The sun is blazing down across a vast swathe of manicured fairway; a young caddie holds an umbrella over me for shade; I swing, the ball flies, a cloud of dust and sand puffs into the air as it plugs deep into the bunker on the ninth.
Never mind.
Another caddie rolls up in a cart and hands me an icy beer. “Nice strike! Next time, make good shot,” he offers.
By the end of the round I’ve lost five balls, drunk three beers and barely walked 50 yards, courtesy the golf cart.
This is golf Mission Hills Haikou style – enjoyed slowly, shrugged off easily.
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