I swam breaststroke, feeling the current—weak but persistent—sliding over my thighs and stomach. A tiny crab the size of my thumbnail scuttled over my ankle, indifferent to my nudity. Schools of sprat darted past, flashing silver.
The first step into the Azov naked is a strange sensation. Because the sea is so shallow, you don’t get that shocking plunge of the Black Sea. You walk. And walk. The soft silt squishes between your toes. It feels less like entering the ocean and more like crawling into a warm, salty blanket. naked in the azov sea
The water is famously shallow, so it warms all the way through. There is no cold shock to make you gasp. Consequently, there is no shame. When you take your clothes off in the Black Sea, you feel brave. When you take them off in the Azov, you feel sensible. Why would you wear a wet rag in a lukewarm soup? The first step into the Azov naked is a strange sensation
It was late July. The sun had turned the sandbar into a pale gold crust. The water temperature hovered near 26°C (79°F), so tepid it felt like stepping into a bath. There was no wind—a rare gift. The horizon was a soft blur where the milky blue water met the faded sky. And walk