A Trip To Hungary

A Tuesday in mid-July

Some of the images accompanying these articles contain nudity so I am including an adult warning to what follows. None of the images are of a sexual nature.

Encsi and I managed a quick very early morning dip in the Senate House pool, and to get dressed again, before my mobile pinged, informing us that our taxi was at the gates and ready to transport us to Gatwick.

Our Sri Lankan driver spent a good deal of the journey to the airport bemoaning the impact of the UK's referendum decision to exit the EU. He theorised that the most likely result would be the exodus of much of his customer base, suggesting that he might need to emigrate himself, though satisfied that his chosen trade would allow him to work anywhere. I wasn't at all certain about the likelihood of a mass emigration by EU citizens but nodded appreciatively and, in an effort to raise the metaphoric clouds from him, and seek a silver lining therein, suggested the possibility that there might perhaps be less traffic on the roads. He was not convinced. But a couple of hours later we were in more literal cloud cover and heading south east to Budapest, Encsi's home city.

Encsi's parents entertained us in their apartment in Obuda and we enjoyed various outings in the course of the week. The most interesting of these, with her sisters and nieces in tow, took us up into the Buda Hills. The ascent was by means of the charming Children's Railway or Gyermekvasút (http://visitbudapest.travel/activities/fun-things-to-do/childrens-railway/), established after World War Two and staffed by children who are the conductors and ticket sellers etc. A hike from one of the small stations, through some woods took us to Janos Hill (János-hegy) where, from the Erzsébet (Elizabeth) Lookout Tower, we saw fantastic views of Budapest and its environs. We finished off the day by taking the chairlift back down.

Budapest is known as the city of baths and with very good reason. The last time we had been in Budapest was for the October Marathon and we had both been glad to relax in the vast complex of warm and very warm pools that is the Széchenyi Thermal Baths immediately afterwards (it was helpfully across the road from the finish). On this visit, we made use of a couple of the outdoor Strands, the pleasure beach atmosphere of the Palatinus Strand on Margrit Island in the Danube and another, the Dagály Spa with its medicinal sulphurous smelling waters. There were no opportunities for naturism at these though, so we decided on going a bit further afield to a place where we had heard that there might be some naturist users, and headed for Lupa Lake. Lupa Lake is on the way to the beautiful town of Szentendre on the Danube where we had visited before. Access to the lake by road is becoming somewhat restricted now, an artificial beach resort having been constructed and fenced off near the main road. But it was still possible to access a path around most of the shoreline from a minor road and, once on the path, to scramble down at various places to small narrow beaches where skinny dipping seemed popular. We stopped twice for a dip in the course of a nice walk that took us through the dappled shade of trees and past reed beds and wild flowers. The day was hot and the water cool and we swam out a good way from the beaches. Afterwards we headed into Szentendre again, this time looking around an interesting museum dedicated to the Hungarian impressionist artist called Károly Ferenczy and his artistic family. That final evening in Buda, we enjoyed a family meal out in a lovely inn restaurant near Encsi's parents' apartment. The establishment we chose, the Restaurant Kéhli, is associated with a famous Hungarian writer from the turn of the last century, Gyula Krúdy, who used to like to dine and drink there. I was reading a novel of his that Encsi had given me during my stay in Budapest. It was an English translation, my Hungarian is not coming on very quickly at all! The title of the book is "Sunflower" which I like as it is a flower I associate with Encsi having once photographed her, naked in a field of the flowers on a holiday in the South of France and bought her some for her apartment at intervals since. The Kéhli provided tasty traditional food to the accompaniment of live music on the clarinet and gypsy violin.


Small platform cut in the shore

Lake Lupa Walk

Life At The Senate House

Author's Note

Some of the images accompanying these articles contain nudity so I am including an adult warning to what follows. None of the images are of a sexual nature.

What follows is not quite the naked truth, but rather something approximate to it. A couple of years ago, following my divorce, I moved into a naturist club. It is one of England's original sun clubs, first established in the early 1930s. Its grounds are attached to a large house that provides its members with a large social space including living room, bar, kitchens and a substantial number of bedrooms available for a small number of short term residents and to guests of the club.

What follows is an account of life at just such a club which I call The Senate House, a name does bear a relationship to that real club's. But in creating its architecture and facilities, I have borrowed and extended it with reference to other clubs, and indeed other houses. Likewise, the members I refer to have not necessarily all set foot in The Senate House's original. They are an amalgam of people I have known, both adherents to naturism and those who, so far as I know at least, have never practiced it.

There are various reasons why I have chosen to fictionalise my account. Firstly, for someone with my limited organisational skills and with limited time available for writing, I think it will prove easier for me to mould a coherent and entertaining picture by borrowing from different memories and source material.

Secondly, privacy is something that is dear to many, but there can be very specific privacy concerns held by those who meet in a naturist environment. It is easy to think of naturists as a peculiarly fun and daft bunch who are willing to appear on a tea time show with a carefully positioned teapot covering their genitalia. The majority, of club naturists at least, are not like that. Most would not be tempted by the annual invitation to abandon the lycra and cycle down Piccadilly starkers. Those participants of London's (or some other city's) World Naked Bike Ride tend to be a younger crowd, enjoying a daring laugh, but who would have little interest in lying on the grass, perhaps enjoying an occasional swim, game of tennis or cup of tea as points of interest in the day. Club naturists are frequently professionals and many are at least a little wary that they will not be taken as seriously in their chosen occupations if their penchant for going about undressed were known. So, if I borrow lines from some of them from time to time, I do not intend to borrow the people themselves.

Lastly, I hope that the fiction will ensure that I lessen the risk that I will embarrass my own club. I had not intended to reflect on any dark deeds of its members, but nevertheless clubs like mine often guard their reputation very fiercely. One particular prejudicial misconception held by many about naturists is never far from their minds. That is, the association in the minds of many of naturism with sexual libertarianism. Of course there are clubs and saunas badging themselves naturist where these kind of activities do go on, but most old landed clubs would not tolerate overtly sexual behaviour and fear attracting the wrong kind of applicant. In fact, I do write some small pen portraits about my club for the magazine of British Naturism, the UK's federation of naturist societies, and even these snippets on petanque championships, swimming galas and tea on the terrace are not sent off without the diligent scrutiny of at least one member of the Board.

So, The Senate House it is, though any photos included claiming to be of that club will be of other places passing themselves off as it.

Two more things remain to be done on this first entry. To introduce myself and to explain my title. I did wonder whether I should give myself a fictionalised name. There is no great shame in a pseudonym, and yet I think I favour that approach adopted by countless US sitcoms over the years and intend to refer to the fictionalised me by my real first name which is Andrew.  Then there is: "The Naked Truth" title which is perhaps an odd name for a fiction, but it indicates an intention of mine to use these pages to pass on some views that I genuinely hold about a range of topics and certainly not limited to naturism.

Andrew

This blog is born on the 4th July 2016