America Au Naturel

Americans are by nature inquisitive; this probably explains their achievement in getting to the moon and their ability to discover the perfect ice cream. So when we are asked “Which beach do you go to?” we have learned that a single answer is never considered sufficient. “We go to Haulover” we say vaguely, knowing already what the next question will be. “But which end?” Geographically our nearest beach is Sunny Isles, but thanks to Donald Trump and his merry men, the millionaire hotel/condominium buildings that now line that particular stretch of seashore have resulted in access to the beach being limited to those who are prepared to park some distance away and then cart all their paraphernalia with them. The next closest (and for my money by far the nicest) is the north end of the two mile stretch of Haulover Beach - so called because in years gone by, the fishermen would literally haul their boats over the beach to the adjacent inland waterway. Here there is plenty of cheap parking, and a tunnel walkway that cuts under the busy US1 bringing you out onto the beach walk. It is here that you are confronted by signs that read “Beyond this point, you may encounter clothing optional beaches”. In other words, you are about to walk through the high growing screen of bush and emerge onto a wide clean white sweep of sand which appears to be dotted with people who are all wearing the same flesh coloured swimming costumes. Sun umbrellas, some standing alone and some in huge clusters, announce the arrival of the aficionados of Haulover, and once you get used to the fact that this is the only protection they have between them and the sun, it is pretty much like any other beach. Nudity or naturism is of itself a fairly personal choice and never more so than here. There are those who choose to wear large hats and nothing else, some sport string bikinis that quite frankly leave nothing to the imagination, others have shirts on to keep their shoulders protected but nothing lower down and some look as though they have been staked out by some ancient tribe and left, spread-eagled, to be baked alive. But the most important thing is that nobody actually cares less what his neighbour is either doing or wearing (or in this case – not wearing). Nudity en masse is the most levelling of pastimes and quite frankly, once you are up to your neck in the warm waters off the Florida coastline, it doesn’t matter much anyway. On one unusual occasion, we were floating about enjoying the gentle ebb and wash of the waves when someone shouted that a manatee was swimming by. I can only think that from her viewpoint under water, she must have felt as though she had swum into a pod of her own kind judging by the width of some of the posteriors wading out into the crystal clear sea. There are very strict rules enforced by not only the beach inhabitants themselves, but by the eagle eye of the lifeguard who is in instant radio contact with a fast moving police patrol and anybody indulging in what could be construed as anti-social behaviour is immediately ejected from the beach to loud applause from all sides. According to rumour, there are actually “plain clothes” (for that read No Clothes) police who wander about making sure that there are no illegal immigrants who might have washed ashore overnight and who are seeking to mingle into the crowd and disappear later on. They would certainly have to be travelling light to go unnoticed in this neck of the woods. People are creatures of habit and each week you will find the same group in the same place. The tops of umbrellas are occasionally decorated with a small flag and all the Brits congregate side by side with the Americans and a great deal of good hearted banter goes on as people create an amoeba of arrivals and departures throughout the day. Some make do with just a towel and a good book and others haul cool boxes on wheels, massive umbrellas, snorkeling equipment and enough tanning lotion to coat most of the populace. Nobody plays a radio above acceptable decibel levels and apart from the occasional tinkle of a mobile phone, everyone behaves in a thoughtful easy-going fashion. Of course in this land of superb plastic surgery just now again one cannot help but notice some bits that defy gravity, but on the whole, we are a middle aged slightly lumpy and bumpy cheerful bunch who are more than happy to admit that they go to “the north end of Haulover”.