Busan, Where the Heart of Korean Golf Beats to a Vietnamese Rhythm

I arrived in Busan on a March afternoon, when the East Sea was still cold and the monsoon winds had yet to depart. Not to admire the famous beaches or savor fresh seafood at Jagalchi Market. I came to sit at a corner of a golf practice range, where I have spent most of my time over the past five years. People still ask me why a Vietnamese sports journalist would choose Busan, a port city that is not the largest golf hub in Korea, to pursue the profession. The answer lies in afternoons like this, when I sit quietly observing young athletes hitting balls, listening to the heartbeat of the city through the sound of clubs swinging through the air. Korea is an Asian golf powerhouse. From Park In-bee to Kim A-lim, from victories on the LPGA Tour to dominance in domestic tournaments, Korean golf has reached the world stage. But the story I want to tell here is not about the established stars. It begins at the humble practice ranges in Busan, where young Korean golfers – and overseas Vietnamese like myself – are chasing their dreams. I remember one drizzly afternoon, I met a 16-year-old boy named Park Ji-hoon. He arrived at the range at 5 a.m., practicing until dark. He told me about his dream of competing on the KPGA Tour, of one day standing on the most prestigious golf courses in the world. His eyes sparkled, not from the rain, but from a burning passion. I looked at him and remembered myself, in 2026, when I first set foot in Saint Petersburg to follow the Korean national team at the World Cup. At that time, I did not know that my journey would become intertwined with this sport. Golf is never a loud sport. There are no fervent cheers like in football, no breathtaking sprints like in athletics. But it is precisely this stillness that makes golf special. It is a dialogue between the player and oneself, between humanity and nature. And in Busan, I have learned to listen to that dialogue. The practice range in Busan is not like the luxurious golf courses in Seoul or Jeju. It is simple, rustic, but carries a special energy. Here, I witness young Korean golfers training with an almost harsh discipline. They hit balls hundreds of times a day, recording every shot, analyzing every small detail. This diligence is not something new – it is part of Korean sports culture, where perseverance and effort are paramount. But what truly caught my attention was a new trend emerging. That is the increasing presence of Vietnamese people at practice ranges in Busan. They are not just laborers or international students. They are golf enthusiasts, seeking opportunities to develop their skills in a more professional environment. I met a Vietnamese man around 40 years old, named Nguyen Van Hung, who has lived in Busan for 15 years. He works at a shipyard, but every weekend, he comes to the range to practice. He told me that golf has changed his life. It is not just a sport, but a way to connect with Koreans, to understand their culture better. Mr. Hung's story made me think about cultural exchange. Golf, a sport with Scottish origins, has become a bridge between Vietnamese and Korean cultures. On the golf course, there is no distinction of nationality, language, or religion. There are only shots, strategies, and shared emotions. And it is this that creates a special space where strangers can become friends after just one round. I remember once being invited to a friendly tournament between Vietnamese and Korean golfers in Busan. It was an unforgettable experience. On the course, I saw Vietnamese people trying to learn from Koreans, while Koreans were impressed by the enthusiasm and optimism of the Vietnamese. There was no fierce competition, only respect and friendship. When the tournament ended, everyone dined together, sharing stories and laughter. That was the moment I realized that golf is not just a sport – it is a universal language of humanity. Five years of working in Busan has given me the opportunity to observe the development of Korean golf from a unique perspective. I have witnessed young Korean golfers rising to the top of the world, but I have also witnessed the difficulties they face. The pressure from family, society, and themselves. I have seen the tears of those who failed, and the smiles of those who won. But above all, I have seen a spirit that never gives up, a passion that never dies. Korean golf is entering a period of transition. The generation of golfers like Park In-bee and Kim Hyo-joo is gradually giving way to younger talents. And in this context, the emergence of Vietnamese golfers in Korea is creating a fresh breeze. They bring a different playing style, a different spirit. They not only learn from Koreans but also contribute to the diversity of the golf community here. I believe the future of Vietnamese golf lies in connecting with developed golf nations like Korea. And Busan, with its favorable geographical position and large Vietnamese community, can become an important bridge. I have seen collaboration projects between Vietnamese and Korean golf academies, exchange programs for coaches and athletes. All of these are creating a solid foundation for the development of Vietnamese golf in the future. Whenever I sit at the practice range, watching young golfers hit balls, I remember the phrase I often use in my articles: "Cheers are never noise; they are the heartbeat of the city." In Busan, I hear that heartbeat through the sound of clubs swinging, through the sighs when a shot goes wrong, through the laughter when a putt succeeds. That is the heartbeat of a city living with golf, of a community seeking connection. One afternoon, I sat with Mr. Hung on a bench beside the range. The sun was setting into the sea, painting the sky orange-red. Mr. Hung looked at me and said: "You know, I came to Korea to find a better life. But I never expected to find a new passion here. Golf has given me a reason to love life even more." I smiled, saying nothing. Because I understand that feeling. I too have found a part of myself in this place, on these golf ranges in Busan. And I know that no matter where I go, no matter what sport I write about, the heartbeat of my heart will always be in sync with the heartbeat of this city. Golf is a sport of patience. It teaches us to wait, to analyze, to accept failure, and to rise again. And in my journey, I have learned that whether in Vietnam or Korea, whether on the golf course or in life, these values are always the guiding star. I will continue to observe, to listen, and to tell stories about golf, about people, about connections that transcend all borders. Busan is still beating, and I am still here, recording those beats.