And outside, beneath the naked Provençal stars, the Christmas pine glittered with lights, glass baubles, and not a single stitch of tinsel—because even tinsel, they insisted, was technically clothing.
Chantal, still robed, shivered alone.
“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
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. And outside, beneath the naked Provençal stars, the
The crisis came at dinner. The main course—a perfect chapon (capon) with truffles—was interrupted by a power outage. The heated floors died. The outdoor hot tub’s jets fell silent. The temperature began to drop. still in his hat and boots
The room erupted in groans and laughter. Jean-Paul, still in his hat and boots, raised a glass of champagne.
