Of Croatia, forbidden flesh and Woody Allen

Somebody once said that by now there must be only one person in the darkest of Africa who doesn’t know how to put on a safety belt. But still they insist on forcing the information on a yawning audience before every single flight.

Why don’t they rather teach the world population how to board a plane efficiently. It takes nerves of steel to watch some person methodically folding and unfolding their jacket and fitting and refitting their hand luggage in the overhead compartment. Inevitably this person always has the biggest bum on the aeroplane so that not even a mosquito could squeeze past. These instructions could be classified as safety procedures, because sooner or later this person is going to get killed by the angry queue.

While on the subject of big bums, I recently found myself on holiday in Croatia. Upon arrival at a holiday resort I couldn’t fail to notice that they had a clothing optional policy. I  had brought lots of books on this holiday but now afterwards I must admit that I didn’t read a word. It so happened so that there were better things to do.

The correct behaviour when you are confronted with forbidden flesh is not to stare. But the demure averting of eyes has never been part of my behaviour pattern. At times I think I even forgot to blink.

Unfortunately the demography of the resort was 50+ and XXL. The only six packs were behind the refrigerator door. Jamie Uys once made a film ’Beautiful people’. He did not shoot the film in a clothing optional holiday resort in Croatia.

Breasts and nipples came in all shapes and sizes. In my own bathroom mirror I can only see raspberries and pears. But now I realise the whole fruit basket is represented. Even bananas, water melons and dragon fruit.

The lack of clothes didn’t necessarily imply lack of body jewellery. Gold teeth, toe rings and everything in between. Nipple rings, bellybutton studs, butt plugs and genital piercings. Luckily these were mostly hidden behind folds of shaven fat, but some things were definitely not hidden. I could never visualise what they meant in the bible by passing a camel through the eye of a needle. By seeing the older gentlemen walking around with cock rings, I now have the picture clearly in my mind. Not a pretty sight. So much glitter, I’m sure you can see Croatia from the moon.

It was a big resort so lots of the inhabitants used bicycles to move about. I saw a woman from behind that looked like a pregnant hippopotamuses on wheels. Where the saddle was, nobody wants to know.

There was a fair amount of tattoos mostly dated from when they were in vogue back in the sixties. I spotted a tattoo of Marilyn Monroe on an octogenarian’s behind. After forty years and gravity it now alarmingly looked like Boris Becker before his facelift.

Then there was the family of five. Because of my particular interest I looked at the father first. Something wasn’t really there. Hung like a pickled gherkin flashed through my mind. Not a big one but like those small ones that they serve on the sandwiches at Harrods. My eyes then darted to the three sons. The gherkin didn’t fall far from the tree.

I understand why God created clothes on the seventh day.

There was one thorn amongst the roses. A beautifully tanned blond girl with a successful silicon job. In each well formed erect nipple she had a perfectly horizontal stud. Downstairs she had a landing strip with two silver rings on each side and a diamond in the middle. When she turned around to tan her back her butt plug became clearly visible. Woody Allen shaped. I could even see his glasses.

When night fell and dinner was served, clothing appeared miraculously again. I suppose it was to facilitate digestion. After dinner something else happened. But that is another story.