4. Europe Unites: Successes and Struggles—European Flesh and the American Prude
Europeans' relatively open relationship with their bodies and with sex is an aspect of the cultural divide that titillates any American traveler to Europe who's window-shopped a magazine kiosk, gone to a beach or park on a sunny day, or channel-surfed broadcast TV late at night.

Thinking through my recent travels, I recall many examples of Europe's different attitudes about sex: My Dutch friends had, on their coffee table, a graphic government-produced magazine promoting safe sex. I was sitting on the toilet at an airport in Poland and the cleaning lady asked me to lift my legs so she could sweep. I learned that I can measure the romantic appeal of scenic pull-outs along the Amalfi Coast drive by how many used condoms litter the asphalt. Soap ads on huge billboards overlooking major city intersections in Belgium show lathered-up breasts. The logo of a German travel publisher is a traveler on a tropical-paradise islet leaning up against its only palm tree, hands behind his head, reading a book that’s supported by his erect penis. Preschoolers play naked in fountains in Norway. A busty porn star is elected to parliament in Italy. Coppertoned grandmothers in the south of France have no tan lines. The student tourist center in Copenhagen welcomes visitors with a bowl of free condoms at the info desk. Accountants in Munich fold their suits neatly on the grass as every inch of their body soaks up the sun while taking a lunch break in the park.

I’m not comfortable with all of this. During a construction industry convention in Barcelona, locals laughed that they had to actually bus in extra prostitutes from France. I find the crude sexual postcards on racks all over the Continent gross, the Benny Hill-style T&A that inundates TV throughout Mediterranean Europe boorish, and the topless models strewn across page three of so many British newspapers insulting to women. And I’ll never forget the time my wife and I had to physically remove the TV from our children’s hotel room in Austria after seeing a couple slamming away on channel 7 (and the hotelier looked at us like we were crazy).

Comparisons with America are striking. In our culture, a children’s TV star is routed into obscurity after he's caught masturbating in an adult theater. A pop star dominates the news media for days after revealing part of her breast for a split-second during a football halftime show. During one particularly moralistic time, statues of classical goddesses gracing our nation’s Capitol were robed to protect easily offended eyes.

An early edition of my art-for-travelers guidebook featured a camera-toting David—full frontal nudity, Michelangelo-style—on the cover. My publisher’s sales reps complained that in more conservative parts of the US, bookstores were uncomfortable stocking it. A fig leaf would help sales.

When it comes to great art, I don’t like fig leafs. But I proposed, just for fun, that we put a peel-able fig leaf on the cover so readers could choose whether they wanted their book with or without nudity. My publisher said that would be too expensive. I offered to pay half the cost (10 cents a book times 10,000). He went for it, and I had the fun experience of writing “for fig leafs” on a $500 check. Perhaps that needless expense just bolstered my wish that Americans were more European in their comfort level with nakedness.

The last time I was at a spa in Germany’s Black Forest, in one two-hour stretch, I saw more penises than I’d seen in the previous two years. All extremely relaxed...and, I must say, I was struck by the variety. Getting Americans comfortable in the spas with naked Europeans has long been a challenge and a frustration for me as a guide. I care because, once people get used to it, I find they consider it a great experience. My first European spa visit was with my wife and some German friends—a classy, good-looking young couple. We were swept into the changing area with no explanation, and suddenly the Germans were naked. Eventually we realized everyone was just there to relax. We eased up and got more comfortably naked. It’s not sexual...simply open and free.

Psyche Revived by Love's Kiss, Antonio Canova.

Louvre; Paris, France.

Whether in a German spa, a Finnish sauna, a Croatian beach, or a Turkish hammam (I can't come up with an English example), a fun part of travel can be getting naked with strangers. Of course, when producing public television, we can’t easily show spas, saunas, or beaches in Europe where nudity is the norm. Because of strict FCC regulations on nudity, we have to even be careful of which art we show. Since I show art featuring naked bodies, my shows are flagged by the network and, in some more conservative markets, programmers play it safe by airing me after 10 p.m., when things are less restrictive. In recent years, programmers actually got a list of how many seconds of marble penis and canvas breast were showing in each episode. They couldn’t inflict a Titian painting or a Bernini statue on their viewership in those more conservative communities without taking heat.

Compared to Europe, America has long been laughable in its modesty. Only American tourists are biking into trees as they explore city parks, which are littered with topless sunbathers. But things got serious during the last decade (with naughty Howard Stern, Bono, soldiers, and football players swearing on TV, and Janet Jackson’s notorious "wardrobe malfunction" all pushing the envelope).

"Decency proponents" complained that fines imposed by the FCC for these transgressions had been inconsequential. So, in 2004, Congress approved a tenfold increase, raising fines from $27,000 per incident to $275,000 (with many conservative Members of Congress pushing for even higher fines). Any station airing anything potentially offensive (between all the ads for erectile dysfunction medications) on the public airwaves can be made to pay dearly if some of its viewers complain.

The issue of classical art on TV—a nude David, for instance—seems okay for now. But these days, the power of America's moral guard should not be underestimated—especially with politicians from conservative regions quick to do what they can to "shore up" their moralistic base. This has a chilling effect: to be safe, producers are more likely to avoid ideas, words, or images that some Americans could find offensive.

As public broadcasting stations lack the resources to survive a major fine, they are particularly careful in this regard. Many of us who produce broadcast material on a shoestring (like me and public broadcasting in general) have to ponder: Should we put a digital fig leaf on David's full-frontal nudity? Bleep Bocaccio's bawdy language? Can I film The Three Graces only from the waist up? Will Raphael's randy cupids be labeled "child pornography" and Bernini's Rape of Persephone as "S & M"? For now, my partners in public television and I will proceed gingerly—not sure if we can show Venus's breasts. Can we risk the possibility of a $275,000 fine…and is that per nipple?

You may not want to bring the more casual European approach to sex and the human body back home with you. And I’m not saying we should all run around naked. But I suspect that children raised in America, where sex is often considered "dirty," are more likely to have an uncomfortable relationship with sex and their bodies than those in Europe. (I sense that there is more violence associated with sex here than there; in fact, Americans report at least double the incidence of rape as citizens of any European country.) And I have a hunch that the French, who have as many words for a kiss as Eskimos have for snow, enjoy making love more than we Americans do. I like a continent where sexual misconduct won’t doom a politician with anyone other than his family and friends, and where the human body is considered a divine work of art worth admiring openly.