GOLFING WITH THE NOT SO RICH AND FAMOUS: HOTEL GOLF CHATEAU DE CHAILLY

 

HOTEL GOLF CHATEAU DE CHAILLY
Type of course	EXPENSIVE	Slope 139	18 holes	Par 73
Course distance	Blanc  6160m	Jaune 5880m	Bleu 5219m	Rouge  4888m
Holes		4 x Par 3	9 x Par 4	5 x Par 5
Played	28/08/23
Claim to Fame:

Set in the Bourgogne region of France, minutes off the A6 is the  Exclusive Golf Du Chailly, a four star hotel, spa and golf resort set in the grounds of an ancient 12^th century chateaux. A Chateaux bought in 1987 by a wealthy Japanese Joanes Yasuhiko Sata,  who turned it in to what it is today.

Ten minutes from my camp site at Pouilly Auxios and with a half set stowed away in the well of the car, I was up for a game. The weather was varied, overcast with a stiff breeze or sunny and sanguine, Mother Nature had yet to make her mind up. As for me I knew what I wanted and it didn’t matter where. Du Chailly was the closest course and therefore got the nod. As one drove down the D977 in the distance, the 3^rd and 4^th fairways appeared on my left hand side, flat and fragrant to the uninitiated eye. Turning left into the village of Chailly- Sur-Armancon reveals the back of the chateau and excellent signage ensured I didn’t inadvertently turn up at the hotel reception for the not so rich and famous.

As I entered the club shop, it was alive with gaelic bon vivere. Well to do ladies were trying on expensive attire with the latest logos. A rotund Frenchman in tight fitting red slacks with overhanging white polo, was waxing lyrical. Meanwhile on the phone, I think, the Pro was discussing tee time availability. His expression indicated exasperation; it wasn’t looking good for me! As I waited patiently, a handle barred Eastern European moved into the now crowded space. A lady of means appeared from behind a curtain, with belt buckle undone and Calloway vest adorning the uncomely shape. It was all becoming rather bazaar.  The Pro with phone firmly affixed to ear, glanced my way and acknowledged my presence. He wanted me to speak, “Bonjour, Parlez vous Anglais” I said in my best foreign accent. “Oui, a leetle”, came his reply. Thank goodness for that, as I had just about exhausted  my thesaurus of French phrases. The handle barred European smiled at me, as if to say, “you’ve got no chance mate” and moved forward to receive a cart key from the Pro. “Have you got a tee time I can have?” “Oui”, glancing at the clock, he said “You can go in der minoot”. Not one to hang about, I paid the visitor fee of a mere £72 and reeling from the shock headed to the car, swapped my flip flops for golf shoes and was on the first well within the allotted time. Gathering in my surroundings I noted players on the practice green chipping and putting, carts bagged up ready for the off but I had the tee to myself. Three swings and I was away, along the rolling course. What excitement lay ahead?

The tee boxes were a disgrace, the fairways were scorched earth, rutted and dry and the rough was cut but not cleared of the dry grass. White marker posts indicated the width of fairways and separated them from the outer fringes but you couldn’t differentiate with the naked eye. The greens felt spongy underfoot and were slow but well-manicured, sadly, the only part of the course that was. Perhaps the recent heat wave that had encompassed most of Western Europe, had paid a hefty toll on this allegedly exclusive course. Nevertheless, it was still very disspapointing.

Playing off the juanes, the 1^st at 324 metres par 4, SI 16, sees me hit the first low lying fairway bunker. Yet again somebody had designed a course to make my life difficult. No matter, I chip out and before you know it, I am in a green side bunker. Bunkers whose area was enormous, not only in width but also in  length. They reminded me of the golden sands of Northumberland. Where was my buddy Handy, the bunker specialist, when I needed him! The top layer was a crust of crisp shards of silicon and no matter how hard I tried to hit out, I made very little distance. Three bunker shots, two puts and I have a snowman to my name. Similar, to the green side bunkers the greens were expansive and had little issue with regards read.

The 2nd, the first of 5 par 3s, SI 8 is 168m in length, I fire left, into the rough but miss, the Normandy beach bunkers. A chip and two putts, not great but to some extent I recover my equilibrium.

Glancing around there appeared to be no one behind me and  no one in front, it truly was millionaires golf, nothing less than I would expect for the price. Perhaps I have lived in Yorkshire for far too long and the old money tightness is starting to have an impact.

In all honesty I was expecting something far more special.

After a mixed bag of results on the front eight I arrive at the 9^th par 5 at 467m, SI 17 and here you catch your first glimpse of the chateaux, resplendent in a shade of ochre. The required tee shot must drive over a stone wall some 150 yards from the juane. No issue for us high handicappers, thankfully. The second sees you turning sightly dog leg right and reveals a large wind soc to the left of the fairway. A strange indicator of wind speed and direction for a golfer but then again, the French do have a way of standing out amongst other nations. As you set up for the third it becomes abundantly clear why the wind soc is in situ, lying no more than 50 yards past the green are two helicopters. The personal taxi service for the aristo’s direct from Dijon airport.

Reaching the 10^th, I am somewhat disorientated. The map displayed on the tee board differs from the layout in front of me. Two options appear relevant, one,  a massive drive over a lake, or a shot over a hedge to the right. The juane markers don’t help much either. Thankfully I choose the correct option for as  I move down the fairway, in the distance, the golf pro is seen in a cart, bouncing over the fairways towards the tee.  

Completing the hole with a bogey. I turn towards the par 3 11^th SI 11 at 157m , it’s a shot over water onto the tightest green on the course.  The pro is just finishing off at the 10^th. I fire within 10 feet of the hole, I am euphoric, I hope he saw it and I’m in with a chance of a birdie. Nope, two putts and it’s a par. Quelle surprise. Nevertheless, I move on to the 12^th where like the 9^th a stone wall awaits, the first drive pings off it, into deep shrubbery, the second arrows down the fairway. As the Judge would say “Oh for a bag of provisional balls”.

As I trundle towards the second ball, the pro appears, I offer him the opportunity to play through, which he kindly accepts. I hear the strike; I don’t see the flight. As I walk on the whirring of the electric cart can be heard. “You want to continue with me?” he says, I decline and off he hurtles. Perhaps he was just feeling sorry for me as the heat was starting to get to me and the face, lacking factor 50, was looking a ruby rouge. He momentarily stops at my ball, checks and then moves on a further 100 yards. I will swear to this day, he got out the cart, dropped a ball from his pocket and played on. On my life, I think I have met the first ever Donald Trump Pro.

As you can guess from my visage, Mother Nature has now made up her mind up and I begin to flag under the noon day sun. Surprisingly I play my best golf over the next few holes.

On reaching the 15^th however I am plum tuckered. Perhaps, like every other player there, I should have hired an electric cart but sadly I am not one of the not so filthy rich. The swing has gone awol, balls are being fired left and right, none of which I can be bothered to look for. Where is Zapatta when you need him? I am bereft, but struggle on to the end, one sweaty being, more used to the chill winds of Whitley Bay than 30^O of baking Loire sunshine.

As I flag my mind wanders, what would the Wednesday Boys make of this course. Kryton would not like the deep pools of water, no ball fishing here. Handy wouldn’t have to worry about a dangling gay icon hanky out his back pocket, as cloths were in abundance. Attached to the ball cleaners with locked carabiner, stronger than those on my caravan brake cable, perhaps the not so rich and famous couldn’t be trusted with the opportunity of picking up a free J cloth. Not monogrammed I might add!

All in all, another golf course ticked off from round the world but sadly not one I would recommend.

As a positive, the signage from hole to hole was excellent but that does not a golf course make.

Perhaps it wasn’t that exclusive, after all, as I played on it.