My wife and I recently returned from a five-week motor-homing trip around New Zealand. The scenery was stunning, the weather gorgeous (it was summer there, after all), the wine eminently drinkable, and the people downright nice. We sailed in misty fiords, flew over snow-capped mountains, tramped through rainforests, and drove many miles on twisty roads. We saw sheep (lots of sheep), the Southern Cross, vibrant city life, and lots of wide-open spaces. Best of all, we enjoyed sunbathing nude on both remote and textile beaches (without getting arrested), skinny dipping in pristine lakes, hiking through the bush, sipping afternoon tea with fellow nudies, and practicing my short golf game sans clothes.
Actually, that wasn’t the best thing. The freedom to park almost anywhere and enjoy life as naturally as conceivably possible probably topped the “besties” list.
We discovered “freedom camping” — the ability to park up and spend the night anywhere that takes your fancy, provided (i) overnight stays are not strictly prohibited at your location of choice and (ii) your motorhome is self-contained. Ours was, and a small blue sticker on the back proved it. We took full advantage and spent nights off the beaten path — next to a farmer's field, at small picnic lay-bys, and by deserted beaches. The solitude of freedom camping also allowed us to enjoy our naturist life. We ate dinners outdoors au-naturel using our motorhome to screen us from an occasional passing motorist and, when parked next to the confluence of two rivers, we happily wandered down to the river naked to skinny dip, towels in hand just in case.
Public nudity is not illegal in New Zealand, providing you are not causing offense, and in such a sparsely populated country, it’s not difficult to find a quiet spot to strip off. We found the attitude to naturism (as to many other things in New Zealand) to be quite relaxed, although, interestingly, some naturist club members were not so sure.
We were nude on a remote beach when a couple of walkers strolled by. We didn’t bother to cover up and they did not do a swift about-turn. When enquiring about local hikes at the Tourist Information office, I asked if there were any good places to go skinny dipping. “Oh yes,” said the lady behind the counter. “Go here and here but best to avoid here.” It was so refreshing to have this conversation, as if it were the most normal request in the world. Which, to us, it was.
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