An eye-opening trip to the beach

We Americans stood out in Greece. Not because of our tennis shoes, and not because of our cameras (the Japanese had us beat there). Because we were wearing clothes.

Apparel is optional on many beaches in Europe, as we were well aware (after all, we did read our guidebook). But knowing such a phenomenon exists, and seeing it, are two different things. It was hard to know where to look when we got to the beach, so we looked straight down, with the result that we left in our wake a trail of knocked-over beach chairs, umbrellas poking upside down out of the sand, and grumbling bathers whom we had inadvertently stepped on (but didn't look at!).

Then we ran into our first big dilemma. We had, stupidly, forgotten to put on our bathing suits under our clothes, and now we needed a place in which to change. When we dared lift our eyes from the sand to look for a restroom, changing area, tree, anything, there were only these little round huts with NO DOORS. We lowered our eyes again and trudged in what we hoped was the direction of the snack bar. We asked about a place to change.

The man at the counter sized us up. "Americans?" he said, as if there could be any doubt. We were fully clothed on a topless beach!

We had to admit that he was right.

"Ah," he said, "for you, we put up the little huts. The Europeans, they need nothing. They change on the beach."

My sister was okay with the prospect of using the little huts, figuring we could take turns standing in front to shield each other from prying eyes.

I looked at her as if she were demented. "If you think this American is going to expose herself in that pathetic excuse for a changing room, you are highly mistaken," I said. "There must be somewhere else we could use! How about a restroom? You have a restroom, right?" I asked the man.

"Ah, restroom. For customers, yes, we have restroom," he said shrewdly.

It was either buy something from him, giving us the privilege of using the restroom -- and I use the term loosely -- to change in, or stay in my clothes on the beach in 110 degrees. So we bought a coke, which after bargaining we got for about $5, and headed off to the relative privacy of the restroom to change.

Our one-piece bathing suits caused about as much twittering from our beach neighbors as had our street clothes. Obviously we had "PRUDES" written across our foreheads. I kept my eyes glued to my book, or closed when I lay down, and when I did finally venture to the edge of the water, I went straight down there and came straight back so I would not have to lift my eyes to see where our towels were.

I became aware of general laughter in our area and looked around at myself frantically to see if the laughter could be directed at me. I didn't see anything amiss, and looked up to see what could be the cause. Coming toward us, marching in a line like an army storming the beach, were about 15 people from the cruise ship, all fully dressed in street clothes. I heard murmurs of "Americans!" and "They're so bloody proper."

Well, I thought, hating to think ill of my comrades. They do look a little overdressed.