We went on a mission today to Sigtuna.
Without our usual co-pilot, Chris.
In our defence it was more of a mini-mission, Sigtuna being neither that far away nor that big a place. Also, I don’t reckon Chris would mind, since I believe he’s currently diving in Egypt. Still, it did feel treacherous, and we had to console ourselves by eating pommes-frites and onion rings when we got there.
Sigtuna is a quaint village situated by Lake Malar, the third biggest lake in Sweden. It’s one of those touristy places that, despite having lots of modern shops strewn along its main road, still manages to blend them into the surrounding architecture without it being too much of an eyesore.
In fact the only eyesore we saw was a seashore t-shirt store. Actually it wasn’t, but once I saw a tongue-twister on the horizon my animal instincts took over. No, the only eyesore in the rustic village of Sigtuna was the brutally bleak crazy-golf course. Seemingly designed by a clinically depressed Puritan who had got a degree in drawing straight lines, thereafter eschewing his education because drawing lines was too much fun, I think I’d find more enjoyable things to do if I were locked in a white windowless room with a golf ball and a knife with which to stab myself repeatedly in the eyes.
Apart from that it was a wonderfully relaxing day out that all the family seemed to appreciate.