I wasn't going to spoil it, while it lastet, but, well, now that the fun is over, I might as well share this anecdote about stupid things to do with stiny thingies in the water. Swimming so, not diving.
The story of how I was inadvertently driven by the most beautiful nude woman to (just as inadvertantly)commit painful, oh so painful "million North Sea stingy thingies" self-torture of sorts.
(Or somesuch title)
Popcorn may be required to get through it...
Location: the Island of Sylt in the North Sea. Google it, you get the the idea.
Mostly all of it nudist beaches. A thing there. Saunas up on the dunes. That darn sea is cold, saunas make sense. In that area of the world, saunas are pretty much non clothing only.
Aparently people vacation there a lot in summer, including families. And if you are an awkward teenager in the mid to late 70s stuck there on family vacation, what are you going to do...
Well, you practise self control and not stare-ing....
Rule #1 do not stare.
And yet a comedic chain of events occurs.... we get to the stingy thingies...:
So, you are an awkward teenage boy on a nude beach with nowhere to go. Still half a head shorter than many adults, but tired of enlarging the sand fortress around the beach basket (some sort of elaborate canopied beach wicker chair thing, each party pays to rent one and builds a fortress around it to keep some of the wind out... (a lot of strange things there...).
So, you finally work up the courage to play volleyball, because you like it and you think you are good at it... even so you need to do it in the buff, like all the real adults or ypu really stick out. On mixed, random teams.
You get into it, forget about the nude thing, enjoy the game. You heroically dig out an impossible diving safe. Only to find you somehow landed on top of the most beautiful women you ever saw in her natural state, who dove for the same ball (volleyball that is - mind out of gutter guys, please)... You say your pardons, roll off and get ready to play on...
... when as if struck by lightning you fall back face down in the sand. Concerned inquiries if you are OK from your teammates. Pretty lady touching you. NOT HELPING! Nerveously stammering about a hurt knee and needing a minute. I crawl off the field, refuse help, trying panic struck to come up with a way out of this pickle. Who would have thunk that even the briefest such contact would illicit a rather visible, embarrassing (in this context) reaction in a young male teenager...
Having no better idea how to get out of this I ran into the North Sea, the darn cold North Sea like my life depended on it. That of course fixed things fairly quickly, like rather cold water tends to do... But no way was I going to come out until the last of the currently playing Volleyballers were off the court. So I stayed in. Even so the surf was 6 feet and one ball was up.
Nah, again, mind out of gutters guys. They have flagpoles there on which they either hoist none or one or two big read balls. Yeah, ok, I admit, that is a bit funny on a nude beach... Anyway, it is the storm warning system. No balls meant something like: all is good. One ball meant: storm warning, swimming not advised and only for strong swimmers, entirely at their own risk. Two balls meant storm, swimming strictly verboten.
So, I swam and body surfed (got good at it earlier, way safer for awkward teenagers to do that in cold water than nude beach activities...) until I realised these things:
I was cold as heck, going on hypothermic.
(I was a skier and knew what that meant and knew the signs)
The surf was darn high, certainly north of ten feet. I was likely going to get slammed hart on the way out and would have to claw through the backwash. Done that, but not in surf that high. Severe road rash came to mind.
Two balls were up. And I was hoping I would get busted by some sort of official for being in the water . At least I would be out then. All of a sudden, nudity and accompanying side effects were not a concern at all.
And there was more of an more undertow present from all the backwash (could not dive against it at all) and the wind was hauling. Time to hustle.
And a strange insight at that odd time:
I had become a man. Because I definitely was having my first "all because of a beautiful woman experience"... of sorts...
I made it out somehow, body surfing (no way would just swimming have worked), with road rash (or beach rash) on one side only, not all over as feared. I felt very lucky and oh so cold, skin strangely burning. Even where not bloody abraded open.
Must be that the skin was burning because of the cold water.
I surely wasn't thinking all that straight. But I was thinking warmth. Bloody as I was I made a beeline for a Sauna. Who cares how many naked people 3x your weight are sitting in there (yeah, well, at that time...), I am cold... I had the sense to shower before getting a towel at the entrance. I got stared at in there.
What ever happened to rule #1:
Don't stare?
Well, apparently I was a sight. Bloody on one side, lobster red everywhere. Blue in the face... I said I was in the water way too long, got noodled under real good on the way out, got way cold, which is why everything really burns and that I just need to warm up a little before anything else.
Well that burn everywhere was way worse than what I remembered from thawing out from overdoing things a bit when skiing. As I warmed up, the burn became untolerable. That and a large sauna full of naked tourists talking at me, wanting to help me. I needed to leave. Fast.
A good day, for I made it through it. Not so good otherwise maybe. But there was worse yet: A few days of just burning. Everywhere. Every nook and cranny. Even in and behind the ears. Between the toes and fingers... Not talking about the midsection. Horrible.
Turns out that day the wind blew such (there from an easterly direction, I think) that it was a "jellyfish day". Except no one noticed, because I was almost the only idiot in the water. One ball was up first. But the surf was high enough to discourage almost all. And then with two balls up I was the only one in the water. The thing is, if the surf is high enough and violent enough you don't really see jellyfish. Not in the water and not really washed up on the beach. And not only so when you, for convoluted reasons run like lighthing into the water. You don't see them even if you in a swarm of them. Not in or neat the surf zone
This is because due to the violent wave action, there are no Jellyfish. Just millions and millions of tiny bits and pieces of smashed up by the surf jellyfish. Finger digit size to who knows how small. I went back to check (not in the water, just to the edge) Too much of a mystery to bear unresolved. And guess what, jelly fish particles still sting... EVERYWHERE.
To pour salt into the open wounds on top of all:
The beautiful volleyball lady was right there in the sauna when I walked in. Flinch.
But at that point I trusted that that day I was done either with "reactions" or caring about it.
I had to ask my mom for help with getting vinegar and aloe Vera (alternating) on my back, where I could not reach.
Vinegar... I smelled funny for a while.
There may or may not have been some fun skinny dipping with the right company later in live, I may have learnd that not all "contact with the other sex" leads to this sort of outcome,
but that was the last time I was intentionally spending real time on a nude beach.
And to date, when the surf is up, really up, I am quite suspicious about what's in the water that cannot be easily seen...
To post or not to post, that is the question...
