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I played a new course the other day – that is, new to me – a nine holer with a low green value and an open tee sheet. It’s Scotland, outside Edinburgh and inside Musselburgh Racecourse, in its sprawling setting, buzzing inside. I had heard people talk about Musselburgh Links every year but I finally got around to it a few days after Ryan Fox, a Kiwi golfer, won the Open Championship at Royal Birkdale. Fox can play this par-34 course, the front open itself, in less than an hour. You play fast and so does this course. When the Scots invented golf they didn’t mean it to be an all day job. (We are still young, mon – or are your sheep sheared?) I think the new Open champion would love it. I know Sandy Lyle, who won the ’85 Open, digs the whole vibe of it.

When I arrived I didn’t see any signs of a pro shop or anything so I walked down the open road to the track itself, the big red brick stairs now behind me, the green grass track ahead. The whole place was very sleepy on this warm weekday afternoon, and the whole scene brought to mind an old visit to Doubleday Field in Cooperstown, NY, on a summer day when there was no game.

The man fixing the fence pointed me to the field in a very short way (I walk directly over the race track and its rail fence). A man walking a dog on the course pointed me to the first point.

Musselburgh is a public course. I had paid my green fee, about 20 dollars, online, and I thought I could prove it, if someone had asked me, but I didn’t see a soul. (Some of you will surely remember the once-common practice of handing a beginner a receipt from a thrift store but that’s all gone, thanks to the rise of cell phones.) When Sandy Lyle plays Musselburgh Links he plays with hickory-shafted clubs and no rangefinder. Golf has been played on this course since the 17th century.

The subject was brown. The fairways were brown, the tees were brown, the greens were brown and the tips were green. The rough feet were brown and wrinkled. My sneakers doubled as golf shoes and my wee bag had eight clubs in it. (Enough.) In the bag I had my wallet, cell phone, balls and tees – everything I needed, really. Almost everything.

Scots are good at public transport, especially in and around Edinburgh and Glasgow. I was waiting on the side of the road with my bag, an old man with a stick, passing by with his wife, said, “I think you missed the way.” The kid on the bus showed the driver some kind of pass and said, “It’s going to expire in 2028 so it’s a little while.” A Romani mother (I think) with five small children got on the bus, went to one stop and got off. “Thank you, driver,” said a young woman as she got off the bus, expressing a beautiful voice in two short words. It was a double decker bus. None of the people I was riding with even checked my bag.

I started my round with the Top-Flite – just happened to be out of the ball pocket – and finished with the same TF, so that’s good. My first rule of golf, when you’re playing a course you don’t know and you’re on your own, is, first, don’t hurt yourself. When in doubt, hit the hooded bell and remove it. The first at Musselburgh is 230 meters on a par-3 with concrete. . . everything. I hit the iron hard, my short pitch clipped the heavy iron rod as it sank and I missed the average by 18 inches. I hit one drive right into the sod wall (plastic turf) of the fairway bunker and consulted Google about how to take the unplayable from the trap. (The ball must stay in the bunker.) I think I enjoyed the 8 there – although I lost the fairway near the green and it was probably only a 7.

I know for sure that I hit two good shots on the 4th, known as Mrs. Forman, a 430-yard par-4, is extended. The real Mrs. Forman had a bar across from the fourth green, back in the day. The bar is dark, despite the best efforts of the Hickory Golf Association. My Par came with modern help: TaylorMade driver over the race, as needed, not in a bad place; The Ping hybrid fades to about 30 meters. The first putt was on the face, rolling the finish over the green. The greens were incredibly smooth.

A few holes later I caught three Americans. Not a big one. They were importing it, like me. There was another singleton roaming the field a hole or so behind me. An unusual summer golf course in a coastal town with a course surrounded by racecourses, old stone houses beyond. Not something you see every day, or anywhere else. Not in my experience.

The name of the city (the Romans cleaned it in 80 AD) comes from shellfish and the great Squeeze song “Clams Pulling (From the Shell)” appeared many centuries later (1980). I’ve heard the word – city, racecourse, course – mean several ways, including Moosl-ba-rah. The heart of Edinburgh city is 6 miles away. The golf courses of Gullane, Muirfield, North Berwick and Dunbar are along the coast in the opposite direction. Oh, and Kilspindie. Kill-SPIN-dee. As the locals say, there is something musical about this name. The Kilspindie course is a lot of fun.

You don’t play the Musselburgh nine of golf, not in the normal sense of playing. You go around Musselburgh because you can, because there is, this ancient course that held the Open six times a long, long time ago. Mungo Park won the first Open there, in 1874. (Mungo. How did it happen that The name is from my child’s name list?) Given names are other Musselburgh winners Bob, David, Jamie and Willie. Two different Willies. The second was Willie Park Jr., Mungo’s nephew. Willie Park Jr. he had a younger brother named Mungo Park Jr. (Which appears to be a clever use of the youngest.) There is Mungo Park IV still alive and has a new book about . . . golf in Musselburgh!

The course is much older than the horse trail. The racetrack is attractive, with long posts, which coincidentally, correspond to the hole numbers. For example, the fourth long post, the long black and white post, is near the 3rd hole. I hit a piece there that ended up on the irrigated lawn adjacent to the racetrack. My ball played and sat invitingly. When you play the course on race day, or training day, you have to pay attention to horse traffic. Mrs. Forman plays on the track, on your tee shot, if you hit it right. Second if you don’t.

I followed the Americans to the pro shop, seeing it for the first time. The man who runs the shop was talking about the heat, the unusual summer heat, although the summer is getting warmer every year, he said. He talked about New York in the winter. Americans came from the South.

I went upstairs, where there was a changing room. I found a thin layer of sand inside my shoes (no surprise) and bits of dead brown grass on the tops of my socks, those little ankle socks. There was a shower with surprisingly hot water, although there was no soap. Having traveled some of these parts, I should know better. You should always pack a hotel bar of soap, in this Scottish golf course. You will never regret it. You can just put it in your bag, in the same package as your toys, or anywhere. It can’t hurt to have one.

The Scots value independence, as does the cross country game they invented. You need help to get to the first tee but over the ball on your own. That has been true forever and must remain true from here on out.

Michael Bamberger welcomes your comments at Michael.Bamberger@Golf.com.