A near miss but a vintage week

I arrived safely in Bordeaux last Monday after a circuitous route from Turin. I had to drive to Stuttgart after that Sunday's round in Italy. Drop my car off, do some laundry and sleep. I then flew to Paris the next morning, trundled from Charles de Gaulle airport in the north to Gare Montparnasse in the south city with the rapid underground system and the Metro. Board a TGV at 2.05 p.m. and move at very high speed to my final destination, arriving three hours later.

I don't usually make such an adventure out of what should be an easy trip. It is a tribute to the advancement of the European transport system that I could even contemplate such a journey, let alone arrive on time. My chauffeur had only been waiting for five minutes for me when my TGV eased into St Jean station.

As the mist rose over the first fairway of the Golf du Medoc early on Wednesday, unfortunately for the investment banker from New York his tee shot didn't. Instead it lobbed gently into the television compound right of the fairway. No sooner had it risen over the boundary fence than Ralph had his Mulligan re-pegged. Obviously it was no surprise to him that his first shot should end up so far from its desired landing zone.

The normal pro-am format on tour is the best ball to count from the efforts of three amateurs and a pro. Last week it was the bizarre concoction of two best gross, two best nett and the professional's individual. It had all the ingredients of a tedious six-hour round, not the best way to prepare for a tournament. Fortunately we found ourselves in very pleasant company and the eventual five hour 40 minute round didn't seem that long.

A grand cru local wine merchant and a tax lawyer from Paris made up the fourball. Despite some first hole jitters the team settled down and started hitting some decent shots. By the second hole Greg had established that he shared a hunting lodge in New Zealand the previous year with the investment banker's business partner. A sheer coincidence that they should meet on a golf course in France and make such a connection.

It's not too difficult to figure out what region you are in on this golf course. Not that we are surrounded by vineyards, you can't see a single vine from the course. The 150-yard markers are big wine bottles. If you happen to miss this feature then the large signs pointing you to the next tee would have to be a giveaway. Each hole is sponsored by a Chateau, so, if you are on the fourth green and looking for the next tee, Chateau Batailley is where you are headed. I wasn't sure whether I needed my Hugh Johnson wine guide or Graeme Heinrich course guide. For the wine loving golfer,

Golf du Medoc is a paradise. Our wine merchant partner arranged a visit for Greg and myself to the Chateau Margaux. After a good first round, Greg was more interested in wine sampling that afternoon than practising. As one of the older chateaux of the region, Margaux has no doubts about its quality. To see the Chateau itself makes it a worthy visit, the house is classified as a national monument. To take a few slugs of its finest wine is an added bonus.

We enter the '98 cave through a panelled door in the greeting room. Over a thousand oak barrels line the colonaded room, in reverential positioning. You get the feeling of being in a cathedral with the silence and serenity. Here we sampled last year's offering. A Swedish guest gurgled, swooshed and spat out his mouthful. I swallowed mine slowly, not really knowing if I was doing the right thing or not. It tasted lovely. On we went to the '97 room and ended up at the vinotheque, a top security cellar which houses wines from as far back as 1848. A stunning array of cobwebs accompanied the vintage wines.

To finish the tour we got to sample a bottle of '93. To the untrained palate (mine), it tasted like a smooth and rich drink. On leaving the Chateau and stopping off at a wine shop, I realised that we had been drinking a 3,100-franc bottle of wine - and '93 was not one of the better years - so obviously they gave us the dregs.

I stayed in a farmhouse situated about 10 minutes drive from the course. There were six of us sharing the house. We were surrounded by horses, fields and stables. Peaceful environs compared to our usual city dwellings. We all took our turn at cooking, all meals complimented by the local brew, and not Chateau Margaux unfortunately. My player missed a 12-footer to lose in the second hole of a play-off. Even still, I wish every week on tour was as good as last week. It was work, but it felt more like a holiday.