Visiting Malmö, one gets a sense of a city trying to reinvent itself. How do you see it?

The city that I grew up in was a city in which you weren’t supposed to promote yourself at all. It was part of the Jentaloven—this sort of political or philosophical idea where you’re not supposed to feel better than anybody else or believe that you can do anything or make a change or make a difference. Now Malmö has changed to a city where it’s only about making a change and it’s only about promoting itself, you know—you can be a rock star, or you can be a designer, whatever. I’m obviously a grumpy old man, but I do feel there is something about the entire thing that doesn’t feel honest.

What areas personify the city’s effort to reorient itself?

Västra Hamnen was made in some respect as a sort of haven for the nouveau riche, but what’s happened is that in the summertime it’s totally occupied by the New Swedes, if you like. Malmö’s Muslim community comes here in summer to barbecue. You have the people who live here drive up in their brand-new Mercedes-Benz convertible and then you’ll have a family of six or seven putting up their barbecue—it’s a fantastic clash, which I think is quite nice. It’s an organic transformation. The use of the space is so unlike how anybody had thought it would be—it’s cool.

Malmö is becoming known as a flourishing college town as well -- how has that affected the spirit of the city?

Malmö is going through a tremendous transition from being a working-class city to having a university of 25,000 students. The site of the new teacher’s college has become really alive. This building alone holds about 2,500 students and contains a big library that’s open to the public as well. Davidshall is one of the last areas to have really transformed itself. The square was built in the early 1920s. It used to be quite boring, but for the new Malmö, with all of its students, it fills a perfect need for coffee shops and design shops and what have you. It’s transformed rather quickly.

Malmö is sometimes referred to as Parkernas stad (the city of parks). Where do you usually take refuge?

Klagsham is an abandoned place that I like to go to a couple of times a week. It’s just 15 minutes south of the city. I take my dog, Pompe—he’s a bearded collie. There are industrial ruins there, an old factory. A family of deer inhabits the place and have become almost tame. The östra Kyrkogården (East Cemetery) is a lovely place; it marks the beginning and end of one of the great Swedish architects, Sigurd Leverentz. He designed the first chapel in the cemetery in 1916, and his career ends with a flower shop or kiosk that was open in 1979. All the cemeteries in Malmö run on the same north-south axis; it’s the highway of death. There’s quite a strong axis politically or classwise, I suppose, and it is quite often the case that the west is the most affluent one—at least it is in Malmö.

Which museums do you enjoy most in Malmö?

Malmö Konsthall is quite a nice building. It’s kind of a sanctuary. They mostly show temporary exhibitions. There’s a nice restaurant that does very good brunches; it’s a good place to meet up with friends and have coffee.

What other restaurants would you recommend?

Brogatan is a bit postmodern, interiorwise, which I don’t enjoy very much, but the atmosphere is very good. Most of the actors, musicians, and painters in Malmö go there after gallery openings on the weekend, so you’ll have about 300 artists creeping up to the bar—I’ve both been in fights and had fantastic times there. Also, Mando Steakhouse is totally crazy. It’s made entirely of different layers of indirectly lit copper. They had a sort of Kentucky Fried Chicken–type place there in 1968, but now they only really serve beef. It’s like moving into a ’60s film set of some sort. Most of the furniture in there is by Arne Jacobsen.

Where would you go to purchase something Jacobsenesque?

Moderna Möbelklassiker Norra Vallgatan. It’s a shop that sells mostly Scandinavian ’30s, ’40s, and ’50s furniture—it’s very blond.