THE NINTH AT PANORAMICA

July 13^th – 19^th, 2009

Open de Espana Femenino, Panorámica Golf Club, Castellon, Spain,

It is market day in Barcelona. The steel roll-away cages have been pulled up and white aprons are being drawn around the waists of the young and old, skinny and pudgy. The fruits are piled high in a multitude of colors, textures, and flavors- some familiar, others excitingly exotic. The marketplace, like all things, has its own order and the produce stands are always cloistered near the entrances. As I reach into my pocket for 50 eu-cents to buy an orange, the smell of its sweetness hits my nose before my fingers can tear open its skin.

Center stage of the market belongs to the fish mongers. Fresh fishes, langoustines (shrimp), mussels, and squids in all shapes and sizes are stacked on crushed ice. The strong scent can make even my hardy stomach turn and a few of the eyes look downright creepy when they are staring back at you. A stop at the meat counter can be similarly off-putting with the smell of smoked sausages and legs of dried prosciutto ham hanging from the hooks above. Cheese shops and bakeries dot the market’s perimeter. The bustle of commerce lends itself nicely to people watching while you stop for a short coffee, strong and bitter, or my favorite, café con leche, at one of the coffee bars tucked away inside. It’s a little slice of Terebey heaven.

Yet many will argue that architecture is the crown jewel of the Barcelona and though my allegiances lie elsewhere, I find no fault with their arguments. The Modernist movement has gripped the landscape in a tight embrace. I see Gaudi’s imprints everywhere. La Perdera, La Sagrada Familia, and slowly the recollection of a college art history course comes back to my memory. Under the cloak of night, the green spotlights below the Familia cathedral throw an eerie light onto the pillars and arches. Once completed it may very well be a powerful religious icon for Christians but as it stands at present, having been in construction for over 100 years with no completion date in sight, it is monumental in the sense that the cranes outnumber the church’s spires. And why is there a big basket of oranges at the top?

Beachgoers, by the way, prefer just the bottoms, unless of course you head to the south end of beach where wrinkly old men gladly shed those as well. Our group literally “scooted” on our bikes along the seafront a few times during the week and saw more than our share of full and partial nudists. The beach is but a moments walk out of the city. On foot you can traverse the pavement from the Picasso museum to white sands and back via City Hall quickly and easily. But as I said, we preferred to scoot.

After a short week of relaxation it was time to get back to work. As we drove 2 ½ hours south to Castellon my mind wandered back to last year’s impressions of Panoramica Golf Club. They are lukewarm at best. The development (golf urbanizacion in Spanish) sits in the middle of a vast orange grove which surrounds the property on all four sides. In the center lies the Bernhard Langer designed Panoramica Golf Club, an interesting test of golf especially when the wind blows which it often did over the course of the tournament. The par three 5^th was a harrowing experience, a firm semi-island green with water front, right, and left. If you knocked it over the green and your chances for an up-and-down were slim as the green sloped away from you back to the drink. The swirling wind was enough for an indecisive club selection. Was it into, into out of the left, strong enough for one more club or two? But for the most part the fairway bunkers, perfectly positioned to squeeze the landing areas, were the biggest hazard on the course.

Flies flourished in this climate. Unbearably hot and humid without the breeze that drove the smell of orange blossoms and freshly laid fertilizer across the course, and burning hot even if it was. Why in the tour’s infinite wisdom had they decided to visit Spain in July? Genius I say (sarcasm added). And to say the flies were only pesky would be the understatement of the summer. It is true that while I found them to be a nuisance, my dislike for them was unparalleled in comparison to Rick’s feelings. Our apartment was a true battlefield of the human versus “the flying creatures from disgusting hell,” as he poetically put it. The surprisingly chilly pool proved to be great refuge from the bugs and from the pitfalls sometimes made on the course. If only I could erase that terrible third round…if the easiest way to make a bogey is to try for a birdie they imagine what you can do if you want to shoot a 67? Whoops.

As alive as the course seemed with a tournament underway, the grass the green and lush from an overworked sprinkler system, it was a ghost town elsewhere. The townhouses that line the perimeter of the course were vacant with for sale signs displayed on balconies and security shutters pulled down over the windows to deter intruders. By the sounds of it the challenges of the course aren’t enjoyed by many others, only a few passing vacationers and fewer expatriate permanent residents. How can a place like this survive?