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Message # 69802.1

Subject: Thumbs Up I love your reminiscences, Laszlo

Date: Mon 13/03/17 10:45:47 GMT

Name: jollywetfellow sx

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I too love the way that women from so many other countries (not just Muslim ones) just to go into the water whenever they like - I love for example the way that they will just pick up a sandy child and walk under the beach shower fully clothed, while western mothers stand awkwardly and ineffectually holding the child at arms-length because they "can't" get their clothes wet.     In many ways Muslim women are more "free" than western women.
In reply to Message (69802) None Tunisia

By Laszlo - ocean.51@freemail.hu hu Thu 09/03/17 07:54:43 GMT

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In 2000 August I had a chance to spend a week in a seaside resort in Tunisia. That time the country was under the sway of a dictator, with his pictures everywhere and policemen at every corner, but there was order and safety in the country, without the hazard of terror attacks.

When I arrived at the hotel the morning shift was just over. An employee came out of the building, headed straight towards the sea in her uniform, and went into the water unflinchingly, as if it had been the most natural way on earth. Actually, for her it was. I don’t remember if she took off her shoes or not.

The beach in front of the swanky hotels might be anywhere in Europe. The scantily clad women and the girls in tiny bikinis were probably very exciting for the local guys, but I wanted something else, and took long walks, beyond a promontory jutting over the sea, where there was a cove and the beach was visited by the local people.

The weather was so terribly hot that I wore long trousers with either a shirt or T-shirt, and a white cap. Without these pieces of clothing I would have been burnt alive. About every twenty minutes I went for a swim, after which my wet clothes sticking to me were functioning as a personal device of air-conditioning.

A passing remark:

Three years later I was woken up in a hotel on Korfu after midnight. A young Hungarian woman had to be taken to hospital with very severe sunburn, and she needed interpretation. I spent the entire night in the hospital together with her and her husband. We even got breakfast from the hospital staff. After that she always wore a T-shirt when swimming.

At the above mentioned cove the Muslim people had a really good time in the water. A young man was teaching his wife or fiancée how to swim. He was wearing swimming trunks and the woman a blue trouser suit with a long sleeved yellow blouse under her coat. When selecting her “bathing” attire, for her the easy movement of legs must have been a serious item to consider, and probably that’s why she chose trousers instead of a skirt.

In the cove there was also a little harbour with a jetty. There two sights stuck to my memory vividly. A very sexy girl wore brown trousers and a red shirt, which was rather see-through even when dry. After she jumped in from the jetty, her white C cup bra was really on display, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

A slender, young lady was wearing a tight, full length, dark blue sheath dress with shoulder straps which might have passed as a ball gown. Some young lads wanted to push her in, but she was stubborn, and did not let them have their way. After a time she could not resist the temptation of the beautiful, cool sea, and jumped in of her own volition. Her dress did not become transparent at all, but the outline of her bra was clearly visible. She had a great time and spent the whole afternoon there, jumping into the water and swimming around, albeit it was not easy in her elegant bathing costume (which might have passed as a ball gown).

The rest of the account is without a modicum of Wetlook, but is worth reading.

One night I could not sleep at all. After midnight I finally got up, and went for a walk. There was a bench next to the sea, I sat down and was watching the waves. All of a sudden an obnoxious, haughty, young policeman appeared and began talking to me in French. I asked him if he spoke English. He continued the deluge of French words, and sounded definitely belligerent. I could not imagine why it was against the rules to sit on a bench next to the sea, and felt a bit uneasy, with scenes of the book 1984 in my memory. Finally the barrage of words abated, and I could go. Still being under the effect of the inconvenient encounter I set out in the wrong direction, and found myself in the yard of a classy hotel. No problem, I though, I simply cross the lobby, go across the back garden and I am on the shore again. Everything was good until I got to the end of the back yard. It was surrounded by a wall, without any door in it. I did not lose heart, climbed the fence and jumped down on the other side. There I looked around to check whether anyone had seen my show. There was only one person further down the beach &#8210; the obnoxious, young policeman.


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