Dawn…it’s colored peach again.
We meet our neighbor from the next room next door. He has offered us a tour of what he describes as a particularly special place, to him. He guarantees that we will thank him profusely, once we make our visit.
DF and I spend the early afternoon in our quarters, sleeping and listening to the pound of the waves on the beach. After siesta, we take care of our bills and slip on some light clothing, she a thin dress and me a sarong. We plan to have a snack and walk nude on the beach for sunset.
We stop at a familiar restaurant. It is still too early to open. We’ll come back later. A block up the street there is another place that we know. We have a torta filled with baked veggies together.
We snap a few pictures along the way and then take the first alley to the beach, stopping at the end to disrobe. It is liberation to drop all and wander out onto the public beach. We pass a few kindred souls. Dogs play, frisbees are passed and soccer balls bounce. Everyone has an activity.
The ocean sneaks up on us a couple of times and recedes, leaving the bubbling tiny holes of crabs. We take opportunities to capture photos of the sunset and our joy.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. We’ll know when we get there. As far as we can, I guess.”
The sentiment is returned. We stroll off free ranging naked hand in hand.
I have been away. I have been on a beach writing. I have much to catch up with. The stories of Zipolite will not come at a usual pace, and most will not read like my more familiar “Trip Report” format. I’ll probably just use the material like salt and pepper sprinkled into my list of other free range wanderings. This is the first, a haphazard #1, in a series.
DF has run off to a yoga class with a new acquaintance. I don’t follow instructions well. Keep me out of a ballroom dancing class. I stay behind to my own devices.
I take my sarong down to that gentle slope which falls to the waves, where they hit the beach.
The Free Range Naturist 