Golfing in the Holy Land and Turkey

We have a dear friend living n Kas, ( Cosh) Turkey. She’s wonderful even if she is from California. Sorry Tessie! Kas was once a small fishing village. Now it’s a string of bars and tee shirt shops. So it goes.

On one of many tips, Tess suggested we get in some golf. I was amazed there was a course. Seems the Germans had one about fifty miles up over the mountains. So, off we went. Oh yes. Tess is one hell of a good golfer.

The fees were fifty bucks each, but because we were Americans, it was assumed we were staying at the hotel, so that was halved. The fairways were dry as asphalt. You got a hundred yards on just roll. The greens were also asphalt. Touch the ball and watch it scoot across the surface and fall in a sand trap. An un-raked, reddish brown dirt called sand. And oh yes, there was the ground’s crew. Fifty or so women and a couple of guys who stood around and smoked. Typical for Turkey. The ladies work, then men drink tea. They were cutting the grass with antiquated hand shears! I do not lie! Clip, put the clump in a cloth bag. Clip etc! Another feature were the rats running across the fairways. At first it thought they were cats. Tess pointed to the nude tails and raised an eyebrow. So it goes.

Now Israel. There was only one course then, in Caesarea, a very old beautiful ruin on the coast. It’s also a New Yorker’s sub division. When I got there, the parking lot was packed with Caddies and Lincolns. Most were convertibles. I met my transplanted New York lawyer , picked up my rental clubs, got in the cart and off we went.

This is a desert. Some rain once a year. The fairways were a faded green. Faded because they were astro-turf! Yeah! I teed the ball high and hit a low screamer. It must have gone 350 yards! I can’t hit a ball over 200 if my life. . .well. My partner drove our gas engine cart like the typical Israeli. Like an insane NASCAR retread! But the distance I got almost drove the panic away. Ever hit an iron on astro-turf? Well, neither did the fellow I was with. He stuck a rubber tee down, lined up his shot and hit away. Then he wouldn’t share the tee. Claimed I should have bought some when we got the clubs! I hit down and through and both my wrists screamed, OUCH! But the pain was bearable as I watched my shot rise much higher than I could usually hit it. What the hell! So it goes!

The greens were real grass. Well, some sort of something. Really stiff, tightly woven, but when I pulled at the edges, it came free with a bit of black earth. They weren’t as fast as Turkey. Actually they were slower than sand! I was only twenty feet away, but it took three puts for me to get close enough to make the fourth! My partner hit his ten footer with a slight pivot and was still a foot short.

I played pretty well. About the high eighties or low nineties. Can’t pin point that. But I can remember what it cost to play that nightmare or heaven, according to how you felt about artificial fairways and green sand like greens and a guy who was a threat to my life every time he managed to get the steering wheel away from me, after the second hole. $250.00!! That was his cost. The guest fee is $325.00. I guess he made a bundle back in good old New York.

I did want to play in Indonesia, but after they introduced me to my caddy, two fore caddies, they waved at a guy holding a twenty foot or so bamboo pole. When I asked who he was, I was told he was the SWEEPER. That’s the guy who goes ahead and sweeps the fairways for cobras and other nasty snakes. I got a refund, but I had to keep the glove. I had it on.