, like, three yards.”
“Still,” he continued, “I don’t think there’s anything they can do to stop us once we’re off the premises.”
I realized he was right. I had come all the way to Mexico, and so help me God, I was going to skinny dip in the ocean. Seaweed and all.
And then I realized Scott was wrong.
So very wrong.
Unfortunately, half of my swimsuit had already been untied by the time I made this discovery. (On the bright side, nothing had yet been exposed.)
The guard from earlier, flanked by two of his colleagues, began running towards us and blowing whistles. ”PUBLIC BEACH! No nudity on a PUBLIC BEACH!” was their battle cry.
“Quick!” Scott screeched, “Get your suit tied up! I don’t want to go to Mexican prison!!!”
I did has he told. Judging by what I’ve seen on Locked Up Abroad, I’m sure we would have no problem skinny dipping in Mexican prison. Still, I didn’t want to chance it. I’m smart enough to realized that neither Scott or I would do well in jail. Honestly, I don’t think we could even handle juvey.
Thankfully, security let us off the hook after they saw us walking back to our resort, our swimwear fastened securely in place.
I think there’s a moral to this pathetic and humiliating story: You actually have to pay large sums of money for the right to be naked in Mexico. Who would have thought?
Main photo courtesy of epSos.de