Girls’ Trip, No Swimsuits Required

There is a particular kind of holiday fantasy I keep returning to.

A little place somewhere warm. Sea within walking distance. A fridge containing something cold. No alarm clock. No itinerary involving the words “must-see attraction”. And, most importantly, a handful of women who understand that nobody is getting dressed merely because somebody has suggested coffee.

A girls’ naturist holiday.

And the more I think about it, the more I wonder why we don’t see far more of them.

Women-only travel is already firmly established, from walking retreats and adventure holidays to wellness weekends. Naturism seems almost made for the same treatment: take away the clothes, take away some of the everyday performance that comes with them, and create a few days where women can simply exist together.

For me, the perfect version wouldn’t be a huge organised resort programme. I’m picturing something smaller: perhaps a villa, apartment or little campsite close to a naturist beach. Four or five women, a hire car and enough collective incompetence with Google Maps to ensure at least one completely unintended adventure.

Morning swim. Coffee outside. Somebody eventually asks what we’re doing today.

Nobody knows.

Excellent.

Why women-only feels different

There’s another side to this which matters.

Women experience travel differently. The Safer Tourism Foundation reports that fewer than half of women feel confident travelling alone or with other women, while three quarters avoid walking back to their accommodation alone at night.

The UK Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office similarly advises women travelling abroad to research local culture and attitudes, accommodation and transport, and notes that women travelling alone or in female groups can face particular risks.

That doesn’t mean we should be frightened of travelling. Quite the opposite. It means good planning buys us freedom.

And I think a trusted group of women can provide something lovely in the middle of that: independence without necessarily being alone.

Add naturism and another layer disappears.

No comparing dresses at dinner. No wondering whether you have brought the right swimsuit. No strategically positioning a towel because you’ve suddenly decided your stomach looked better in Wales.

Bodies just become bodies.

The woman with scars. The woman with stretch marks. The woman who thinks her bum has migrated south for winter. The woman who has spent twenty years believing everybody else possesses some secret instruction manual for body confidence.

Give it twenty minutes and we’re probably discussing where somebody bought her walking sandals.

That’s naturism at its best.

So where would I go?

My instinct says Mediterranean.

Corsica immediately appeals to the van-lifer part of me. La Chiappa, near Porto-Vecchio, is a 60-hectare naturist village beside the sea and remains open until 17 October this year.

Croatia is another strong contender. Ulika near Poreč combines naturist camping, beaches, restaurants and mobile-home accommodation and is open until 4 October 2026.

For a group of women trying naturist travel together, I’d choose an established naturist destination over simply finding an isolated beach. Defined accommodation, facilities and an understood naturist culture remove quite a lot of uncertainty.

And I’d still apply my usual travelling rules: research properly, have insurance, share the itinerary with somebody at home, arrange sensible transport and always retain the ability to leave somewhere that doesn’t feel right. The FCDO specifically recommends having alternative accommodation in mind and making sure you can access emergency funds.

Adventure is considerably more enjoyable when you’ve done the boring bits first.

The holiday I’d actually remember

The photographs wouldn’t be of glamorous cocktails beside an infinity pool.

They’d be the ridiculous things.

Five pairs of walking boots outside a villa door.

Wet towels everywhere despite everybody insisting theirs isn’t the wet one.

A sunset swim that accidentally lasts until somebody remembers dinner.

Sitting outside late at night talking about relationships, children, work, ageing, ambitions and all the things women somehow get around to discussing once nobody has anywhere else to be.

That’s the girls’ naturist holiday I’d book.

Not because excluding men magically creates confidence, and certainly not because women all want the same thing. We don’t.

But occasionally there’s something rather special about having a space that belongs entirely to us.

A few good women. Somewhere beautiful. No judgement, no performance and absolutely no emergency bikini required.

Now the important question: if Naturism Wales organised a women-only naturist escape, where would you want us to go?