Golfing Around the World
Chapter III All Square
I left the Holy City in a deluge of sleet and quite breakfastless. The train winds down rocky gorges, to Jaffa, and then makes a bee line for Africa through the fertile plains of Gaza. It is noteworthy that the Philistines of this world have always dwelt in the plains. I understand that the March of Brandenburg is supremely flat and Teutonic - the Celts invariably inhabit mountainous country.
I liked the fifty miles of desert from Gaza to the Suez Canal.
Cairo at last - the Paris of Africa - I confess it pleases me to be in agreement with the rest of the world in the compliments paid to the beautiful capital of France. You sometimes hear of a similar distinction being accorded to Manchester, thus poor Lyons is the Manchester of France - or is it Lille? - whichever it is they are deserving of pity, but to be likened to Paris is the bestowal of a genuine admiration for the beautiful and the stately.
Thus Shanghai is the Paris, not be it noted the Chicago, of China, and Honolulu the Paris of the Pacific.
The curses of Cairo are the dragomen, remove these and you will have an unbelievably delectable city. I found a way to elude these devils of impudent importunity. I emerged from the stately caravanserai overlooking the Esbekiah Gardens carrying a bag of golf clubs. I was blissfully ignored by the whole tribe as I elbowed my way through the dense mass of them hovering like vultures by the terrace steps. So long as I carried this talisman I was immune from molestation.
The tram carried me over the interesting ten miles to the Pyramids, and I emerged forthwith on the Mena House links and enjoyed a splendid morning's golf over an excellent nine hole course. I found a doughty opponent in the Sheilkh, as the club professional is called. Hassan was a cheerful lad, brown and lissome, with a fine free swing and a light-hearted laughing disposition.
The course lies on perfectly flat country immediately below the high sandy bank which marks the edge of the desert from the Nile Valley. Your golf is literally played
"Along some strip of herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown."
The dominating feature is of course the great Pyramid, fascinating the eye and most impressively preponderant.
Conceivably a fine brassie shot (such as that played into Harlech Castle from that most delightful of all Welsh courses) might land on the base of Cheops super massive tomb.
There was in February plenty of fine turf, and the greens were true and the fairway smooth enough for a fine upstanding lie. The course is short and flattering to the long handicap but the nine holes totalling about 2300 yards afford charming sport and are long enough for the climate. The shortest hole is only 106 yards long, but a little peach for all that for it possesses a perfect island green of hard keen turf. I played a steady and satisfactory game while the Sheikh was inclined to be wild. When we had had a ding dong struggle for several holes there suddenly appeared a picturesque figure in turban and flowing white burnous with a sort of many coloured Jacobs coat like scarf attachment. It appeared that he was a former Sheikh of the course, so he joined us as an interested and most appreciative spectator. It was the quintessence of quaintness to hear this genial son of the desert discussing in perfect English the points of the game with all the acumen and discerning wit of our most distinguished golf critics. At the end of the 12th hole of our match I was leading and Hassan turned to me with a broad grin on his cheery face and ejaculated - "Two up and six, now I think I win" and he very nearly did. He pulled me level and became dormy one, but at the eighteenth which was just over 400 yards long I holed a 10 yard putt for four and squared the match.
I thoroughly enjoyed my lunch at the Mena House, a really charming hotel possessing one of the most colourful gardens I have ever seen.
The conventional way of seeing the Pyramids is apparently to allow oneself to be mobbed by a horde of rapacious camel and donkey boys, to be hoisted to the summit of one of those supercilious, yet long suffering desert craft, and amble up the sandy slope, to be presently seized by another yelling crowd of pyramidons who haul you up into the recesses of Cheops tomb, whence you are lucky to escape at the price of many piastres and the complete loss of dignity.
If you are really keen on this form of entertainment let me advise you to come rigged out in a flowing white burnous and turban and djibbah, and if you are of the fair sex, with the appropriate facial trimmings, yashmak and nose tubes, for the ordinary garb of the tourist is ill-adapted for camel riding, and you really would not like your friends to know how you looked before you had smoothed yourself down for the final photograph at the paw of the Sphinx.
One can enjoy all the thrills in supreme comfort in the course of half an hours stroll around on foot. I tried the latter method and had a fascinating time in the pastime of Sphinx hunting, for the hoary old monument is quite invisible to the unguided stranger. I came upon it by way of some interesting excavations which disclosed the ruins of an enormous temple, and I confess I wondered greatly why the tourist party were not conducted to this point of profound interest, practically under their noses.
There is of course another temple, which is shown, immediately below the Sphinx itself. In fact while the independent investigator may miss much that is interesting and worth seeing it seems a moral certainty that the led sheep misses a great deal more. One has only to consider the psychology of the professional guide. His calling must surely be one of deadly monotony so far as his daily round is concerned, day after day, week after week, year after year, repeating the same phrases, trudging the same paths, pointing out the same and very obvious sights: small wonder if from sheer boredom and contempt of his clientele, he omits and curtails and shirks his responsibilities I consider the Great Wall of China to be the most interesting 'sight' I have ever seen and doubtless my predilection is strengthened by the fact that you could not hire a guide to show you over and about it even if you desired.
Enough of dragoman and guides and their kind, let us flit to Suez and the Red Sea. I never saw a greener sea than at Suez. We arrived at the close of a perfect summer afternoon (in February) and it was infinitely refreshing to return to the sea and the ship, moreover it was a happy and hospitable thought on the part of the band to pipe us on board after our week's absence.
For a charming cruise I commend the Red Sea in February. Three to four days swift steaming under cloudless skies through the calmer waters of soft summer seas with the unseen loom of Africa to starboard and the faintly visible red brown mystery of the Arabian desert to port. Very little that is really visible lies in the track of the steamer till one nears the straits of Babel Mandeb, when if one passes in daylight one has a fleeting glimpse of some agreeable looking sandy marged purple rocked and green tufted islands known as the Twelve Apostles. One passes also fairly close to the very strategic island of Perim the British coaling station.
Here indeed is the true portal of the Orient and the Middle East, just as Gibraltar is the gate of the Near East. I had always thought that the enormous bight of water which lies between Arabia and the Indian coast, and which takes four or five days to cross was called the Indian Ocean, but no, it is the Arabian Sea, the happy hunting ground of the Monsoon.
Out of consideration for the tourists a little cupful of wind was so named by the tactful officer who kept the passengers log. This interesting bulletin was posted up daily in the main companion, and dozens of eager perusers transferred the information to their private diaries for the benefit of the folks 'way home'.
The weather in the Mediterranean, the Red and the Arabian, and a dozen other seas was perfect, and whether it was Mistral, Monsoon or Typhoon the "Imperatrice" heeded it not at all.
It is well for us that we praise, and our philosophically resigned to our British Climate for if we suspected the weather enjoyed by the world which inhabits the lower latitudes was what it is, we should die of envy, and wilt away in the jealousy of discontent.