The desert wind whispers tales of ancient civilizations as much as it hums with the promise of modern golf in Riyadh. While the recent buzz around LIV Golf’s format changes has dominated headlines, for me, the true joy of golf travel lies in unearthing the courses themselves, the canvases upon which these dramas unfold. Imagine the golden hour light, painting the sand dunes in hues of amber and rose, casting long, dramatic shadows across emerald fairways. This is the Saudi landscape, a place where golf, somewhat surprisingly to some, is finding its footing, pushing design boundaries, and offering an experience unlike any other.
My mind, as always, drifts to the architects. Is it a Dye, challenging the eye with optical illusions, or perhaps a vision from the minds of Alister MacKenzie’s spiritual successors, blending seamlessly with the natural contours? In this part of the world, where vast, open spaces meet ambitious visions, there’s fertile ground for some truly spectacular designs. We’re not talking about your typical parkland course here; this is golf on a grand scale, often borrowing from the links-land ethos despite being miles from the sea. The sheer expansiveness demands strategic thinking, not just brute force. One must consider the prevailing winds, which can turn a friendly par-5 into a beast, and the sun, which can make judging distances a fascinating challenge. I’ve always found that the best desert courses integrate their surroundings, using natural rock formations and sandy waste areas as integral parts of the strategy, not merely as hazards to be avoided.
The recent chatter, however, has taken a different turn, focusing not on the sublime natural aesthetics or the strategic routing, but on the number of holes played. The LIV Golf tour, making its return to Riyadh, embarks on a new chapter, transitioning from its signature 54-hole format to a more traditional 72. This change, reportedly driven by a desire for world ranking points, has clearly stirred the pot among its high-profile players. Bryson DeChambeau, a player I’ve always admired for his analytical approach to the game, voiced his reservations:
“It’s definitely changed away from what we had initially been told it was going to be… Is it what we ultimately signed up for? No. So I think we’re supposed to be different, so I’m a little indifferent to it right now.”
DeChambeau’s candidness highlights the tension between the original vision and the evolving realities of professional golf. From an architectural standpoint, a 72-hole format doesn’t inherently change the design of a course, but it certainly alters the strategic approach. A player might be more inclined to take risks in a shorter format, whereas 72 holes often reward a more patient, grind-it-out game, where every green complex and every bunker placement has a cumulative effect over four rounds. It emphasizes consistency and endurance, aspects that true championship courses are designed to test over a longer haul. I’ve often thought that a great course, like a great novel, reveals its full depth and character through repeated engagement, and 72 holes allows for that deeper relationship to form.
Conversely, Jon Rahm, another marquee name, seems to embrace the longer format, a sentiment I can certainly understand. A full 72 holes traditionally defines a champion, pushing players to their limits across varied conditions and strategic puzzles. Rahm’s perspective underscores a belief shared by many golf purists:
“I’m happy about it. I would say I was one of the people that pushed for it. So obviously I’m happy about it. I think the more golf we play, the better for stronger teams and stronger players, and I think it will benefit us four individuals and as a team, as well.”
His point about “stronger teams and stronger players” resonates with the inherent design philosophy of many modern championship courses. They aren’t just collections of holes; they are cohesive tests designed to identify the best player, or in LIV’s case, the best team, over a sustained period. The subtle nuances of a green complex designed by, say, a Bill Coore or a Ben Crenshaw, with its gentle undulations and strategic run-offs, are often fully appreciated only after multiple approaches from different angles, something 72 holes allows for in spades. A player might miss the ideal landing area on Thursday, learn from it, and adapt their strategy for Saturday.
While the focus of the news has been on the players and the tour’s format, for the golf architecture enthusiast, the real story in Riyadh lies beneath the turf. Is it a resort course, offering pristine conditions for easy play, or a more challenging design that forces strategic decisions on every shot? Given the burgeoning golf scene in Saudi Arabia, often backed by significant investment, I’d wager it’s trending towards the latter. I’ve played a number of courses in similar arid climates, and the best ones use the natural contours and existing vegetation (or lack thereof) to great effect. Think of the way Pete Dye uses water hazards or how Tom Doak plays with optical deception – these principles can be brilliantly adapted to a desert landscape, creating courses that are both visually stunning and strategically demanding. The architects designing these courses are not just moving earth; they are crafting experiences, blending the game with the stark, beautiful realities of the Arabian Desert.
Visiting Riyadh for golf isn’t just about playing a course; it’s an immersion. The vibrant culture, the captivating history, and then, the unexpected oasis of a manicured golf course, often under the dramatic backdrop of sand dunes and the vast, open sky. It’s a destination that continues to evolve, proving that golf can flourish in even the most unexpected corners of the world, pushing both players and designers to adapt and explore new possibilities. And whether it’s 54 holes or 72, the essence of a great course, a truly memorable design, remains timeless.
