libya Letter #4 from Ron Fream

I was in Tunis in April 2004, hoping to connect to a flight to Libya. I’d been visiting Tunisia regularly since 1973, providing consultation and design assistance to the office of national tourism, to help the nation create a golf industry.

A Tunisian developer had asked me to accompany him to Tripoli. He was looking to build a hotel in Libya, in light of the pending opening of the country to foreign investment. I was looking to design Libya’s first all-grass golf course.

It took three days for the Libyans to process my visa. I picked it up on the morning of the 22nd, just hours before we were scheduled to depart for Tunis. I hadn’t yet heard that the U.S. government had opened Libya to Americans.

Upon our arrival at the airport, after a 50-minute flight, the Tunisians in our party passed quickly through immigration. I was held back as my passport was shown to various Libyan immigration agents, many of whom were seeing a U.S. passport for the first time. They had questions about my profession, as my passport, just four years old, contained nearly 100 pages of entry stamps.

Once cleared, we were met by representatives of the Libyan Golf Federation and the Libyan tour operator who was to serve as the local partner in our development group.

Oil wealth had brought untold millions to Libya, but I saw little evidence of it on the drive into Tripoli. People ran up to our car at every stop, trying to sell us cigarettes and chewing gum by the piece. Men sat upon curbs, holding hammers, trowels, shovels, and plumbing tools, indicating their skills, hoping to land a day job. The roads needed cleaning and repairs. The buildings were dull and bland, without gardens or lawns. Paint appeared to be in short supply.

The next day, we visited a 2,000-acre site west of Tunisia that didn’t quite meet our needs. From there, we made our way toward Bin Ghashir Golf Course, in the hot desert south of the city.

Again, we drove along littered, pot-holed roads lined with distressed-looking houses. We stopped at a concrete-block building that housed a butcher shop. Refrigeration is in short supply in Libya. People shop every day, for their immediate needs. Butcher shops in Libya hang the head of whatever animal they’re selling alongside its suspended carcass, to reveal the meat’s freshness. In Tripoli, at least, it seemed that young camel was the meat of choice. Occasionally we’d see donkey and sheep heads as well. The meat is sold by weight. You just hack off as much as you want.

Bin Ghashir was about 60 acres of rolling sand with a few scrawny eucalyptus trees scattered about. It was the second course built in Libya. Brits built the first, near Benghazi, at the end of World War Two.

The course had 18 small, raised tee boxes, nine roundish, flattish sand greens, ill-defined fairways, no grass, and no irrigation system. A piece of synthetic grass was used to create a preferred lie for shots. Its clubhouse was yet another squat, Arab-style, concrete-block box. Two rooms, no air conditioning. Outside, on a concrete slab, there was a small wood stove where fish stew and macaroni were being prepared for lunch.

The players were mostly expatriate workers from the U.K. and South Korea. On weekdays, the Koreans arrived at about five o’clock, several cars full of them. They’d scatter to various tees in a rush to play as many holes as they could before dark.

On weekends, during the milder months, 100 or more rounds would be played at Bin Ghashir. In the summer, you could only play in the morning. The course has recorded temperatures over 115 degrees.

Over dinner, it was decided that Libya’s first legitimate golf course would be built at Bin Ghashir. The land was available, the federation was agreeable, and water was said to be plentiful just 350 feet below our feet.

To offer an 18-hole experience, I proposed to design a nine-hole “boutique”-style layout with multiple teeing areas, double greens, and common fairways. The track would reach nearly 6,700 yards off the rear tees. It was the same 9/18 concept that my company, Golfplan, had used elsewhere for more than 20 years, to good reviews.

The partners planned to acquire some adjacent land at the south end of the course for golf-view condos and apartments. A new, much-improved clubhouse would serve as the community’s social center.

During May, Golfplan’s team in Santa Rosa, California worked on the design concept. A dramatic layout emerged, with plenty of visual beauty and ample challenges for better golfers. We added several lakes to help cool the property and store the irrigation water.

I returned to Tripoli in early June. On the way to my hotel, we passed the compound where Colonel Gaddafi lives. It was encircled by concrete walls at least 20 feet high, and its entrance was blocked by guards and barriers. Above the walls, I could see the upper floors of several apartment buildings that served as the home of the Colonel’s personal guards.

I was told that Gaddafi lived in a tent in the middle of the compound. He had camels tethered nearby, so he could drink fresh camel’s milk whenever he wanted to.

A couple of days later, in the company of our Libyan host and the president of the golf federation, I met Gaddafi’s eldest son, Muhammad. He was the chairman of Libyan television and telecommunications, as well as the head of the nation’s Olympic committee and the president of its national soccer team. A portrait of his father hung on the wall of his office.

Gaddafi knew of golf but had never played. He was interested in our venture because he wanted to bring tourists to his country. He appreciated the financial benefits that golf-related tourism could bring.

With Gaddafi’s approval, our plan was all but complete. We had a site, a course design, a master plan, and a financial pro forma. Of course, the deal wouldn’t be done until the Libyan and Tunisian sides made some important money decisions -- who pays for what, who gets the profits, who gets the credit. I had my fingers crossed.

I left Tripoli on a hot June afternoon. On the flight to London, over a few glasses of red wine, I again wondered where all the oil money had gone.

Cheers!
Ron Fream

Ron Fream is the founder of Golfplan, a Santa Rosa, California-based design firm. He's designed about 75 new courses, including one for the Sultan of Brunei, and currently has projects in Mongolia, Uganda, and other countries. He lives in Malaysia.