There’s a scene in the movie Eurotrip where three American guys and an American girl go to a nude beach. The girl strips off her crochet cover up, and, in slow motion, the nostrils of the European men flare. In an animalistic stampede, the lusty Europeans chase the four Americans off the beach. End scene. I hate to rain on Hollywood’s parade, but European nude beaches are not like this. However, that said, my first nude beach experience was semi-daunting nonetheless. The first weekend I got to Italy, my hosts took me camping in their RV on Italy’s east coast, next to the Adriatic Sea. The first night, I adapted to the language barrier, the new food, jetlag exhaustion, and sleeping in the back of a cramped van with four complete strangers and two dogs, just fine. The next day, it was sunny. “Potty, we go to the beach?” my hosts asked me. Sure, I replied, I love beaches, and I came to Italy for sun–why not. We hiked about three quarters of a mile through a jungle-like thicket on a cli...