Golf at Santana and our last night.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009 @ 3:50 AM
When young my mother used to insist a window was kept open in the bedroom, even in the depths of winter, yet still I can clearly feel the comfort in snuggling deeper down into the layered blankets and the warmth they afforded. To this day I find it hard to sleep without a window open. And so it was with the smell of salty air and a cool breeze on my face that I awoke the next morning. The curtain shifted slightly, an unseen hand pushing it aside, inviting me to sit up and look out to see what the day had in store. Once wakened further sleep would be impossible to find and so my thoughts drifted to the night before. Glancing over to the bed opposite I could see its inhabitant was paying for the greater lateness of his return. My watch told me it was eight thirty, so I got up and showered. Tee off time at Santana was at eleven. Before leaving the apartment I popped my head into the bedroom shouted the time and my advice to get up and shower.
This time instead of going directly to the dining room for breakfast I went to the front of the hotel and out into the street beyond. Turning right I walked along its front crossed the side road that led to the beach and set off along the path. I didn’t go far, just enough to enjoy the solitude and to look out over the smoothed sandy beach and the calm sea beyond. Half an hour later I found myself in the dining room, tray in hand with coffee, croissant and jam. Taking a seat near the centre of the room I sipped the much needed liquid and enjoyed the light breakfast. When I had finished I took an apple and banana from the counter incase they were required later. The other boys did not show for breakfast. Nevertheless at ten o’clock we assembled at reception and I must say the extra hour or so in bed seemed to do the trick for them because the conversation was lively and they were rearing to go.
Santana is a favourite of mine because it was one of the first courses I ever played in Spain and I will never forget the anticipation or excitement of that occasion. This day I hit par the first and the second par three, in fact I played well the front nine. The tenth, from memory, is a par 5 with a lake to shoot over to reach the green. I hit a terrific long drive down the fairway but slightly left and I was determined my second shot would lay up at the waters edge, but an obvious rush of blood to my head sent my nine iron shot into the middle of the water. The same old story repeats itself and at the eighteenth I knew it was all over. We shook hands indicating the battles and indeed the war was over, but somehow that was not what I was actually feeling. I had good sport, good company, good food and wine and the sun shone down on our little band as we made our way to the club house. This time we didn’t stay to eat. The club house, in my opinion is uninviting. So leaving it behind we set off back to the hotel with our adventures nearly over.
After a few drinks at the hotel bar we went to our rooms and packed for the homeward journey, leaving out our clothes for the next day. Later we walked to the Irish bar for food and pool. Just after midnight we finished our drinks and began to move outside for the short return journey. I always find the last night of a trip fills me with regret, I never know exactly why. Perhaps it’s the thought of the daily routine that lies ahead, or of those cold, dark and wet winter days. Yet maybe it’s just that we all live life to the full in those few short days than is possible back home and I suppose that’s how it should be. As I glance round one last time I closed the book and looked forward to home.