But the Domaine had its ways. Upon arrival, she was wrapped in a fluffy white robe and led to a heated lounge where a colossal bûche de Noël sat on a table surrounded by naked carolers singing “Petit Papa Noël.” Chantal clutched her robe closed and sat stiffly in a corner.
“To Chantal,” he said. “May she always remember—at the Domaine de l’Évidence, the only thing we dress is the tree.” nudist french christmas
Chantal, still robed, shivered alone.
“You know,” she said, reaching for another slice of bûche de Noël , “the stockings are hung by the chimney with care—but here, we are the stockings.” But the Domaine had its ways
With a sigh that fogged the air, Chantal untied her robe. She slipped into the pile, wedging between a retired gendarme and a cheerful baker from Bordeaux. Within minutes, she stopped shivering. Within ten, she was laughing at the baker’s joke about a frozen figgy pudding. By the time the lights flickered back on, Chantal was flat on her back, one leg draped over a yoga instructor, telling everyone about her first nude Christmas. Within minutes, she stopped shivering