A beautiful morning

I sat down at a table on the right hand side of the dining room. My initial venture to the self service bar produced a slice of melon a cup of coffee and round of toast. My eye was caught by a young spanish waiteress whose light brown hair was tied back in a pony tail. Her olive skin and dark hazel eyes held me in fascination. she was, of course, totally oblivious to my glances and yet for some reason I didn't want to voice my thoughts to my friend, who at that moment lifted himself slightly off his seat and raised a hand to beckon the others who had just entered the dining room. she continued her work, lithe and beautiful her pony tail swingly slightly with the occassional swish enforcing the attraction. Pleasantries and conversation commenced around the table that soon merged into smiles and laughter as recollections of the previous night were recalled and I knew a spell was broken as thoughts turned to the day ahead. A second visit to self service, this time to the hot food bar resulted in two slices of bacon, an egg, some more toast and another coffee but most was left untoutch so after fifteen minutes we headed to the car and Rio Real.

The ride to Rio Real didn't take too long. The turn off the main road seem wrong but soon it opened out to reveal a most pleasant club house. As we were early for tee off we proceeded downstairs to the restaurant for coffee but to our surprise and that of some other visitors coffee would not be served unless food was ordered. The huge room we stood in had the biggest fireplace I had ever seen and photos just had to be taken, it struck me how spectacular that room must be on a cold winters evening with soft light and a blazing fire in the hearth. Paying our fees and armed with several bottles of water and keys for buggies we set off to find the practice greens, which sat beside the first tee box, behind the starters office.

Rio is another parkland course and once again I could find little to fault it. I suppose if the truth be told there are three courses I truly enjoy on del sol, La Cala, Guadalhorce and Santana with others like El Chaparral, Mijas, Lauro and now Santa Clara and Rio Real among others also providing great playing pleasure. (Not wishing to offend but in September I stayed at villamartin, Costa Blanca and played the same along with La Finca and Campoamor and I just could not get that same feeling)

At the ninteenth bets were paid, I was out of pocket again. A question to those in the know, why is it when someone mentions out of bounds, water or trees does my ball end up exactly in the thick of it, then when the subject of money is raised I might as well have stayed in the clubhouse. Not you understand that it is for large amounts or indeed that I'm afraid of loosing a few euros but maybe its a fear of letting my partner down or perhaps its the competitive spirit in me where the thought of defeat is compounded by the act of also having to pay for it.

Once again a cold beer and light bite lifted my spirits no end. As I looked out from the balacony my only thoughts were of contentment and gratitude that life had once again provided an oasis where camaraderie and craic filled my glass. 

My inital impression of Santa Clara golf clubhouse was to be taken back by its sheer size and imposition. What an outstanding structure with arches and an overhanging roof offering shade and escape from the heat of the day. The contrast between the shade and the brilliant sun bathe course startled me. I left it to the others to sort the fees and buggy hire while I let my eyes wander over the vista before me and almost shocked myself with the realisation that I would be soon participating in the theatre that lay before me. I had the same feeling the first time I played golf in Spain at Alhaurin, where you can stand on the balacony of the cubhouse and look down at the long dogleg right thats the first hole.(I've played this course again several years later but was disappointed at its condition and saddened that a great course was let down by what appeared to me to be poor maintenance.)

Now I don't want to give an account of the days golf, I hate that, you know those that after a game giving a blow by blow account and lament how things could have been so different if only.... Suffice to say that on the 18th hole my short chip, second shot on to the green rolled past the flag and on and on and on and then a soft plop could be heard as it quenched its thirst with water. Ten minutes later a pint of ice cold beer with condensation running down the outside of the glass was providing me with relief. A few more followed that and then regretfully it was time to leave. Our nominated driver helped load our clubs and off we set to find our hotel and sort out the rooms.

I don't think I saw the inside of the room properly until the next day as it was the case of throwing our bags in through the door and off to the bar for a drink. Two barcardi and coke later, about seven o' clock, and it was back to the room for an hours siesta. At 9pm we had showered and with glad rags on walk out into the cool night air straight into a taxi bound for the marina where we ate at an Italian restaurant. A bruschetta starter followed by roquefort steak was washed down with excellent red wine, what a treat!

From a bar to a nightclub and from there, well the memory is a bit hazy but we ended up back at the hotel about 3am and as you can imagine as soon as my head and pillow met the night passed on its way without my notice.

7am the morning of 16 Nov 2008 I stood on our balcony at the Aparthotel, Benalmadena looking out over the little road that led to the beach. The early sun displayed colours of purple orange and red as it rose higher above the horizon and a lonely sea bird glided high in the sky seeking a hidden warmth. Two workers on the beach loaded fallen branches and other debris into a tractor trailer while on the coast road little stirred apart the occasional car.

I had showered and dresssed, setting aside a jumper to put into my sports bag. Further back in the apartment I could hear the sound of my golfing partner getting into the shower and I felt the need to slide the patio doors almost closed to drink in those delights that  feasted my eyes, the stillness that pounded my ears and the taste of the salt on my lips that was carried on the chill wind.

 NOTE:  Now I know this is crap. I've read more interesting lines on the back of a toilet door so take my advice click close and go watch a kettle boil because from here its all down hill. 

The four of us had arrived three days earlier on an easyjet flight, there was a bank manager, two business men who ran quite successful businesses and myself  who made up our fourball. Having collected our bags we made our way to the 'tunnel' at malaga airport to wait on the courtesy bus to take us to the car rental company, can't remember the name began with an N, just at the first roundabout from the airport, (come on anyone who has hired a car at malaga airport will know the number of rental businesses along this block). Anyway about half an our later we emerged into the mayhem and chaos of spanish traffic in our white Peugeot partner car/van heading for my fist visit to Santa Clara golf with its magnificant club house, fantastic food, cold beer and what turned out to be a terrific course.