|
Edinburgh – Day 10, the final
day– St. Andrews
I don't even know
where to begin. I guess I should state
that this is being written long after this day's events took place. Usually, I try to write journal entries
contemporaneously with events, the final day usually being written on the
plane on the way home. I'm not sure
why, but I had trouble putting together my thoughts after leaving Edinburgh. It  is a lovely city, a city-city – one of the few I would
put in the league of top ports of call.
Obviously, I haven't traveled the world over, but I would place Edinburgh
in the second tier of large cities I would re-visit, ranking just after Paris
and New York and in line with New
Orleans and San Francisco. Edinburgh's
history is wonderfully rich and its juxtaposition of the old and the new
seems just right to me. It even has a
physical demarcation line between the new town and the old town, so you know
just where you stand. There's so much
of which I haven't written and, I fear – having no reference – will one day
forget. Perhaps that is the beauty of
a re-visitation of a particular place – discovering the known, but forgotten
little treasures of the mind.
But on to today's event – a much anticipated trip to St.
Andrews and the MPI  Foundation Project Europe Golf Classic at St. Andrew's
Bay Golf Resort. We played the
beautifully new Torrence Course (yes, it was
designed by Ryder Cup Captain Sam Torrence with the
late Gene Sarazan).
Would I have preferred to play the Old
Course? Of course. But you do have
to book 2 years in advance and, I imagine, cost is major factor. I can't believe that we would have been
treated any better. Once we arrived
(it's about an hour and ½ from Edinburgh),
we were wined, dined and treated like members of a private club. During a delicious Brunch tee times and
partners were announced. Wouldn't you
know it, I was in the very first group off the tee and, with no one playing
ahead, our group was to lead the way from each green to the successive
tees. The Pro-Guide provided by the
resort was wonderfully helpful in this regard and we only made a few wrong
turns.
 The course is
beautifully laid out and finishes running along the coast of St. Tay's Bay. The undulating fairways follow the natural
lay of the land as is usual with a links course. We caught The Torrence
on one of its more forgiving weather days as the wind was minimal. I can only imagine where some of my shots
would have ended on one of the normally blustery howlers that the staff said
was the norm.
I was paired with Kevin from Chicago
and Patricio Valazquez from Germany. With his Spanish-German heritage, Patricio,
or Patrick, spoke wonderful English, but Kevin and I had fun teaching him
some of the, er, finer English phrases for various
terms that you generally don't learn by watching professional golf on
television. By the back nine, Patrick
was shouting, "Hit the ball, Mary!"
whenever a putt was left woefully short of the hole. Kevin and I nodded approvingly knowing we
had created a monster.
At the third hole, a cart came by with some single malt whiskys and although it was not yet noon, I couldn't resist a shot of 16-year Lagavulin. At the
turn, we were served Champagne
and meat pies among other offerings. I
tell you, this is the way golf should be played!
In fact, I played well considering my high handicap and
held my own with Kevin, a lower-handicap player. Patrick is still  learning the game, but has a natural flair for the right
choice of club and swing. Kevin was so
dissatisfied with his game that when we got to the clubhouse, he skipped the
wonderful Tea that was laid out for us and instead hit a bucket of balls. Not
me. Especially, when I learned that
the bar was open, free and filled with single malts.
During tea, awards we're given out for longest ball, best
score under handicap and nearest to the pin.
Future MPI chairman Hugh Lee  took best score under handicap and I was shocked when I
received a beautiful (and expensive) St. Andrew's golf shirt for being
nearest the pin. Besides the fact that
I am notoriously inconsistent, the award was doubly unusual as I was the
first on the green with a measurable distance that all the following players
could shoot at. This is the first (and
probably the only) award I've ever received as a golfer and it made my day,  week and year. At
the end of the tournament most of us were heading back to the bus to Edinburgh,
but some of the luckier ones had made plans to take the 3-hour drive to Inverness
for another golf tournament.
As we got back on our Edinburgh-bound bus, someone asked the
driver if he would stop by the Old Course (which was quite visible from The Torrence) so that we might check out the pro shop. No problem.
 Unfortunately, it was closed, but thanks to the ingenuity of
Mary D'Alton from Ontario
who knew who in the hotel to tip, we were all able to purchase Old Course
ball tags. Stupidly, I hadn't brought
the required cash and credit cards weren't going to make it. Mary even loaned me the appropriate pounds
for my purchase. The dollar being
almost at a disgustingly low ½ discount, it was going to be easy to calculate
the check amount I would be sending her once back in the states. Here's to a trusting Canadian who helped
make my trip more enjoyable. Look her
up at The
Waterloo Inn if you're ever in the Waterloo/Kitchener, Ontario
area.
British Open Champions are listed on three beautifully
mounted plaques at the Old Course and I couldn't resist having my photo
snapped in front of one of them as a parting memory of this magnificent
day. There I am with my St. Andrews
hat (that disappointingly, never made the trip back to the States) nudging
Tom Watson's two straight wins in '82
and '83 and framing Seve Ballesteros'
memorable win on this very same Old Course.
Just magnificient.
Strange but True?
I'll end our 10-day saga with a rather strange occurrence
that occurred on the bus ride back to Edinburgh.
I'll have to preface it with a preceding story that took place over 10 years
ago. Beth and I had joined pals Stacey
and Declan for a few days of wine adventuring in the Finger
Lake region of New
York state.
On one of our forays, Stacey expressed a desire to drive to an out the
way winery and she and Declan led the way through some back country area as
Beth and I followed along behind. After
what seemed an eternity, they stopped, we pulled along side and Stacy said
they believed they had taken a wrong turn at a small speck of a town named Dundee.
So we doubled back to Dundee and took a different fork
in the road. A half an
 our later, as we rounded a curve in the road we
again found ourselves in Dundee. So Stacey studied the map and we again
forged out on our winery quest. You
guessed it – soon afterward we again pulled into Dundee,
this time from a completely different direction. Dundee seemed to be
our own private Twilight Zone. All we
could do was laugh. We stopped at a
quaint little restaurant and ordered a made up drink consisting of Mt. Gay
Dark Rum, Malibu Coconut Rum and Orange Juice. We dubbed it the Dundee Cocktail as we
realized that all you needed was one sip and you had no idea where you were.
Through the years we have introduced many friends to the
potent Cocktail while telling them the little story of being lost in Dundee. I  bring all this up, because on the way back from St. Andrew's
to Edinburgh the bus driver got
lost. Really lost. We saw some beautiful parts of Scotland,
but we were all anxious to get back to our hotels. We had early flights to
catch. We twice crossed the same
farmland and the second time the driver got out and asked the local farmer
for directions. We drove on and
finally, we saw the bridge crossing the Firth of Forth. So we forded the Firth of Forth. But we we're miles away from the bridge
that spans the Forth that leads to Edinburgh. We were instead (wait for it)....... we
we're in Dundee! Dundee,
Scotland. No doubt the namesake of Dundee,
New York. We we're lost in Dundee. I needed a drink. A Dundee Cocktail, yes? I was a bit, as we say, freaked. I tried taking a photo to prove to friends
back in the states that I had been lost in Dundee, but
all I got was a blurred photo of the Dundee
Airport. Thankfully, my friend Scott Wagstaff was able to enhance the photo (see photo left)
so that you could actually read the name Dundee and I was able to prove, to
myself at least, that history had indeed repeated itself.
Beth and I flew home the next day. It was a wonderful journey. A wonderful journey. Wonderful.
Full of Wonder. Did I dream it
all? Was it real? Or was I merely under the influence of … a Dundee
Cocktail?
|