10 of the most beautiful golf courses around the world

Just in time for Christmas another one of David's lists, this time a list of ten spectacular Golf Courses here and there around the globe. Hope you like it and Merry Christmas to you all!! :)

When it comes to sportsmen and women, golfers must be up there with the most fortunate sports people. Not only are they lucky enough to play the sport they love day in and day out, competing for vast fortunes watched by huge numbers of people; they also get to travel around the world and see some amazing countries and places. You may think that the spectacular sights are to be found away from the course but there are certain courses around the world that are beautiful sights in their own right. Below, TravelSupermarket looks at 10 of the most beautiful golf courses around the world:


St Andrew’s, Scotland - Scotland is the home of golf and the courses at St Andrew's on the Fife coast are a place where almost anyone who has ever swung a club wants to play at some stage in their life. Golf has been played here since the 15th Century and the real challenge is coping with the demands the coastal location places on a player, amidst the sand dunes and wind of Scotland's beautifully rugged east coast.


Muirfield, Scotland - Another great venue in Scotland is Muirfield, located in Gullane, East Lothian, just a decent approach shot away from Edinburgh. The storied greens here are viewed as particularly testing and are where Jack Nicklaus won his first British Open. There are usually two visitor days a week and tee availability should be checked with the course itself; a round usually costs around £200, depending on local factors.


Celtic Manor, Wales - Wales is home to some of the UK's most stunning vistas of mountain and ocean and the Celtic Manor resort in Gwent has emerged as a highly-rated golfing venue in recent years. Its courses include The Montgomerie, designed by legendary Scottish Ryder Cup star Colin Montgomerie, who captained Europe to victory in the Cup in 2010. The modern facilities here are superb, with a golf academy and a floodlit driving range amongst its attractions.


Royal County Down, Ireland - Moving away from Scotland and Wales and across the Irish Sea, Ireland's green hills and attractive coastlines are home to some special golfing locations. In Northern Ireland, the Royal County Down Golf Club is a very fine venue. Over a century old, this course enjoys a setting between the Irish Sea and the Mountains of Mourne and is some 30 miles south of Belfast and within 100 miles of Dublin. With wind from the sea as well as the heather and gorse bushes to deal with, this venue can challenge as well as stimulate the senses.


Ballybunion, Ireland - Also in Ireland, although right down in the south west, is the Ballybunion Golf Club. Again, the course makes the most of its setting on the Kerry coast, with its fairways and greens placed amongst the sand dunes which overlook the Atlantic Ocean. The course has a wild feel to it thanks to the native plants and the sea views give a real feeling of freedom.


Royal Melbourne, Australia - Away from Britain and Ireland, visitors to Australia can experience the superb facilities at the Royal Melbourne Golf club, in the south east of the country. There are two 18-hole courses at the site, an East and a West, with competition events being held on a composite course with 12 holes from the West and six from the East.


Mid Ocean, Bermuda - For golfers who are rich enough, the island of Bermuda has an exclusive venue known as The Mid Ocean Golf Club. With spectacular sea views and a course designed by Charles Blair Macdonald. It can often feel like golfers are actually playing in the middle of the ocean itself on this course's cleverly laid-out fairways. As well as hosting some major golf tournaments in recent years, the course was also the site of meetings between American President Eisenhower and British Prime Ministers in the 1950s.


Pebble Beach, USA - The United States itself is blessed with some the finest golf courses in the world, not the least of which is Pebble Beach in California, a five-time host venue of the US Open. The resort contains five different courses which present different challenges, with a Scottish-style links course sitting alongside the Pebble Beach Golf Links, in use since 1919 and the Spyglass Hill Course. An exclusive venue where it is unlikely to come across casual golfers, there is also the oldest course in continuous use west of the Mississippi, the Del Monte, which has seen over a century's service. Exclusivity means that playing here can be an expensive experience.


Pinehurst Country Club, USA - Over on the eastern seaboard of the US, the Pinehurst Country Club in North Carolina enjoys eight picturesque courses, with more holes on offer to the golfing visitor than any other course in the USA. The fairways are lined with trees and there are plenty of bunkers to break things up a little and it is also noteworthy as being the place where Payne Stewart won his last tournament before his tragic death in a plane crash in 1998.


Augusta, USA - Also in the southern states of the USA is the Augusta National Golf Club, the venue at which the Masters is held each year. One feature of the course which frequently attracts attention from gardeners as well as golfers is the amount of pink azaleas that decorate the championship 18-hole and nine-hole courses. The 11th, 12th and 13th holes are collectively known as 'Amen Corner', viewed as one of the sport's most challenging trios of holes.

Very few earn the right to wear the Green Blazer of a Masters champion, one of the most iconic titles in sport and the kind of gravitas associated with the jacket informs the ethos of the venue, known as a place of conservative decorum and respect for tradition. Golf is a sport that crosses geographical and cultural boundaries, allowing players who travel to soak up some of the world's most picturesque locations as well as taking part in one of the world's most widespread and enjoyable activities.

To Harlech!

One thing that I definitely missed whilst traipsing around Australia, if there was anything I could miss whilst my brain was being gently blown away by the staggering scenery, was old stuff. Ok, sure, Australia is host to one of the oldest peoples on the planet, and evidence of their existence certainly appears all over the place, but when it comes to newer, well, old stuff, it is missing out. By newer old stuff I mean things like seriously old buildings, and in particular, decent castles. Australian new old stuff usually is no more than 200 years old, and revolves around the fairly amazing expeditions that the early explorers set out on. I digress.

The UK, whilst perhaps not having thousands of kilometres of glorious blue skied outback to wander around in, does come up trumps with regard to old buildings, and in particular castles. And so it was yesterday, as the weather did that thing it does so well in Wales (i.e. unpredictably drizzle), a trip to Harlech castle was scheduled in.

Our route took us through Barmouth, a classic Victorian seaside town, which as far as I can tell hasn’t changed hugely from the eighteen hundreds. In the rain, people mill around in a confused manner, stumbling from rock shops to amusement arcades and back again, occasionally diverting via the fish and chip shop, or perhaps the pub. Barmouth took some time to pass through, tiny though it was, as tourists wandered zombie like into the roads on one of the routes from building to building. Generally, a seaside town in the rain is a terribly depressing place. Further digression appears to have occurred.

Harlech Castle, a few miles on from Barmouth, is a wonderful example of classic English castle building. I say English, because it was built in the 12th century by the English King to keep the rowdy Welsh, recently quelled in an uprising, from doing so again. And it was, admittedly, built by a chap from the continent. However, it looks pretty classically English, as castles go, all turrets and massively thick grey walls and arrow loops. There are a whole chain of these castles up the coast, Harlech just happened to be our closest.

It scores highly on my personal castle-o-meter, as you can access pretty much all of it. Too often these days we are tempted by the sight of intriguing looking spires and turrets, yet held back by formidable gates and warning signs. Harlech Castle eschews, for the large part, personal safety in the name of exploration, and I applaud them for it. So it was that we climbed the highest part of the Castle and wandered along the battlements. This also afforded us a tremendous view of the Welsh countryside out into the sweep of Cardigan Bay, and the grey, cloud covered and angry looking mountains of the Snowdon area. The highlight of the castle trip for my travelling companion did appear to be a large ginger cat who gave the impression of owning the place, but at least some culture was absorbed in the process.

After the castle trip we had some rather tasty ice creams, and then headed back along the coast home, stopping on the way to see an ancient burial mound. This mostly consisted of some carefully balanced rocks, but as they had been carefully balanced over four thousand years ago, they were worth a bit of a look see. We looked and saw.

Finally we returned home, via an extended stop off in Barmouth where a thorough walking tour was given (including the highlight, the pub I worked in for three hours as a Chef before it was discovered I wasn’t, in fact, a chef, my shortest career ever), before we got back to the house and dinner was served, courtesy of my brothers girlfriend, Rosie. Normally I wouldn’t go into much detail on dinner, and I won’t now either, suffice to say, if you lovingly bake my initial into the pastry top of the meal I am about to eat, you will win my stomach forever.

Snowdonian explorations

I have started to notice a definite obsession in the general British media with regards to the war and Hitler. Normally I suspect this is something I would perhaps not notice, but due to my current status quo of visiting the UK with my significantly German other half, it is something that is definitely more noticeable. I’m not entirely clear why it is brought up quite so regularly, and Vera doesn’t actually mind of course, as this wasn’t really anything she had anything to do with, but it is, nonetheless, quite a strange phenomenon.

The war aside, we have spent a rather lovely couple of days in rural Wales. The setting of my parents house really is quite stunning, right on the bank of the Mawddach river estuary (Vera is having tremendous fun trying to pronounce Welsh place names), at a point where the tidal river estuary is nearly two miles wide. From the house we can see across the estuary and up into the might of Cader Idris, one of the highest mountains in the region, and a tremendously nice climb. We haven’t as yet climbed it admittedly, as currently my travelling companion and family are being gently eased into the walking lifestyle with a series of shorter, less strenuous walks, but it is on the list.

Our first trip out was up into the hills at the rear of the house, which take you up to an elevation of just around 1000ft, affording splendid views up the river estuary and of the whole Cardigan Bay area, starting with the sea side towns of Barmouth and Fairbourne. We even saw a steam train puffing across the bridge, further proof no doubt that the UK really is just a giant Harry Potter set. We bumped into a group of hikers, on the final day of a four day expedition, and gave them hope that they were nearly where they were going. Ice creams, i assured them, were just over the next hill.

We also wandered around the quaint village of Dolgellau, all grey stone houses with slate roofs, and chomped down on a honeycomb and clotted cream icecream, roundly concluded by all to be tip top. At any moment, I suspect, my life will turn into an Enid Blyton novel. Lashings of Ginger Beer will soon be consumed. Maybe even bread with honey.

The rest of the week has further walks planned. Today is a day of rest due to various blisters needing healing (well, a pub trip is planned in for lunch), but I have hopes that should the weather continue to not rain, then Cader will be conquered. Possibly even Snowdon, Wales’s highest mountain, and one that I have never actually got round to climbing. And, if all goes well, a final send off before I return to Germany will take place, in the form of a large bonfire in the garden. Pyromania all round.

Wales at easter

Pete with pretend-to-be cossacks Nicola, Lola and Nell love to travel but stay off planes to keep their carbon footprint down. Here's how they satisfy their passion for travel, this time using one of the oldest ways of getting around - on a horse

Wales used to be the UK’s best kept secret. It’s got the most gorgeous scenery, rolling hills that are steep enough to make you puff just looking at them; castles; activities, coastline and those green, green valleys. It’s got great poets, Taliesin(s) and lyrical Dylan Thomas to heroes such as Glyndwr and that girl from the Mumbles (no, I'm not thinking of Charlotte Church).

It’s also wooed and won a lot of my friends so in order to make a visit to Llanidloes we were happy to housesit a combination of geese, hens, cats, horses and seedlings while our hosts took a mini break in their camper van from housesitting her mum’s place while she’s off working in Lesotho. A complicated bit of house swapping to organise (as a friend of our hostess also moved into our house in London), but five horsy days for me and the kids doing country stuff.

For Lola the highlight was bareback rounding up of sheep (!). Nell was delighted to go on her first hacks, have the big dog lick her hand and watch her mum treat geese as nervously as if they were a herd of rhinos. There scarier in fact.

A real treat was to saddle up the horses – grey Herbie and liver chestnut Rosie who was born on the farm – and take the girls for a ride up over the hills. It was hot and the last few lambs were popping out in one field which inspired lengthy discussion about why sheep don’t eat their placentas (much), how many placentas twin lambs create and human connected fact of life questions.

And then it was time to trot to the moor and Lola lent forward, clutching the mane, imagining herself as Laura Ingalls Wilder (of Little House on the Prairie fame) galloping bareback On the Shores of Silver Creek. While Nell was being a Nellie – find out which you are at the cute quiz site Are you a Nellie (spunky) or a good natured Laura, http://www.littlehousebooks.com/fun/nelliequiz.cfm

Content as I was, riding out with my two girls – who I’ve taught to ride despite their London address (a miracle really but it may come in handy come the fossil fuel cutbacks as this is the original renewable way of getting around until the bike was introduced) - I couldn’t resist dreaming of other horse nations where the mum would stick the kids on the GGs to make getting around more fun, and a great deal quicker. And within seconds the beautiful 360 degree skyline of wind farms and bleatingly busy ewes disappeared so Lola, Nell and I could cross the old soviet steppes Cossack style on our way to summer grazing. And as we looked for finger posts taking us along the National Trail my imagination was ticking off the horse-lovers Stans – Uzbekistan, Kazakstan, Afghanistan and Pakistan. It's a bit like TV Alexandra Tolstoy's rides with horse people of the word (see what the Guardian makes of her show here).

But less posh - because back in 1985 visiting a uni friend, Nicky, whose family were based in Islamabad, Pakistan I went to the North West Frontier Province, after a bumpy flight from Peshawar up to Chitral, which is very close to the Afghan border. I remember being aghast at the number of kalashnikovs slung over men’s shoulders, and stunned by how many Afghani refugees were forced to make new lives in an area that looked so bad for crop growing – although maybe I visited in the wrong season as this part of the silk road is famous for apricot orchards.

Dressed up in shalwar kameez (and sun glasses which rather ruined the common touch) Nicky and I looked at the sites, ate the delicious apricots and debated maternal health until we were invited to watch from the Prince’s dias (well he said he was) the amazing game of buzkashi played (in Uzbekistan it’s called uloq). Buzkashi is a kind of polo with a goat carcass used as the ball.. It’s very fast, only men do it (I think only men watch it but I guess Nicky and I were treated as honorary man) and at that particular contest a clarinet and drum band beat out a rider’s signature tune whenever they were on the ball.

It was a surreal afternoon – English polo has never seemed so exciting again, even when it’s injected with Argentinian verve and skill.

Now even the simple pleasure of a morning ride with my daughters surprises me. It's not just that we live in central London, or that Nell's asthma is made worse by the beasts, or the cost (although all are relevant) it's the surprise of having got to be old enough to hack out with my own children. The Welsh views may distract eco-bunny me - we counted enough wind turbines to provide energy for nearly 7,000 households but I'll have to check this - but when I'm around horses I feel just as I did as an eight year old out for a ride: happy, ready to canter and in touch with the place I am.

Horsiculture is maligned for being elitist, pricey and a little bit obsessional - so as a part time riding coach I'm delighted to see that a few environmental writers, specifically Mark Lynas and Sharon Astyk, have suggested horse transport may be the way to go. I don't for a moment think they were serious, but it's a good reminder that everyone used to be able to get around without using any fuel save grass, hay and oats.