There are golf courses you return to because you love the golf. There are resorts you return to because they feel familiar. And every once in a while, there is a person waiting there who makes returning feel a little like coming home.

For me, that place has always been Casa de Campo in the Dominican Republic. And that person was Pablo.

Living in Florida, the Dominican Republic became one of my favorite getaways. It was close enough to escape to without turning the trip into an expedition, yet the moment I arrived at Casa de Campo, I felt like I had gone somewhere entirely different.

The warmth. The Caribbean. The people. The golf. And, of course, Teeth of the Dog.

But when I think back on all those rounds, something funny happens. I don’t think first about my score. I think about Pablo.

The Caddie Becomes Part Of The Trip

The first time someone caddies for you, they’re a stranger. That usually lasts about three holes. Pablo had personality. Lots of it. He knew the course, naturally. He knew where we should hit the ball. He knew where we absolutely should not hit it. But Pablo also knew something every great caddie understands: golf is supposed to be fun. There was always conversation. There was always teasing. There was always laughter. And there was dancing. Yes, dancing. Our caddies danced their way up the fairways. Only in the Caribbean could carrying golf bags somehow develop its own rhythm. We’d hit a shot and start walking, and somewhere between one ball and the next, the fairway could turn into a dance floor. Try being overly serious about your handicap while your caddie is dancing beside the Caribbean Sea. It doesn’t work. And that’s probably a good thing.

Buena Bola!

There was another sound that became part of our rounds: “¡Buena bola!” Good ball. We heard it often. Sometimes we probably deserved it. Sometimes I suspect Pablo was being generous. Either way, we loved hearing it. “¡Buena bola!” A good drive. “¡Buena bola!” A nice approach. And perhaps occasionally a shot that simply remained somewhere on the golf course. The phrase followed us around Teeth of the Dog until eventually it became part of our own golf vocabulary. That’s what travel does. You bring little pieces of a destination home without realizing it. A flavor. A song. An expression. A joke. For us, two words from the Dominican Republic became permanently attached to golf. Buena bola.

Then There Was Teeth Of The Dog

Teeth of the Dog is one of those courses where you occasionally have to remind yourself to stop looking at the scenery and hit the golf ball. The Caribbean sits right there beside you. Ocean holes hug the coastline. Waves crash against the rocks. The breeze moves in from the water. You stand on a tee and think: this is spectacular. Then Pablo hands you a club and brings you back to reality. Pablo wasn’t visiting. This was his place. He understood its personality. The wind. The greens. The trouble. And probably, after enough rounds with us, our trouble too.

The Best Part Was Coming Back

But here’s what made Pablo different. We returned. Again and again. Casa de Campo became one of my favorite escapes from Florida, and every time we came back there was that wonderful anticipation. Would Pablo be there? And somehow, Pablo was always there waiting for us to return. That’s when a caddie stops being simply a caddie. He remembers you. You remember him. The jokes pick up where they left off. Someone starts dancing. Eventually somebody hits a decent shot. And from somewhere behind you comes: “¡Buena bola!” It became part of returning to Casa de Campo. There was comfort in it. Golf had introduced us, but repetition turned the relationship into something more familiar.

I Don’t Remember The Scores

Ask me what I shot during those rounds at Teeth of the Dog and I couldn’t tell you. I don’t remember. But I remember Pablo. I remember laughing. I remember the caddies dancing up the fairways. I remember the Caribbean beside us. I remember hearing “Buena bola!” after a good shot – and probably after a few questionable ones. And I remember returning to Casa de Campo and seeing a familiar face waiting for us. That’s what stays. Golf may have been the reason we were standing on that first tee. But Pablo became part of the destination. Years later, that’s the story worth telling.