A Bryson in China

Camdour Harbor Golf Club

Tall Greek statues of warriors and goddesses stood on the precipices of the tall gated entry. Frescoes of more goddesses filled the stucco walls between the two large entryways. This didn’t seem like the entry to a golf club. But below some Chinese lettering it read “Camdour Harbor Golf Club” in unmistakable English. And “harbor”? I didn’t even think we were near water. Inland about an hour didn’t seem like the right place for a “harbor”. But then later on the third hole was what looked at least something like a boathouse on the lake surrounding the back nine (played first). But then again why was there a Dutch windmill on the boathouse? I continue to be amazed at the Chinese just decorating with whatever they have seen that looks interesting. It doesn’t matter how completely out of place it may be. You find Greek statues and windmills at golf courses and cherubs at swimming pools. You got me.

To the golf club

Here I was: 7:15 AM on Sunday, 12 June 2005 at the Camdour Harbour Golf Club. My driver had been a little late, but we had traversed the two or three miles pretty quickly. I did wish I gotten in the back seat of the van. About ½ mile from the course, he just pulled through a gap in the concrete median of the highway, and pulled right into oncoming traffic! As I had flinched and tried to look down instead of at the oncoming lorries, he just nonchalantly pulled on across to the shoulder and drove head into the traffic to the club entrance. The cars, trucks, and mopeds, just honked and pulled over to make room for us. I’m sure he knew that the next best opening was over a mile down the road, so I guess this was a shortcut. I would just as soon have waited!

The clubhouse

As we pulled up to the clubhouse, I was more than a little apprehensive. Here I was finally ready to play golf. I was itching to try these new clubs. But I didn’t know what I was doing. My driver, Huaping, was from Decca. He was my only connection to a known world. It was a new world – this new furniture employer – but it was my company now. And Huaping was getting my clubs out to leave me all alone here. What was I thinking. Would anyone else speak English? The attendant gave me a paper stub as a receipt for the clubs. How did I know what to do? What was proper procedure or protocol in this environment? At a golf club in China.

Huaping pulled away. I started into the clubhouse. “Welcome”. Oh did I need to hear that! Someone spoke English!! She even told me she could accept my credit card. But that the cost would be 620RMB since it was a Holiday. I had heard that it had been some holiday recently, but it had not been enough of a holiday for the plant to close.

“Where ya from?” Did my ears deceive me again? That sounded Southern. I turned to be face to face with an elderly gentleman, who was very American. When I mentioned I was from North Carolina, he said he was practically a neighbor from Florida. His name was Herb. He soon introduced his son Ray, and young grandson, Mike. They were on their way to the practice range back near the course entry. The course was “pretty good – very good back nine”. But they were leaving. Shucks. Coulda enjoyed conversing in English while I played. (Little was I to know, I would hear plenty! Just not Southern.)

So back to the hostess. She introduced me to the staff of other lady hostesses. There must have been six in this small clubhouse. But labor is cheap. Got to remember that. Always a lot of employees. Anyway, soon she asked for my “paper”. I shrugged my shoulders, and she said again said “white paper”. Suddenly I realized she was talking about the stub I had been given for my clubs. I fished it from my pocket and provided to her. She marked the numbers from the stub into a vinyl folder about the size of a scorecard, with a key hanging from it and a large number 67 on the outside. (I later figured the key and number was for a locker that I didn’t use). This was my receipt book. Then she told me I could go play the course and for me to head outside to proceed. So I left the one employee that spoke at least some fair English.

At the curb outside the clubhouse, the attendant that had taken my clubs took the stub again and retrieved my clubs from a shed. A red cart pulled up. It was one of the larger styles of golf carts, with two rows of seats in the back. As the attendant tied my clubs on the rear, he motioned for me to have a seat on one of the ripped vinyl bench seats. I got in by myself and off we went.

The caddy shack

We drove down a street near some California style homes. They were big for China, and looked okay, but rather unkempt. Grass was tall, and I had to look twice to decide if they were occupied. They seemed to be, but not with much outside activity. At least I didn’t see outdoor lawn furniture on any decks or porches. Probably too hot.

And then we passed a large contemporary-style statue of a pigeon or a dove. It must have stood two stories tall – very white and looked like it was made of some type of stucco. You got me again. I have no idea why it was there. Sure …………. a white pigeon goes with windmills and Greek goddesses.

Soon we arrived at a small building with ladies in pink outfits running all around. The driver motioned for something from me. I realized he was looking at the folder, so I handed it to him, and he motioned for one of the ladies. I soon found out she was to be my caddy. We were at the caddy shack. She was Caddy #107.

She was one of the prettiest young women I had seen in China. And her beauty improved through the round. She constantly smiled. Something I find very rare here. Most Chinese seldom look or smile, unless they tell a joke. But Caddy #107, my caddy, had a constant smile. On her nametag was a picture of her with her hair down over her shoulders. It could have been a picture of a Chinese movie star. She was that pretty.

She grabbed up the bag and said “Hello”. That word did wonders for my apprehension. Yes! …… Surely they must have assigned a caddy to me that spoke English. So I asked: “Do you speak English”. She quickly waved and shook her head as she rolled out some Chinese comments. Shucks. The wave of apprehension came back in a wave. I would have really loved it if she understood English. She didn’t.

She put the bag on a two wheeled pull cart. I said I was “Gene Bryson”. After I repeated some hand motions to show that I was telling her my name, she pointed to herself and told me what I assume was her name. I have no idea how to pronounce it. I later learned that Caddy #107 was Zhang Sheng Jie. I’m sure everyone knows how to say that.

She proceeded to the front of the caddy shack and handed my receipt folder to the attendant. They conversed, and the attendant handed back the folder and gave Caddy #107 a white, helmet-style hat. Big with a long brim. Why did she need a helmet?

To the course

And we’re off. Caddy # 107 rounded the building and headed down a path. I figured I should follow. I could see the course now, and a group was teeing off up ahead. The last golfer in the group hit a poor shot about 60 yards into a swamp like area. Then they darted off the tee.

But Caddy #107 was quickly pulling forward and speaking fast to the group. My suspicions were correct. She was asking that we join them. There were only three golfers in the group. I could see the gentlemen shake in agreement rather reluctantly. But Caddy #107 had been insistent, and soon she was pulling out my driver and pointing to me to take the tee as the group moved to the side.

The first tee

So here I was. Finally ready to play golf in China. I had had no practice. It had been almost six months since I had last played. I even had to bum tees from my new partners. They were really reluctant to have this big American join now. I didn’t even have golf tees. I had all the excuses, but no time to waste. I quickly took the tee, and …………. crushed a great drive! At least it was for me. So what if it went straight down the right side. At least it was away from the water on the left.

And we were off……

The ball had crossed a berm along the edge of the fairway and near a parallel hole. Caddy #107 quickly darted to the area as I pursued. She tracked down the ball just in the rough along the next fairway where another group was approaching. As I contemplated my next club and started to take position, she reached down and grabbed up my ball!! What was this?? As she uttered words I suddenly realized she sounded like the last female caddy I had had. It was in Japan in 1982 when I chanced a round of golf while I was working on a joint venture between Westinghouse and Okamura Furniture. That was my only other time to play golf in Asia. It was on the side of Mt. Fuji at the Fuji Ace Country Club. There, the caddy had laughed when she told me her name was “Fiji, like Ms. Fiji - the reigning Miss World”. Then she had proceeded to frequently raise her hands in a circle over her head for the rest of the round, as she smilingly yelled “OB”. Here #107 was saying the same thing: “OB”!

What? I dropped my shoulders and glanced around. Why was this out of bounds? It was between holes. Water was on the other side. Evidently someone didn’t want golfers crossing into the next fairway and had decided OB markers was the best way to prevent it, instead of doing like they did when they planted that tall tree to block shots down an adjacent fairway at the US Open years ago.

So Caddy #107 was dropping my ball back toward the fairway and handing me another club. I glanced at a 7 iron she handed me and felt like I might need a 6 instead. I should have listened to my own instincts. The ball was well struck but headed for a sand trap to the right of the green. Soon I was to hear a chorus of English! A chorus that would repeat itself by the whole group of fellow golfers and the three caddies in unison, time and again over the next 18 holes: “Bunker!”

It was invented in an English country

It’s always amazing, this great game of golf. For whatever reason, I guess since golf started in English countries, the words used round the world to describe golf terms are always expressed in English. Here I was in China. And my golfing partners, and the caddies I was with for the next few hours, proceeded to use English to express every comment about the game, even though they never spoke English otherwise. On every hole you heard: “Good shot”. “ Nice ball”. “Water”. Never did you hear what would have been “good shot” in Cantonese or Mandarin. And of course, for almost every time I got near a green, you heard the same chorus: “Bunker!” I seemed to find a sand trap on almost every hole. I felt like I was back at Tanglewood’s sand desert. “Bunker!”

And the traps weren’t kind. Every one had a different texture. Maybe the first few were fair. But from then, you found hard, wet, standing water, raked, non-raked craters, and rocks. I should know. Everyone in our group kept yelling after I hit: “Bunker!”

Introductions

I introduced myself when we finished the first hole to my fellow golfers. Two were senior gentleman in their late 50’s that hit the ball fairly well. The last was a more junior lanky Chinese man, who must have just taken up the game. I hope so. He hit very poorly. He was the golfer I had seen hit the poor shot off the first hole. Most of his drives were shorter than that 60-yard dart. He would hit and then run to his next shot only a few yards away trying to save time and evidently not upset his elder partners. The Chinese seem to be like that. Often they dart off in a jog to do something. Mention or ask for something, and as often as not, they take off in a run. Usually it’s in a quick-like dart of a run that looks like they are trying to show their interests in doing something fast as a request for forgiveness. So for much of the day, the younger golfer would hit and then quickly run to hit again.

All the golfers spoke fairly well in greeting me as “Mr. Gene”. I heard their names, and tried repeating them as I was introduced. I’m not doing well with this language. I couldn’t repeat another name, five minutes later.

The shorter gentleman was hitting pretty well, and scored pretty well on the first few holes. The other gentleman had a strong run on the back and scored well over a long stretch. The junior golfer…. Let’s just say he kept running to his next shot.

The scorecard

On the third hole, I noticed my caddy had a scorecard. I had forgotten to get one. I had also forgotten to buy tees, and had to bum those off my new partners, as soon as I met them on the first hole. Probably not a good first impression. Of course, they gave me two plastic tees too. From what I could tell, that is all they play with over here. And they hunt them down on the tee like they are made of gold. Thankfully, I only broke one of the two I was given. So I made it through the round.

Anyway, as I was saying I noticed Caddy #107’s scorecard had a layout description. So I motioned about the hole, and she quickly pulled it out to show me the layout of the hole bending in a right dogleg of about 380 yards. It was then that I noticed it was hole #12. I thought we were on #3. Evidently we had teed off the back nine first, but there were no markers. Occasionally you would see a nice layout marker on a large rock by a tee, but not very often.

Frequently during the round, Caddy #107 would pull out the card and show me the layout. Or when I would arrive at a ball, she would quickly write 150 or 160 or whatever for the yardage to the pin. Then she would hand me a club. I was usually short. I think she thought I was a stronger hitter. Everyone in unison: “Bunker!”

It hit me

About the fifth hole, it hit me! Have I mentioned before that it is humid here? Well, it may have been early in the day, but the humidity was up to its usual 95% plus level by 8:00 AM. In fact, I had come out the door of my hotel room the other morning and as I pushed the lever handle closed, I noticed it was very wet. As I thought how odd for someone to be cleaning at that hour, it hit me that the metal was not wet from cleaning. The cold air on the other side of the door, inside my room, had passed through the metal of the handle to the hall side where it was extremely humid, and condensation had formed to the point of dripping. Now that’s wet.

Where was I? Oh yea: It hit me! The humidity was unbearable already. It was only the fifth hole. I hadn’t played golf since December in the mountains of North Carolina. There I had ridden in a wonderful little gas-powered golf cart through hills around Lake Lure in late fall. But here, I was walking after a little white ball in the heat and humidity of Southern China in June! Was I crazy!

My associates at Decca who had recommended this course, told me to be sure to wake up and play early. They said I didn’t want to play after noon. It would be “totally unbearable then”. Well, my friends, it was already unbearable!

I had asked them about carts. They had snickered and said you had to reserve one of the course’s three carts at least a week in advance. I knew I could walk the 18 holes. I kept telling myself that: Keep walking.

My shirt was already dripping wet. My shorts were catching up. My golf partners were wiping the sweat from their heads with very nice towels they had brought with them. I was envious. I hadn’t thought of that either. I can walk 18 holes. I kept telling myself that. Keep walking.

At least the course was relatively flat. But Caddy #107 was fast and quick. It was tough keeping up with her. By the seventh or eighth hole, her shirt was wet. And Caddy #107, like all caddies, was wearing a long sleeve golf shirt and pants like rain suit pants. I know, you figure she was in better shape than me. Yea, I guess so. But unlike the other caddies, Caddy #107 had a helmet. Why did my caddy have a helmet? She had to be hot! She did keep fanning her face with the scorecard. Keep walking.

I kept thinking about the old golf joke. How’d it go: “hit and drag ole’ George. Hit and drag. Hit and drag.” I felt like that was what I was doing – hitting and dragging myself. Keep walking.

About the seventh hole, I found a bench. It was the first time I had sat for what seemed like hours. Unfortunately, I had to hit second, and could only catch my breath on the bench while two of my partners hit their shots. Oh was it hot! Keep walking.

And this was probably not one of the hottest days to be expected. In fact, we did have an occasional wind. Only for seconds though. Oh did it feel good! Keep walking.

Thunder! Oh no! Now what. Did I mention it was humid? Well, humid enough for some clouds to form and threaten. My partners motioned in the distance and mumbled something in Chinese. Again, I understood nothing. It didn’t repeat again. I was half hoping it would poor rain enough for us to seek shelter and rest! Keep walking.

On another hole, I found a rock painted with one of the few layouts of a hole. It was under a tree, and was convenient to sit near a tee box. I was amazed at how few places there were to sit. Only a couple of concrete benches were on the course, and few other options existed. As I sat there on the rock, Caddy #107 said something and pointed to the tree leaves over me. She swatted at something on a limb nearby. I never did understand what she was concerned about, but I had no comfort in staying there then. Oh well, keep walking!

Course activity

The few places to sit seemed odd. I’m not sure if it had anything to do with the poverty of the area, but there were guards scattered about the course, and it was not unusual to have peasants cross with bars across their shoulders and large bags or buckets hanging from each side in balance. The other golfers paid no attention, and just hit on. We even had a moped race up one fairway past us.

As we walked off one green we passed through what seemed like the underpass of a highway. It was a large concrete tunnel, evidently built for a road to pass overhead. Only there was no road. Not even a road in sight. Just this underpass all by itself out here in the middle of the course. It didn’t even go through a berm or pass of a hill. It just stood by itself in between a green and tee. You got me. I have no idea why it was there.

And of course, the underpass had floral paintings on the inside walls. Not Greek goddesses or Dutch windmills. Just another mix in the myriad of design elements. Not much on consistency of a theme here. That was for certain.

There was constant motion and chatter, too. I certainly did not expect Augusta on Sunday in March, but this was frequently rather disconcerting. My three golf partners shared two caddies. I had Caddy #107. So there were seven in our group. And the caddies were in constant motion. They were being efficient to support and help, but that didn’t mean they would stand still while you hit. Not exactly what I am used to the U.S. But it was okay. Keep walking.

Nourishment!!

It’s food!! Rice! Who cares! It’s food! I bit into one of the items. It looked a little like a dim sum treat. But it was much bigger than any I had had before. And, oh was it good!!! My caddy had suddenly showed up with little plastic bags of these treats! It was about our 12^th hole. The hole we were playing was near the caddy shack when she had disappeared. As she re-appeared with the bags, I thought she had golf balls in them. They were white ball-like features. Was she gonna try to sell me golf balls? But no, when she handed me a bag, I realized these were larger than golf balls, and soft, and warm.

I was hungry too. I think she knew that. I soon realized that the prolonged conversation we had on the last hole, was evidently her asking if I wanted her to buy these treats at the caddy shack. She had pulled up beside me and launched a long conversation. She had gone on and on as we walked between shots. I repeated her comments: “Lei Mon. Lei Mon.” I had no idea what she was talking about. But I’m glad she had gone on and insisted on the purchase of these treats. I was hungry!

Leaving early from the “hotel”, I had only had a pack of crackers before departing. These treats were a lifesaver. Here I had been in China, I have to come to a golf course to get the best treats I've had in five weeks! Between the heat, humidity, and my walking further than I had in a long time: I was hungry!

The second treat was even better than the first. How do I describe it. It was like a ball of dough and partially baked. It still had a doughy texture. But the surprise was in the middle. It had a filling like apple butter!! Apple butter!! Oh was it good!

I moaned and ate! Moaned and ate! Soon the three caddies all pulled up alongside as we strode up the fairway. They were all giggling and laughing as I moaned with each bite. I think they all knew I needed the food! Did I say: “I was hungry.”

Later, when I finished my round I headed back into the clubhouse and sat down in the café. The menu read club sandwich. I should have looked for “Lei Mon” again. The club sandwich did have bread and tomato. That was about the only resemblance to any club sandwich I knew. The meat slices were less than desirable. And between was fried egg!?! Don’t ask me. I’ve found that before. Fried egg in sandwiches, when no egg was ever advertised as being part of the sandwich.

The big American

On the about the 15^th hole as we stood off the tee after I had hit my tee shot, Caddy #107 motioned with her hand to my body. She giggled something to the other caddies. I realized she was motioning from the top of her head to my shoulder. That was her height to mine. I didn’t mention to her that she was standing on top of the tee box, and that I was off the side, probably another 4 inches lower. I stand a little taller than most everyone here.

Water

Water! Oh yes!! Water on my face!! Oh that feels good. Sooo good. It is the last hole. It’s sprinkling on us. The raindrops are infrequent but refreshing! Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long. I would just as soon have rain now. I’m drenched in sweat, and need the coolness of a shower.

My partners all headed to the showers when we got back. I should have never played my first round by myself. I really didn’t know what I was doing. The common procedure here is evidently that a locker is provided to change and wash after a round. Oh well. I played golf in China.

I just headed for the café for air conditioning and a sandwich. But I did retreat to the swimming pool back at the hotel in the afternoon. Oh was that refreshing!

Par

A par! I made a par! Okay, it took a few holes. It wasn’t until the next to last hole. I thought I had hit another bunker. But I didn’t hear the usual chorus of “Bunker” after my tee shot. Actually I had ended up just short of the 190-yard par 3. A nice chip to within five feet, and Caddy #107 was mumbling something that was unmistaken to be “make the par”. She had motioned to hit hard and straight. I had been short all day. These greens were slower than the frog hair at a municipal course in the states. But I rapped it straight into the back of the hole. A chorus of “Good putt” rang out from my partners. Caddy #107 raised her hand for me to “high five”. It was nice. I needed that.

I don’t even know what I scored. Maybe Caddy #107 put the scorecard in my bag. I’ll have to look. It wasn’t pretty. But it wasn’t bad. The greens were terrible. I made a lot of bogeys. But the new clubs were great, even though I seldom got to a green in regulation. And with the greens so slow, I couldn’t make a putt fall.

Off the 18th

When we finished we were back near the caddy shack. My partners all said “thank you” and shook hands as we departed the last hole. That was about the extent of their English – besides the golf terms, of course.

Caddy #107 helped me fish a reasonable tip from my wallet. I was happy to pay. I think it ended up being about $12US for her caddy fee. Try to get a caddy for those services in the States. And Caddy #107 was a joy to be around! Her smile throughout the day was refreshing.

Cool air! I feel cool air! Caddy #107 had motioned me into a bus off the last hole. She put my clubs inside too. As I sat down, I felt a rush of cool air! Oh did that feel good! The air conditioning was blowing in my face. It really was not so cool, but far cooler than the surrounding air had been all morning. Oh did it feel good!

I said goodbye to Caddy #107 there. Don’t know that I will ever see her again. I think she saved my life with the food earlier on this day. Her smile was infectious! And she was great at finding errant golf balls and lining putts. On every hole, she quickly ran to the ball on the green to mark, retrieve, and wash. Then she would replace when it was my turn, carefully aligning the ball marking on the putt line, and then she would turn to me to wave in the direction of the break. If I could have only putted better.

We rode the bus back to the clubhouse. I didn’t want to get out of the cool air. When I did, I experienced another unique feature of Chinese golf. As my partners exited the bus, they split to each side of the entry to the clubhouse to what looked like some kind of cattle feed station. I didn’t know what it was. There was a spigot to a trough of water in the rear, and orange slim hoses laying over the front. As each partner grabbed up a hose, I suddenly realized what this was for: cleaning your golf shoes. The hoses had a spray nozzle at the end. With high pressure, everyone immediately started blowing off the bottom of his shoes into the trough. Today no one needed the water or brushes in the water to clean. The high pressure of air was sufficient. It was certainly different than most shoe brushes anchored to the ground at the entry to most pro shops in the States Most of them even look like a porcupine or other animal. Here you get high-pressure air.

I played golf in China

I had been told Camdour Harbor wasn’t one of the better golf courses in the area, but was nearby and reasonable for its green fees. And it was. The layout was rather nice. It did traverse around a lake on the back nine. Of course, by now you know there were many “Bunkers!” The mix of Greek gods, windmills, and pigeon statues was odd.

But the greens, oh they were bad. Balls bounced off to the back repeatedly since they were so hard. And I rapped putts harder than I had ever remembered, but seldom did my ball even get to the hole.

My partners just kept saying “Good shot!” or “Bunker”. Not much conversation otherwise. I played for four and a half hours without a conversation I could understand. In total it costs around $100US. That included several sleeves of Nike balls (only lost about three – Caddy #107 was good at finding ‘em.), the golf, lunch, several soft drinks, the food on the course, and a locker I never used. And the new clubs were great. The putter was certainly different than any I had ever had before, but the greens were so bad, I couldn’t blame it on the putter.

Oh well, I have played golf in China!! And it was memorable! Now I wonder why my caddy had a helmet?

posted by A Bryson (formerly) in China @ 7:59 AM Comments: 0