Only a brief exerpt of this issue is available.

"There's a nude beach less than five minutes walking distance from our rooms. It's perfect!" assured Brian, a good friend, and my initiator into the way of naturists. This is how I found myself travelling with five other seasoned nudists to a little island some 100kms south of the main island of Cuba. As it turned out, there are three nude beaches on Cayo Largo, but Playa Capricho, the closest to us was our favourite. This is also how I ended-up burning a part of my anatomy that doesn't normally see much sunlight, but more on that later.

The first issue for me, as a neophyte nudist, was sunscreen. On our first day there, I walked the length of the resort complex, a round trip of about an hour, and returned with a farmer-burn brighter than the Canadian flag. I quickly learned that at Cayo Largo, that you have no choice but to tan (unless you have that wonderfully phosphorescent-Irish skin as possessed by Brian). There is a certain decorum to applying sunscreen to select parts of your anatomy while at the beach. My initial solution to this situation, was to have someone else apply it for me, but I had no takers. I later learned that you need to get coated first thing in the morning to avoid burning, which leaves you smelling coconut fresh at breakfast.

Playa Capricho is not a particularly wide beach (between two and four metres), but it stretches off for many kilometres and is tastefully secluded. I find getting undressed at the beach is still an awkward task, as compared to Al who merely has to snap his fingers and his clothes fall away, or Hans, who's clothes not only fall away, but neatly fold themselves into his backpack (it's a Northern European skill). Getting dressed again, of course means including a handful of sand in your boxers, no matter how careful you are.

The sand at Cayo Largo has the consistency of cornstarch, is a soft coral beige colour, and has the unusual reputation for not getting hot in the sun. Combined with the constant ocean breeze, and the soothing, breaking waves, a full day at the beach was always pleasant. We had perfect nudist weather for the week that we were there, and it was this seemingly idyllic condition that led to my mistake. I was naturally concerned about protecting my lily white dink from the possibilities of burning, and my precautionary measures led to the wonderful chestnut brown colour it sports now. I even went to great lengths to protect my butt, which is a good thing because I fell asleep, face down for the better part of an hour. While my butt survived, golden brown, and slightly singed on the sides, it was the bottom of my feet that suffered. Who would think that you'd need to put sunscreen on the bottom of your feet? It was a day before I figured out why walking had suddenly become painful. Thankfully, the burn subsided after three days, but now the bottom of my feet are peeling, and the itching is terrible. People think I have a dance in my step when I walk, but really I'm just rubbing my feet against the floor.

We were told that the food would be awful, due to the American embargo, but we were amazed at how well the Cubans managed with what they had. The bread was superb (my own personal culinary touchstone) but the desserts were as bland and predictable as a Hollywood plot line (with the exception of the ice cream, which was excellent). If you like eggs, chicken or tomatoes, you'd be in heaven because they were present at every meal. Joel, seeking greater variety in our dining, managed to get us into the Italian restaurant, two hotels over. He had the presence of mind to use Hans, who has exceptional people skills, as our liaison. Fifteen minutes later we were seated to the best meal of our stay. With the high exchange rate, we quickly discovered that a tip of a couple of dollars (a small fortune at the Cuban money exchange) will guarantee exceptional service.

Drinking at Cayo Largo seemed to be mandatory, for even Hans and Joel, our two semi-abstainers, were knocking them back with the rest of us by the end of the week. There was a decent quantity of alcohol available at all of the bars, which meant that there was a good variety mixed drinks to be had. Unless you have an undying passion for Southern Comfort or Jack Daniel's, you're not going to want for alcohol. We did make the mistake of ordering Triple Sec one night, that turned out to be a knock-off liqueur that was more akin to mosquito DEET.

I was impressed to discover that there was some decent scotch to be had, which led to my nightly ritual of a scotch and cigar on the stairs just above the gently breaking waves. I liked to think of it as my astronomy session, because it provided me with an excellent view of some unfamiliar stars, or at least until the bloated full moon managed to pull itself above the horizon.

The only thing you couldn't drink at Cayo Largo was the tap water. I made the absent-minded mistake of sipping some while brushing my teeth on our first day there, and the briny tasting stuff left my guts feeling a little queasy for that last half of the week (but not enough to impede my vacation ). All further tooth brushing session were done with bottled water, or later that week (when I had forgotten to pick some up) with draft beer. Cuban beer is excellent by-the-way, and is not just for oral hygiene.

But is there any action at Cayo Largo? I personally wasn't looking for any, especially having drunk the water, but there were other gay guys around. Steven, who has 500mhz online gaydar, and can spot a handsome man through solid rock, met many at the beach. On our first day, we met a cute couple from Montreal who had made having sex "sur la plage" their latest hobby. One British guy, whom we met one evening, was quite open about being there with his wife, and talked openly about the availability of sex. Another Montrealer , whom we had met earlier, posed seductively outside his room later that evening, wearing only boxers in the semi-darkness. We were seated at the bar enjoying cigars when we noticed him standing there. For our benefit, he casually removed his underwear, hung them on the door knob, and slipped into his room leaving the door open. When we didn't take the bait, he came out a second and third time to perform this routine. Unfortunately for him, the bar staff had caught sight of his little act, and were watching with intense amusement.

The Cuban boys themselves are exceptionally cute. I wanted to take home a six-pack, but there was no provision for that on the customs form. The hotel employees didn't seem to be restrained from fraternisation with the guests, though I have no proof of this. We didn't make it to the airport discotheque, where the employees hang out, even though we planned to go every night. There is only one bus that goes there at 11:00, and another that brings you back at 1:30 (it's too far to walk). We heard from others that they had had a good time, even though they had to pay for their drinks while there. We had also heard that there was some cruising going on after dark at the beach past the furthest hotel. I didn't see anything myself, on either of my nightly walks, but I did find a place where trails left the beach and entered some dunes.

Would we go back there? The plans are already in discussion for a return visit. The only thing I would do differently next time there is to brush my teeth with more beer and less water, and make sure there was SPF 32 painted on the bottom of my feet.

Jim (the neophyte nudist) Stewart