When we were there, most of the guests were Australian retirees on a group tour. There were also quite a few families.

The 18-hole course was designed by Nick Faldo, and it held a few surprises. The ninth hole is downright gorgeous. I don't even remember what I shot (must not have been a birdie) because it didn't matter. Rated one of the 500 best holes in the world by Golf Magazine in 2000, this par 3 is a narrow corridor of palm trees ending on a green with stunning views of the water.

Unfortunately, the rest was far more ordinary, dominated by predictable fairways and average greens. For about $250, we got two nights' lodging, club rental and one round on a ho-hum course with only a handful of ocean views and sightlines dominated mainly by a large red and white cellphone tower nearby. The noises of modern Vietnam also repeatedly intruded: horns from motorbikes and trucks, dogs barking and children playing.

On the fifth and seventh holes, I could see what appeared to be the local Communist Party building on the course's edge, marked by a gold star surrounded by red.

I wondered what the Vietnamese today thought of all this leisure. Our caddies demurred, responding to my questions with giggles and a shrug. So I asked Puchalski.

As a bunch of Australians gathered over a barbecue nearby, he told me that teaching the Vietnamese about golf has been perhaps the industry's greatest challenge. The Vietnamese, he said, are still getting used to the idea of conspicuous consumption.

"Ten years ago, no one knew what golf was," Puchalski said. "Ten years ago, you'd be arrested for talking about your money."

Like other American golf industry veterans in Vietnam, Puchalski has done his best to bring the game and Vietnam together. Several years ago, Dalat Palace and Ocean Dunes began giving free lessons and rounds to dozens of Communist Party officials at the provincial level. In 1997, Puchalski even put on a golf clinic at Da Lat, paying to bring senior leaders from Hanoi.

As a result, the government seems to have developed a greater appreciation for the game. Puchalski said that many leaders now play regularly.

Last year, officials also agreed to let a group of Americans associated with Puchalski begin using the name of their supreme leader to market a Ho Chi Minh Golf Trail. Since the name can only be used on products or services that benefit the Vietnamese people, it was essentially a high-profile vote of approval.

Interest in the game has also spread to the nouveau riche of Vietnam. Several caddies told me that they sometimes work for Vietnamese barons and officials who bet hundreds of dollars on each round and become furious when they lose.

Puchalski acknowledged that betting was a common problem. He said he did his best to discourage it, and that it was just one of many things he has had to impart to first-time students of the game. Other unofficial lessons have included: why you shouldn't laugh when someone slices into the rough; the value of silence while putting; and the nature of tipping.

At Kings' Island, outside Hanoi, our caddies seemed to have learned all they needed to know. Diana and I played nine holes on the Lakeview course and nine on the Mountainview course with our caddies, Nguyen Thi Tuyet and Le Thi Lien. Petite women under 35 who grew up nearby and spoke a diligent brand of overarticulated English, they managed to repeatedly save us from ourselves. On every hole, they gave us a summary of what to watch out for and where to aim.

Each Kings' Island course held subtle differences. Mountainview was more open, allowing for more mistakes with overlapping fairways, fewer trees and less water. Lakeview was shorter and required more accuracy. The greens were smaller, the rough a little thicker.

Compared with Dalat Palace, the landscape of Kings' Island seemed less exotic but more natural. There were fewer designed flower beds but more trees, including Vietnamese birches that stood like sentinels, and what our caddies called "tram trees" of medium height, with bursts of scented yellow flowers.