The island of Gran Canaria: Nudity, sin and fat cats

I look around the beach expecting to see families and children with buckets plastered with Disney characters. Instead, I find myself in a world of “up without.” I also used to sunbathe like that, but then correctness (or I can’t explain it any other way) got from politics and the media to the swimming pool, and in recent years I was the only one exposed, so I now humbly wear a swimsuit top. I’m in the minority here.

The beach on the island of Gran Canaria is full and crowds of people flow along the ocean shore. I estimate the average age to be 60+ and the majority are pensioners from Germany. I pass undressed pensioners and I attribute the relaxed atmosphere to the fact that nudism is a kind of cultural heritage in Germany and tourism has brought it to the Canary Islands as well. Considering the age structure of the visitors, I feel like a fresh bud. False modesty aside. Boosting self-esteem among older people may be immoral, but I can live with it.

The next morning I go for a run and a little further on I see completely naked figures. I can’t see well at a distance, so I squint and focus, but I’m not wrong. All women and especially men in later life. Suddenly one of them appears in front of me, bends down and takes something out of his backpack. A look I’d rather forget. I run up to the “boring beach” sign and the arrow leads somewhere into infinity. The nudists have kilometers and kilometers of sand to themselves. I am surprised because I considered Spain, under which the Canary Islands belong, to be more of a rigid country.

When I was choosing my vacation, I knew I wanted to go here. Firstly because of the weather and secondly there are waves to surf. And since I was traveling with two eight-year-old children, I carefully read which part of the island is suitable for a “family vacation.” That is, a quieter part of the ocean, an easily accessible beach and facilities not only in terms of food, but also pharmacies or doctors. Because I or my daughter regularly end up on vacation in the emergency room or on drips. But maybe about that another time.

In the end, it turns out to be the best place in Maspalomas. “A place suitable for families with children,” reports the Google oracle, and I book accommodation there. And even though I was a little surprised by the differently dressed pensioners, I congratulate myself on how well I chose. The beach is breathtaking, the waves just right, beauty alternates with splendor.

When you stand by the shore and watch the children for hours so they don’t drown in the water, you have plenty of time to observe other events as well. And I notice that retirees are not the only predominant group. At regular intervals, male couples walk past me hand in hand. There are also a lot of rainbow flags and posters waving, inviting the mass event “Winter pride” (gay and lesbian march).

For many it could be a training camp to learn tolerance, but I’m liberal and I don’t have a problem with the nudity of people of any age or the LGBTQ + community, so I don’t think about it anymore and rather watch the forecast for the next day when it’s supposed to rain with concern.

And also that it’s raining. I can think of what to try to go to the local spa and sauna. And for a while I look at the links that jumped out at me. In the Maspalomas area alone, there are dozens of “male massage therapist” offers. A massage from a man? I wonder what it’s like when she finally jumps on me after a few seconds. It is exactly what you think it is. “Massage services” with everything from men and only for men. And according to the reviews, the local hit is Igor (26), a handsome and stylish young man according to the photos, who charges 100 euros for 60 minutes. “After my wife died, I come here to see Igor every year and visit him at least four times. Thank you for the perfect service,” Franz (70), for example, writes his ode, and I don’t know if his wife is turning in her grave.

I keep looking and the offer of a whole range of swingers resorts opens up to me. What is a swingers club I know, but a resort? Imagine that you don’t go for “fun” just for a few hours, but for a whole week, and you have it with accommodation and meals all inclusive. A few years ago I was in Las Vegas, but unlike Maspalomas, it’s not a city of sin, but a girls’ Catholic school. “Damn, those German pensioners know how to live,” I say to myself and cowardly give up the sauna. Because “sauna” can really mean anything here.

Instead, we continue through a landscape that looks like Mordor, rocks and extinct volcanoes, to a surfing spot. No one is naked here, so I’m getting used to the change. Everyone surfs the waves as if they are associated with Poseidon, I am more like a drowning seal on the shore. But at least I like the purple wetsuit. If you can’t do something, at least you should look good doing it, that way you can save a lot.

Where to go in the evening for fun with children? Gay clubs, night bars, swingers clubs, which by the way are also in the shopping center or sex shops, did not seem suitable to me. There is a reserve right next to the town, kilometers of sand dunes like from the fairy tale about Šeherázad. I read that the dunes are being destroyed by the “frequent sex of visitors.” I am afraid that our family vacation will not completely degenerate, but the hot sand in the early afternoon is a clear argument for all lustful passions to remain vertical. And on the way back, a touching moment occurs for all animal lovers.

We always feed emaciated stray cats by the sea, and within the messianic complex I feel like I’m maybe making the world a little better. I sprinkled them with pellets, and the cats just sniffed at them disdainfully and turned away. I look at them closely and see that they are grazing and dragging their bellies almost on the ground. A fat stray cat?

If there were crowds of drunk Brits who had barely hit puberty, like on the neighboring island of Tenerife, it wouldn’t be like that. But pensioners and older people in general are kinder and more receptive, and almost every one of them gives them something. That’s why the animals put my non-branded kibble in the basket and take a class better goodies directly from the hands of other tourists. Cat paradise, I am moved and excited. When German pensioners aren’t on swingers, they’re feeding dumb creatures. And I also wish to enjoy this in my old age. Still have to arrange it with a sufficiently high pension in euros.