On a crowded beach, modesty is a reflex. But here, on the wild eastern shore, where the sand stretches for kilometers without a single sunbed or vendor selling corn, the rules feel different. There were no yachts, no jet skis. Just the distant speck of a fisherman casting for mullet and the lazy tilt of a seagull.
I found a stretch where the reeds grew tall enough to hide a towel but thin enough to let the breeze through. I stripped down. naked in the azov sea
Take off your suit. Walk into the shallows. On a crowded beach, modesty is a reflex