Golf in the Algarve

My second tee shot soared high and straight, then hurtled down towards the lake; a repeat of my first. I didn’t hear the disheartening plop this time because the breeze had shifted and now moved loudly through the pines that surrounded us. ‘Keep buggering on,’ said my old man, cheerfully. This course, Quinta do Lago South, was much too hard for us, so no shame in failure. I looked again at the 15th green. It was not much larger than a postage stamp, with water to the front and treacherous ground to the rear. ‘KBO,’ the old man repeated as my third ball followed its forebears into the deep.

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The Algarve is a dangerous place for occasional golfers. The heat, so pleasant on the outward nine holes, begins to sap one’s strength by the tenth.