Naked in the Bush: How Australia Undressed Us—Body, Mind, and Soul

Some trips stay in your photo roll. Others burn into your skin.
Australia? That one tattooed itself on my heart.

Marcos and I have always chased the wild — the untouched corners of the world and the little moments no itinerary could ever promise. But nothing could have prepared us for what we found at the end of that dirt path leading to Obelisk Beach. And certainly not what we found tucked behind a crumbling bunker wall.

Where the Trail Ends and the Real You Begins

Obelisk Beach isn’t marked by neon signs or tourist kiosks. You won’t find it on a postcard. It’s a word-of-mouth spot — whispered from one queer traveler to the next like a secret prayer.

We took the ferry from Circular Quay, still jetlagged and running on espresso and lust. Sydney shimmered behind us like a promise. Once we stepped off, it felt like time unzipped its jeans.

The trail was lush and messy — roots twisted like lovers and brush thick with the scent of eucalyptus and salt. We held hands, sometimes in silence, sometimes laughing at our own awkwardness. There’s something about knowing you’re about to be naked in public that humbles you. It also turns you on.

And then — the view opened up. A private little crescent of soft, white sand, the harbor glimmering like wet glass, and scattered bodies basking in the sun, some clothed, most not. There was nothing lewd about it. It was pure freedom. A kind of holy.

We laid out our towel. Marcos stripped first, as he always does — effortless, confident, like his skin was made for the sun. I followed, slower, more aware of my body. But as I looked around — at the men, the couples, the water — I realized no one was watching with judgment. Only curiosity. Only kindness.

We swam. We kissed in the waves. We held each other like no one was watching. Even though, let’s be honest — they were.

The Bunker That Watched Us Back

Up behind the beach, we followed another trail. A whisper of a path, barely marked. And there it was — a WWII bunker, graffitied and cracked, standing like a forgotten guardian.

We peeked in. The air changed — cooler, heavier. The shadows clung to the walls, and somewhere deeper inside, someone giggled. We weren’t alone.

There were signs — melted candles, a bottle of lube, a leather harness slung over rusted metal. It was obvious what this place was used for. And honestly? It was kind of beautiful. A sacred queer space. A shrine to bodies that refused to be hidden.

Marcos leaned against the stone wall, bare-chested, wind in his curls, and said, “This place feels haunted.”
I whispered back, “By us, maybe.”

We didn’t go all the way. But we left something behind. Maybe a breath. Maybe a promise.

Where Everything Moves Smooth

Getting around in Sydney? A dream.
Everything works — and it works for you. Trains glide. Ferries sparkle. Every stop felt like it knew we were coming.

We tapped our credit cards, hopped on a ferry, and suddenly we were transported from a jungle trail to a downtown rooftop cocktail bar in under 40 minutes. It was like the city wanted to be seduced. And we were more than willing.

Florida, take notes.

Our Must-Do Sydney List — Curated from the Heart

1. Obelisk Beach
Bring courage and coconut oil. Leave with salt in your hair and a lighter soul.

2. Blue Mountains – The Three Sisters
We stood on that cliff, wind against our faces, and I swear the mountains spoke. They told us we were small — and also infinite.

3. Dinner in Surry Hills
We found a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with ten tables and one hell of a wine list. Marcos fed me sashimi with his fingers. I bit him for it.

4. Hidden Bars
Sydney doesn’t flaunt — she seduces. Look for the neon crack in a wall, follow it down. One bar had a velvet swing in the back. We used it.

5. Ferry to Manly at Sunset
The view, the breeze, the way the city glows — it felt like sailing through a music video. One we didn’t want to end.

6. Drag Shows on Oxford Street
The queens there were brutal, beautiful, and unbothered. One called us “Hercules and his Twink Sidekick.” I took it as a compliment.

7. That Bunker
Go if you dare. But go respectfully. Take a kiss. Leave your fear.

Final Thought: Marcos and I Left Australia with More Than Memories

We left with salt still on our lips. With stories no one would believe unless they were there. We left holding hands a little tighter. Laughing a little louder. And knowing — no matter how far we go — we’ll always chase the next trail. The next kiss. The next beautiful, naked unknown.

This was more than a trip. This was a chapter. And Australia? You were damn near perfect.