GOLF INTERNATIONAL d'ARCACHON (ENTENTE CORDIALE)

GOLF INTERNATIONAL d’ARCACHON	https://www.golfarcachon.org/fr/		Arcachon France
Type of course	Woodland	18 holes
Course distance	White 5760 m	Yellow 5523 m	Red 4670 m
Holes	5 x par 5	8 x par 4	5 x par 3
PLAYED	14/09/19
Claim to fame: Arcachon is known for its Arcachonnaise villas, which have a distinctive architectural style
Before opting to play this course, I checked it out online with the limited broadband connection the local campsite had to offer. The first internet page you come across is the one outlining the strict dress code. This is reminiscent of Driffield and I had visions of a very elite class playing golf at THEIR leisure, in THEIR club and no intruders would be welcome. The electric fences that ran the length of the course did not dissuade me of this thought either. Perhaps the aristocracy is still alive and well and living peacefully in Arcachon. The day prior, this opinion had been further enhanced. Sitting at nearby seaside bar, the waitress engaged us in conversation and explained she had spent three years working at St Andrews where golf appeared to be much more accessible to everyone. Unlike her homeland, as she called the golfers of France “toffee nosed”. As has become the norm while abroad I turned up on spec to be greeted at reception by yet again a very pleasant looking and polite young lady who informed me there was availability within the hour or within three hours. I therefore plumped for the earlier start, handed over 52 euros in advance and in the interim had a brief lunch with Mrs Wormburner and friends who we were holidaying with us. On my return I discovered the first tee to be very busy and assumed this was because the four ball teams from an earlier competition were running late. Looking a little confused as my 1.50 start time arrived a kindly Frenchman whom I later learned was called Henri informed me that I would be playing with him, his wife (Helene) and another elderly gentleman (Maurice) who they had never played with before. Surprised, I nevertheless comprehended that four balls are the order of the day, on weekends at least. It must therefore be a very busy golf course. The drive up to Golf International d’Arcachon is steep and winding, indicating immediately you are going to have some hilly walks ahead. It’s a pity this isn’t indicated on the complimentary course guide you are provided with. Perhaps this could be a future innovation for golf that may help players better understand the course terrain. Henri had some knowledge of English, Helene appeared to have none and Maurice a spattering. As to me my French is extremely limited, no matter, as we all understood golf was our international language on the day. So, to the 1^st 324 m par 4 SI 11, I would like to think that I immediately referred to the course guide, but I didn’t, and it stayed in my pocket throughout. Maybe my innovation would be useless after all. As players headed to the first from all directions, Henri and Maurice had teed off, which I had observed in my confused state. My robust denial of not being involved in what I imagined was their competition and wishing to play on my own clearly fell on deaf ears as I was directed to take my shot. It wasn’t great and was immediately followed by a stern looking Helene screaming one down the middle of the descending fairway. It appeared that I was playing with low handicappers. Helene took the game seriously, she was focused and repetitive in her actions, she had the prerequisites of a good golfer. Henri was a relaxed golfer who had a natural swing that appeared to hit the mark. Maurice a single handicapper septuagenarian had the coil of a spring, he drove the ball miles and undoubtedly pitched and putted like a pro. I had a feeling that today was going to be difficult. My tee shot had impressed nobody and the iron shot that followed did nothing to put a smile on anybody’s face, least of all mine. I was doing nothing for the “entente cordiale”. Regardless, I was in it for the long haul there was no going back. We eventually arrived at the first green, Henri drops to his knees to assess the putt, Maurice uses his putter as a plumb line and Helene marks, lifts, turns the ball to the alignment line and all drop their balls into the cup. Me, I line it up with my eyes, see the imaginary line and, yes, I sink it as well, woohoo. To be truthful after the first I did have difficulty putting but that evening as I was regaling to my friends the trials and tribulations of the day, I indicated that I had found the greens difficult to read, to which they replied as one, “that’s because they’re in French!” So funny! As to the course, the tee boxes were a little on the coarse side, the fairways on the high ground were dotted with parched grass but much more receptive on the lower levels. In the main the greens were tight and on many occasions above your eye level, preventing the first-time player on knowing what to do best. The first eight holes are stunning as you go up hill and down dale or as the French would say “en haut et en bas de la vallee”. The 9^th and 10^th flatten out but then a cheeky stream is thrown across the fairways. As I come back down the par 5 10^th SI 10 at 416 m, I am asked by a member of the group coming up the par 5 9^th SI 17 at 393 m, if it was my first time and what did I think! WOW, why ask me and not one of the other three in the group? Could it have been the flushed face and sodden polo shirt that gave me away as an Anglo-Saxon or just my poor showing from a distance? I wouldn’t mind but I had respectably bogeyed both. The 30⁰ heat was intolerable on the day and I had suffered accordingly. As the French went round, drinking their waters and eating their bananas, I went round dripping the sweat. As the round progressed, I settled into the calmness and serenity that was my compatriots’ approach, however at times it felt like I was playing in a morgue. Perhaps, after the urine extracting tactics of my English colleagues this approach had come as a bit of a shock to my system. The back nine continues in a similar vein to the front, Helene’s limited conversation continues in her native tongue, without a nod or acknowledgement to me. Fair enough, maybe she is introverted and finding it difficult to communicate, I know I was. Eventually we arrive at the dog left 14^th par 4 SI 14 at 260 m and I plant one in the middle of the fairway, place the second on the edge of the green and obtain a comfortable par. Being traditionalists the honour at the next tee is all mine. I tee up, I tee off, I lose sight of the ball, I ask my colleagues if they have seen it and Maurice responds “It’s een zee warter. Oh well, honour gained, honour lost, “comme ci comme ca” as they say in France. Henri and Helene have some interesting conversations as we go round the course. None of which I understand but I could guess what they were saying based upon their actions. “That’s a good shot for you”, “Excellent” “You’ve lost that”, “That’s in the out of bounds”, “Oh dear”. As we walk the course Henri informs me that he and Helene are on holiday from Paris and come here for 5 months of the year! Now that’s a holiday and I thought ours was long at 6 weeks! As we approached the 17^th par 3 SI 8 at 104 m we had a veritable mountain to climb, the incline was immense with the green perched somewhere on the top. To enable the golfer to make this hazardous climb a ski lift is in place to pull player and trolley up the slope! Thinking you have reached the highest point possible the 18^th par 4 SI 12 at 224 m sees you off, with another incredible climb but with no assistance. The carry bag by this time weighs heavily on my shoulders and I look forward to a cooling drink in the bar. The view atop the 18^this remarkable. Directly behind you the forest canopy stretches as far as the eye can see and to the right the town of Arcachon with the sea in the distance. Arcachon if you haven’t already guessed is a wealthy person’s paradise as large individually designed villas abound. As we crossed the road to the 18^th tee, par 4 SI 12 at 242 m Helene turned to me and in a perfectly good English asks, “What do you think of Brexit?” To say I was flabbergasted would be an understatement, this lady has not spoken to me once in the last 4 hours. As I gathered my composure, I was about to explain my position in relation to this great British conundrum however, I was unable to get a word in edgeways as Helene regaled me with her thoughts, “Britain should stay in the union, after all we are all European, the UK has made a Dogs Brexit for itself and Bo Jo is a buffoon”. None of which I could disagree with, if I’d been given the opportunity to speak. Game over, we shook hands and went our separate ways. I made a b line for the restaurant/bar, ordered a fizzy drink, handed over 4 euros 50 and drank thirstily, before heading back to the comfort of my tiny caravan. Henri and Helene undoubtedly return to their villa for a chilled glass of Dom Perignon and as to Maurice, who knows, he probably goes round again and again.