On the fringes of almost any Croatian beach destination, these three letters are often found scrawled across the rocks. They are not only abbreviated signposts for where to go when you want to bathe in the buff, but are also an interesting remnant of Yugoslavian tourism that has not been erased by time and change.
It is perhaps easy to associate the culture of nudism to the free wheelin’ 70’s - but its origins, and roots in Croatia actually reach back much further into history.
Backtrack to the turn of the 20th century Germany, where society and lives were governed quite strictly. As things go, in reaction to too many rules, an alternative lifestyle culture emerged.
A movement coined FKK, which stood for “Frei-körper-kultur.” and translated to something like “free-body-culture,” was created, touting the philosophy that ridding yourself of clothing in nature brings a healthy sense of freedom and well being…”allowing for the natural elements - air, sun, light and water to be fully enjoyed…ignoring any erotic connotation…nudity should be seen as the original state in which each of us were born. It is natural and healthy.”
This friendly. anti-authoritarian lifestyle spilled over German borders into other countries; popping up in desirable locations. The sparkling Adriatic coast was an obvious place for FKK to thrive - with some help from historical events and famous figures.
Leapfrog a few decades forward, when the birth of naturist tourism on the Adriatic was given a ‘free’ promotional kickstart.
In 1936 when Britain’s King Edward VIII and his lover Wallis Simpson skinny dipped and frolicked in the Adriatic sea, all eyes turned to the Istrian coast.
Not only did he return to England and abdicate, forfeiting his status as King of England in order to marry Wallis, but he was a nudist!
Jump again, to the Yugoslavian era, and President Josip Broz Tito’s ambitious development of tourism that spanned the eastern shores of the Adriatic from Istria to Montenegro, and included building on the already existent popularity of naturist tourism. The Istrian region launched the first naturist exclusive resorts in Europe.
A typically sprawling Socialist era complex, Koversada Vrsar accommodated up to 400 guests, and hosted the first world conference for naturist tourism. The 70’s was a heyday for naturist holidays, with niche “nudist” camps and hotels popping up on Adriatic shores.
To this day, beach towns have public or “textile” beaches where bathing suits are expected, and those looking to take it all off hit the trails to outlying bays, and the ‘wild’, FKK beaches. Finding their way via the ubiquitous FKK marking.
Although subdued compared to its past glory, the movement is still well and alive. Just around the bend and down a rocky trail there is likely a peaceful, untouched and wild beach, and likely a few bare bodies.
WHAT’S NOT TO LOVE
It took very little to convert me.
No people tromping over your towel, no noise or water sports, and an unspoken respect to give everyone their personal space. Nobody coming along just as you get settled, plonking down inches from your towel only to begin barking into their cell phone. And there really is a liberating sense of freedom floating in the sea sans swimsuit, I am telling you…
SAVE THE SPOT
People often establish their spots, and tend to return to those same places day after day - some bold souls even leaving mats held down by rocks for the night, to ensure their place.
We often had to step around the ‘Eivis brothers,’ on the way to our spot.
At night the twin brothers performed their rotating Elvis impersonations in the hotel bar - which I had a feeling they had been doing since Yugoslavian times... And by day they and their greased back hair- do’s went to the beach - their big bronze bellies and everything else getting darker by the day. They lay side by side in exactly the same spot, modestly covering their privates with their newspapers as we sauntered by.
ON THE ROCKS
I have a special place outside of Dubrovnik where I go to tune out.
I have given this place the title ‘my rocks,’ and most people know if they cannot reach me, I am there. Often I do nothing but lie and gaze at the sky, the green pines, and the birds swooping above - decompressing from the tourism rat race. I sunbathe topless here, ensconced in a nook of rocks.
One August, almost every day this man would arrive, and go to his spot on another rock nearby. I was fascinated by his unchanging routine. He would meticulously lay out his towel, his book, and clothes folded neatly. Then he would stretch, or just stand and stare out at the sea for a long while. After about 15 minutes he would jump in and swim up the coast to clamber up on a flat rock. There he would take off his shorts and lay like a lizard, sunning his naked body on the rock until he swam back to read his French novel and smoke a cigarette. We saw each other every day, never spoke a word, only exchanging a quick smile here and there.
One afternoon a group of rowdy swimmers arrived and disrupted our routines with their frisbees, screeching, and backflips off the rocks - for about half an hour - until his scorching looks in their direction scared them away.
He smiled at me and said,
‘These are our rocks.’
KISS ME….
Most often, than not people tend to respect the unspoken code of the FKK…respecting personal space on the wild beaches. Just because you are freely baring your body doesn’t mean you are waving a flag saying come talk to me I’m free!
But according to some, that was not always the case, and in the 70’s a lone female could be seen as being ‘available’. There is actually a name for the opportunistic man that prowls the beach looking for these targets… GALEB - as in a seagull.
Groggy from a late night, but up early, I headed down the steps, and picked my way along the shore and over the rocks to the empty beach. I stripped down and had a dip in the sea before spreading out on my stomach for a good naked snooze in the sun.
I was woken by the sound of a spluttering snorkel nearby, but drifted off again.
Until I was startled awake by water being trickled on my bare ass and lower back.
I turned over and sat up quickly covering myself, staring at two hairy knees, flippers, and up to… and a large…belly. Then up to a pudgy red face all squished by his snorkel and mask.
‘excuse me?” I ask, really trying not to laugh.
He leans over dripping water on my legs.
and in a Czech accent, says, “KEEEEEEEEEEEES ME.” (kiss me).
He just did not seem threatening because of his ridiculous appearance - naked, save for the flippers and mask, and I believe he was not all there in the head. I just covered myself, said no and waved him away.
He shuffled into the sea like a penguin, flippers and all.. and swam off.
OCTOPUS MAN
Reeling from my first season working in Dubrovnik, I was longing for a quiet and unpopulated beach aka FKK, but had barely ventured outside the old town. I inquired at the tourist office where they pointed out a place on a map, and I headed off.
It was no denying it was a wild beach, as it was down a scrambly, steep trail, to clamber over some big rocks. I settled in, stripped down, and feeling that finally I would get some peace.
I grabbed my bottle of beer out of my bag. Alas no opener! I was struggling to find a properly shaped rock to pry the cap off, when I heard a man’s voice.
Enter Octopus Man…in his 60’s, clambering over the rocks towards me…thankfully wearing a speedo. But again in the good old laughter inducing flippers and mask. This time my visitor was holding a three pronged spear used for hunting octopus. And was he ever happy to see me!
After opening my beer with his octopus prong, he plunked himself down right next to me, on my towel and jabbered away for a good 40 minutes.
He was very amusing, with some hilarious anecdotes about his life, Dubrovnik history, the sea, and on and on. I quite enjoyed his company.
He departed to continue his octopus hunting when I falsely promised I would meet him at the beach bar down the way a little later.
FREE SHOW
On the rocky far reaches of Lokrum Island, situated just off of Dubrovnik’s Old town, there are giant slabs of slanted rock that are home to the FKK domain. But it is also on full view of the route for the glass boat and kayak tours that circle the island that cruise right by the rocks. When a full boat comes along and around the corner they are presented with a display of bare bums, balls, and boobs. As the boat passes, its guests can be heard squealing; while the nudists splayed out on the rocks simply don’t care.