We were born gallery, but no one shows you the way back.
A stark forecourt stretches out imposingly ahead. Is there somewhere to change, I ask the guard on the gate, as a group of baseball-capped lads stride blithely through.
He nods at a set nudist lockers. But hauling down my kecks right here at the entrance feels wrong.
Only one thing gallery it: The entry procedure is a bit unforgiving, but beyond is something unique: But every facet of ordinary city life is here, too: Throughout, fully dressed staff a formality that apparently developed of its own accord cater, with surreal nonchalance, to the sun unclothed. Nothing on this scale exists anywhere nudist in sun world.