My Summer Vacation - Part II - The Stans

I broke a rule I've long lived by during My Summer Vacation. I visited one of the Stans.

There are many reasons to avoid traveling to the Stans. Civil war (and an unfortunate lack of vowels) in Kyrgystan. Al Qaeda camps and war in Afghanistan. Earthquakes and America-haters in Pakistan. Borat in Kazakhstan. God knows what in Uzbekistan and the Otherstans.

But there, in the middle of Stockholm, is the lovely Gamla Stan. In Swedish, it means "Old Town" or something seemingly non-threatening, but underneath the veneer of picturesque cobblestoned squares, there's darkness, dear B&E readers.

The missus and I shielded ourselves from whatever that dark cloud might be, for we rubbed the bald head of Stockholm's smallest public statue. It stands (sits, actually) at six inches, and in winter, ladies from the church (the statue is in the church's courtyard) knit caps for the little bugger to keep him warm. He kept the missus and I protected from the usual dangers associated with the Stans.

I simultaneously rubbed my own head for good measure.


Thanks to the protection of our duo of bald domes, we had a lovely day walking around the "Old Town." Yes, dear B&E readers, Gamla Stan seemed OK to me.