Like many great cities and civilisations, Vienna grew around a mighty river, which continues to define and inspire it. Rivers are more than mere waterways; they can also be conduits for the exchange of art and ideas. Some are even muses: Johann Strauss II’s waltz “The Blue Danube” is one of many works that the river has bequeathed to the city. 

The Danube is part of the Austrian capital’s self-expression but it’s also part of a noble tradition of self-exposure. Visit Vienna and you’ll soon spot riverside spaces marked “FKK”. The acronym stands for Freikörperkultur (“free body culture”), an old movement with echoes of today’s reverence for mindfulness, wellbeing and health. 

During the summer, large parts of Danube Island, a 21km stretch of land that slices the river in half, turn into a bare-cheeked parade of sun-tanned tums and skin. What’s more, all of this summery sitzfleisch has a distinguished and surprising history. FKK was born in the late 19th century as part of the wider Lebensreform (“life reform”) movement in the German Empire, from where it spread to other German-speaking territories. The reformists – in their way, the original hipsters – championed organic food, sexual liberation and living simply. 

As a form of resistance to popular mores, the movement was political in nature and successive German governments struggled to manage it. In the 1930s the Nazis initially banned FKK but later embraced it to showcase “good German bodies”. In postwar East Germany it was held up as a sign of communist equality (in some sense, we’re all the same under our trunks and swimsuits) and in opposition to the prudery of West Germany. East German doctors regularly recommended nude swimming as a way to improve health and wellbeing.

In the spirit of this essay – and as an honorary Viennese, having lived here for about a decade – I disrobed and took the plunge. A friend introduced me to a group of FKK enthusiasts. I confess that I had expected to see a crowd of ragtag idealists with dreadlocks wearing CND badges or flower-garlanded hippies. Instead, my new naked companions came from all walks of life, jobs and backgrounds. I had also expected some sort of initiation ceremony, perhaps a few words from the chief of the group. But there was no schedule or structure. “Free bodies” meant free-form enjoyment. I learned that while proximity to water is important to the FKK, swimming isn’t necessary – though there are groups, and even formal clubs, that specialise solely in skinny-dipping. 

During my last visit on a sultry spring day, we mostly sat around talking until the sun dipped and the air cooled enough to require clothing. In short, there wasn’t much difference from a day at the beach – except that a never-ending retinue of naked strangers popped by for a chat. The FKK movement has a strong community feel to it, perhaps born of the simultaneously inclusive and exclusive nature of the enterprise. Anyone can join, but many people couldn’t think of anything worse, like bird-watching without the binoculars (which are understandably discouraged here).

Similar to one hiker bumping into another on a lonely trail, Vienna’s nudists tend to greet each other warmly; they show appreciation (“Hello, how are you?”), while being careful not to step over the line (“That’s an unusual birthmark,” or, “My, my!”). Sadly I have heard of a few unpleasant incidents of ogling and FKK elders needing to be watchful of unwanted voyeurs but for the most part, the activity is wholesome and unsexual. 

In 1996, Austrian journalist Elizabeth T Spira’s documentary series Alltagsgeschichte aired an episode titled “Die Donauinsulaner” (The Danube Islanders), perhaps painting the most vivid portrait of the community. In it the camera drifts from body to body – on roller skates, in deckchairs, in the water. What you see isn’t always pretty but it’s all very human. In an unmistakably heavy Viennese accent, the islanders reflect one by one on what nakedness means to them. 

The conclusion? Being free and feeling like part of a small, caring family in what can be a big, and at times, uncaring world. As I slip into my boxers and shorts after a hot day in warm company on Danube Island, I’m more convinced than ever that there’s something to wearing nothing.

About the writer 
Russia-born Korolyov is Monocle’s Vienna correspondent who covers (and uncovers) the region from the Austrian capital, where he has lived for the past decade. A version of this article was first published in ‘The Monocle Companion: Fifty Ideas to Improve Your Life’.