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In two days, we will drive to the beautiful Arnaoutchot naturist campsite on the Atlantic Ocean, just south of Bordeaux. In a beautiful pine forest, we park our camper van as close to the sea as possible. We are alone, on the most beautiful field of the campsite. We only know the campsite from the high season when it is packed with people. The contrast could not be greater.
Calm descends as we stroll along the beach and watch the sun go down. The children run in the surf and gaze longingly at the foaming waves that challenge them.
Night falls. The only light comes from a small oil lamp. In the background, the sea rustles and the wind blows gently through the tall pine trees. We open a bottle of wine and enjoy the silence.
“This is so wonderful,” I say.
“Yes, indeed, what a lovely place and how peaceful.”
“Why don't we start our own naturist campsite? How wonderful is this!”
I jump up.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, why not? Let's build something, something tangible!”
The wine flows freely. And our imaginations run wild. That same evening, we come up with ideas for how the campsite should be. Anything is possible, anything can be done. We dream on, into the night.
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