Letters from Blackwell Island Pt. 02

Apart from the white stucco walls it looked just like a normal little parish church from back home in England, with its pointed arch windows, a small porch at the entrance and a modest tower and spire at the western end of the building.

"Churches are the only buildings were islanders are obliged to be clothed," Marea added. "In the porch there are specially made linen tunics provided for worshippers and visitors to wear."

The other cars we passed along the street were also electric, and most appeared to be normal cars that had been converted to run on battery power. I'm no expert when it comes to cars (that's Patrick's particular area of expertise) but I recognised a few old Fiat 500's, a couple of Minis, a 1970's Ford Escort and several old Volkswagen Beetles, all of which near silently whirred along the street.

"Are all the cars here electric?" I asked our hosts.

"Indeed they are," Jackson responded over his shoulder. "Have been for over ten years now."

"The government brought in a law that all cars on the island had to be electric," Marea expanded. "All new imported vehicles must be electric, and all existing cars had to be converted to run on batteries."

"I guess that would kinda make sense on an island like this," Patrick replied. "I mean it sure cuts down on pollution for starters."

"Definitely one of the government's wisest decisions," Jackson acknowledged.

"As was demolishing the old power plant," Marea added. "It wasn't a vast power station or anything, but it ran on imported oil and was a bit of an eyesore."

"Instead, every single house on the island has had solar panels fitted," Jackson went on. "And they're all hooked up to the island's existing power grid, so the whole island is effectively one big solar power station."

"There are also a few wind turbines and a couple of small hydroelectric installations in the rivers, so we're one hundred percent renewable as far as energy is concerned," Marea added proudly. "The land freed up by demolishing the power plant was used to build the airport."

After a short while we left the main town and drove inland towards the island's verdant interior. The houses we passed along the way were almost all in the native style, but although the materials were traditional, the architectural style was surprisingly contemporary with large windows and overhanging roofs that helped keep the sun out. The countryside was mostly forested with palm trees and other tropical plants interspersed with small fields where crops were being grown and paddocks where livestock were grazing. It was all very beautiful, and because our car was electric it was incredibly peaceful too.

"The Island is divided into sixteen parishes," Marea explained as we drove along the dusty road. "Each of which has two councillors - one female, and one male. The thirty two councillors make up the island's government, and the island's presidency is rotated between the sixteen parishes on an annual basis. This year it's Saint Thomas's parish councillors turn to be president, next year it'll be Mahina's turn. And so on and so on until in sixteen years time it's Saint Thomas's turn again."

"Councillors are elected every four years," Jackson added. "And can serve a maximum of three terms in office."

"Jackson was a councillor himself until last year," Marea said proudly as she drove us down the road. "He was instrumental in getting the restriction of tourist numbers in place."

"We're very popular with nudists from all over the world, as I'm sure you can imagine," Jackson said over his shoulder. "Whilst tourists are undeniably a boon for the island's economy, they are also an ecological nightmare - there's only so many people an island like this can support without being choked up with litter, sewage and pollution, so it was decided to impose a limit on tourist numbers so that there are no more than two thousand or so on the island at any one time. It means, as I expect you already know, that there is actually a waiting list of people wanting to take their holidays here."

"Yeah, a couple we met at the spa back home in England mentioned that - they delayed their wedding for three years so that they could spend their honeymoon here!" I replied.

The ride was pleasant, if a bit dusty, and after half an hour or so of navigating the island's network of twisty roads that were also quite steep in places, we finally turned in to Jackson and Marea's driveway.

"Well, here we are," Marea announced as she brought the car to a halt outside their home.

It resembled a colonial plantation house such as one might find in the Caribbean, albeit on a smaller and more intimate scale. It definitely looked very homely with its open verandas and whitewashed walls.

"Very nice place," Patrick commented as we got out of the little electric Mini Moke.

"Thanks - it's been in Marea's family for four generations," Jackson replied with a smile. "Here on Blackwell it's the daughters, not sons, that inherit the family home."

The place was a veritable tropical idyll, with gently swaying palm trees and birds singing and squawking in the background. It all felt so wonderfully tranquil and, I'm guessing because we were all as naked as the day we were born, very natural too. I glanced at Patrick and for the first time ever I could see that he was actually relaxed in his nudity. Or at least, he didn't seem to be exhibiting any signs of anxiety or apprehension.

Our host couple gave us a brief tour of their house before inviting us to take tea with them on the veranda. We of course did the polite thing and accepted even though we were both keen to get settled into our accommodation. We sat and chatted amiably about life on Blackwell Island and the series of magazine articles I'd been commissioned to write about the island and its people.

"I guess we our little nudie paradise is something of a curiosity, I suppose!" Jackson chuckled as he topped up our teacups.

Marea went on to give us a brief lecture on the island's history, and explained how most marriages, including theirs, were arranged in order to minimise inbreeding.

"That's why the Ohana Māka'u tattoos are important," she added. "That way you can see if the man or woman you're marrying is related to you or not!"

"Helps keep the old inbreeding down, y'see," Jackson chuckled. "Even so, most islanders are distantly related to each other - Marea's actually my third cousin once removed, and that's not unusual amongst married couples here."

"My ancestors are descended from the Pā'ele," Marea explained. "The original native Polynesian tribespeople, so we're about as native as it's possible to be around here. Jackson's folks on the other hand didn't arrive on the island until the early 1900's."

"My great-great grandfather was a bit of a rascal, by all accounts, lured here by the prospect of snaring himself a beautiful naked island maiden to take as his wife!" Jackson chuckled. "He only intended to stay for a few weeks, but ended up living the rest of his life here!"

"Well, with these sort of surroundings I can see why," I said as I looked around the couple's beautiful garden with its view over the sea in the distance.

"So, the signs at the airport all say that everyone over eighteen must be naked," Patrick contributed. "So is it like, a criminal offence to wear clothes? Could I be thrown in jail or something if I'm not totally starkers?"

"Well, it's more a civil matter, rather than a criminal one," Marea answered him. "You can be fined for wearing clothes, but not jailed."

"In contrast, everyone under eighteen must be clothed at all times," Jackson added. "When a boy or a girl turns eighteen we have a coming of age ceremony for them when they formally surrender their clothes - that's what we're currently organising for our two."

"You'd be welcome to join us for the celebration of course," Marea said as she sipped her tea. "It's an important milestone in a young islander's life and I'm sure your readers would find it interesting, if a little unconventional compared to most people's eighteenth birthdays!"

"I can remember mine as if it was yesterday," Jackson recalled fondly. "The most amazing experience ever. A bit scary at the time though!"

"Well, we wouldn't want to spoil the surprise for you, so we'll say no more about it until the night," Marea said as she finished the last of her tea. "For now, let's show you both into your new home."

Our hosts led us out of their home and across the driveway to where a large garage was located. The ground floor was used to house the couple's little Mini Moke when not in use, and also to store other things such as several bicycles, a ride-on lawnmower and various other items. Above that on the first floor was our accommodation. It was actually rather spacious, consisting of a main open plan and comfortably furnished living/kitchen/dining area taking up two thirds of the floor, with a double bedroom and en-suite bathroom taking up the remaining space. Two sets of French windows led out from the living area and the bedroom on to a decent sized sun terrace that afforded a wonderful view of the surrounding tropical landscape.

"Oh, wow," I enthused as Jackson and Marea showed us around.

"We've only just had it refurbished," Marea said proudly. "It used to just be a storage room. Well, apart from Jackson's "man cave" where he used to have his pool table."

"It's in the new summer house now, in case you were wondering," Jackson added. "Any time you fancy a few frames and a few beers, Patrick you just let me know - it's important for us blokes to get away from the womenfolk for a while every now and then!"

"It's common for most houses to have a "man cave"," Marea explained. "Somewhere where the men of the house can enjoy male-only company. It's a custom that dates back to the Pā'ele people who always had a special hut set aside just for the menfolk to enjoy some quiet time in a space were women weren't allowed."

"Women aren't actually banned from them these days, it's more a sort of informal thing," Jackson added. "Women are allowed to enter a men-only space, but they have to ask permission first."

"And before you ask, Allie, there are plenty of women-only spaces on the island too," Marea went on.

"Are men allowed in them, if they ask permission to enter?" I asked her, already anticipating what I knew Patrick would ask.

"Of course they are," she responded right away. "Like I said, everyone is treated equally here, just as long as everyone abides by the laws of the island."

"Now, has anyone explained the red zones to you?" Jackson asked us.

"Red zones?" I queried. "What are red zones?"

"Obviously not!" Marea chuckled.

"Do you want to tell them, or shall I, dear?" Jackson asked his wife.

Marea sighed - clearly it was something she hadn't wanted to mention to us. Not yet, at least.

"Red zones are special areas on the island where consenting adults can go to, er, well, do the sort of things consenting adults like to do," Marea explained, or rather tried to.

"She means, having sex," Jackson added, who was clearly less worried about beating around the bush as his wife.

I guess Patrick and I both looked shocked at that revelation!

"Yes, thank you, Jackson!" Marea chided her husband with a light slap on his arm. "I was hoping to at least give them a couple of days to acclimatise before revealing any shocking revelations!"

Despite her admonishment of her husband, it was clear that it wasn't any kind of severe reprimand and was taken with good humour.

"Sorry, dear!" Jackson chuckled in response.

"Well, I guess now that the cat's out of the bag," Marea went on. "I suppose I ought to explain about them."

She took a deep breath before continuing.

"Red zones are pockets of land dotted around the island where men and women are permitted to engage in sexual activity in the open air," she explained. "They are marked on maps of the island with red outlines, hence the name, and are physically marked on the ground by wire fences with red posts. Under eighteens are strictly forbidden from red zones, but any adult may enter at any time, whether or not they intend to have any kind of intimate encounter."

"Some folks just like to watch other folks going at it," Jackson interjected. "Or just to enjoy a bit of outdoor masturbation. The Pā'ele people believed that sex shouldn't be a taboo and should be something to be celebrated rather than hidden behind closed doors, so they used to do it out in the open without a care in the world.

"Of course, nowadays things are rather different, not least because it is inappropriate for children to witness such things of course, so the red zones were established as a sort of compromise so that at least some of the old tradition of open-air sex could continue."

"At the end of the day, if you don't want to see other people having sex, or don't want other people to see you having sex, all you have to do is avoid the red zones," Marea added.

Well, I'd be lying if I were to say I wasn't shocked! In fact I was very shocked indeed! But despite that, my initial emotional response wasn't one of disapproval or distaste, it was rather one of intense curiosity. If anything, it would definitely be of interest to the magazine's readership, as long as I was careful about it. I made a mental note to email Carole to ask if she knew about the red zones whilst she was on the island with her husband, and if it would be something to include in a future article.

"You mean, couples actually want to have sex outdoors? With other people watching them doing it?" Patrick, clearly aghast by the tone of his voice, asked our genial hosts. "Sure that's feckin' insane!"

"Well, like I said, all you have to do is avoid going into them," Marea shrugged. "There are only five red zones and they only take up a tiny percentage of the island - they're only a few acres each and in discrete and isolated areas."

"Are all islanders here that liberated when it comes to sex?" I asked, as ever keen to know all the facts.

"Sex is just much less of a taboo here than it is in more "civilised" parts of the world," Jackson answered. "That doesn't mean that we're all permanently horny infinitely randy sex-obsessed swingers here - it just means that it's something that is celebrated and enjoyed rather than hidden away behind closed doors."

"Well, within reason," Marea added as a caveat. "We do have some standards here - it's not a complete free for all, and outside of the red zones outdoor sex is strictly forbidden."

Patrick, bless him, just looked utterly discombobulated about all this.

"There is no feckin' way I'll be going into anywhere near any of these red zones!" he exclaimed. "No feckin' way at all!"

But I knew for certain that I most certainly would! Strictly for journalistic research purposes of course. Honest!

"Anyway, the two of you must be absolutely shattered after your journey, not to mention horrendously jet-lagged, so we'll leave you both to get some rest," Marea said as she backed away towards the door. "We'd love the two of you to come to dinner tonight, you can meet the twins and find out more about living here - although since they're under eighteen, well, for another few weeks at least, we won't be able to discuss the, er, matter we were just discussing."

"Sure that suits me fine!" Patrick huffed.

"We'd be delighted," I accepted their kind invitation for us. "What time do you want us to come over?"

"Would seven be okay for you two?" Marea replied.

"That would be fine, I guess," I answered. "Do you want us to bring anything with us?"

"No, just yourselves," Marea responded with a lopsided grin.

Our First Full Day

Dinner with Marea and Jackson that first evening had been quite an educational experience in Blackwell Island etiquette and family life - it was strange to be in a setting where the mother was considered as the head of the family and sat at the head of the table. Strange but not in any way disconcerting - just unfamiliar. Marea explained that over the generations that followed the original HMS Perseus mutineers, the indigenous culture of the Pā'ele natives had merged with the European culture of the mutineers and the other settlers that followed them. Christianity had become partially infused with the indigenous religion, meaning much of the Pā'ele tribespeople's culture had been retained - most prominent of all of course, being the rule that forbids adults from wearing clothes. Both cultures had kind of assimilated into each other, so that modern-day Blackwell Island culture was a fusion of European and indigenous island culture.

The most surprising aspect of etiquette was the absence of something we'd been led to believe was regarded as something almost sacrosanct amongst naturists - neither Jackson nor Marea sat on any towels, and though we'd remembered to bring a couple of towels with us that evening, our hosts informed us that they wouldn't be necessary.

"We live like the indigenous people have always lived," Jackson explained casually. "They never used to constantly carry towels around with them to sit on, and so neither do we. At the end of the day it's one less thing to have to carry around with you all the time. You can always spot naturist tourists a mile off here on Blackwell - they're the ones who can't be more than two feet away from their precious towels for more than a few seconds!"

"We don't consider ourselves as naturists here on Blackwell - to us, being naked isn't a lifestyle choice or a recreational activity, it's a fundamental aspect of our traditional island culture," Marea added.

"Does anyone know how it came to be that all adults have to be naked but kinds and teenagers have to be clothed?" I asked our genial hosts.

"Nobody really knows for sure," Jackson responded with a light shrug. "Although some have theorised that when the very first settlers arrived on the island over a thousand years ago, resources that could be used to make clothes were in limited supply, and the adults decided it was more important to protect their offspring from the elements rather than themselves."

"Interesting theory, I guess," Patrick responded. "Good job the climate here is warm enough for it!"

Later on as we sat and enjoyed the starter course, Merea went on to explain a bit more about the Pā'ele people. Apparently they were once part of a tribe that originated from Hawaii over a thousand years ago but were driven away by a rival tribal faction. They travelled south and came across Blackwell Island, which they named Ka Aina o ke Kuʻikahi, which translates loosely as "Land of Freedom", presumably freedom from the oppression of the other tribes back on Hawaii.

They'd found themselves a verdant paradise, and despite the scarcity of materials that could be fashioned into clothing, the volcanic soil was fertile and the surrounding seas harboured an abundance of fish to feed themselves with, and the Pā'ele thrived in its warm climate. Although Jackson's theory as to the origin of the islander's nudity was interesting, exactly why they eschewed clothing remains a mystery that presumably will never be solved. One thing that is for certain however, is that the island people of Ka Aina o ke Kuʻikahi have been living entirely nude for many generations since those first exiled tribespeople landed on its shores.

We were both still extremely tired, not to mention being under the influence of a massive wave of culture shock - the permanent nakedness notwithstanding, the revelation about the red zones had pretty much blown my mind, and I could only imagine what Patrick must've thought about the concept of people openly having sex in the great outdoors. So after dinner we both said goodnight to our hosts even though it was only just after 8pm local time, and retired to bed in our little apartment above the garage.