Yesterday, I delivered 30 copies of my new book, MALMÖ, to Pressbyrån – the well-known newspaper and convenience kiosk at Malmö Central Station. The store manager purchased the books for resale, adding yet another local retailer to the list of places where the book is now available.

So, if you’re planning on passing through Malmö C anytime soon, you can pick up a copy of MALMÖ right at the station. The book showcases the city’s highlights and is the perfect gift for visitors, locals, and anyone who loves Sweden.

#Malmö #Photobook #UrbanPhotography #MalmöCentral #Pressbyrån #SwedishDesign #CityPortrait #BookRelease #LocalCulture #MalmöC #DiscoverMalmö #pressbyrån #pressbyran_malmo_c

Meanwhile, in Stockholm…

Yesterday, Charlotte and I went to the Greek tavern Kamarina in Södermalm, where I met my cousin Björn for the very first time. It turns out that my aunt Lillian (now 86 years old) wasn’t as childless as we in the Andersson family had believed. On December 23, 1957, she gave birth to a baby boy in the maternity ward of what was then called the “cottage hospital” in Kungsbacka, south of Göteborg.

Apparently, you’re never too old for a family surprise.

We had a cozy and interesting evening where both Charlotte and I got to know my new cousin Björn, his wife Lisa, and their grown-up kids Malin and Hampus. After dinner, we walked together down to the small ferry that took us across to Hammarby Sjöstad, and then we strolled through the spring-beautiful Stockholm evening to our hotel in Sickla.

Speaking of the hotel…

We’re spending a few nights at the dog-friendly Home Hotel Tapetfabriken, in a gigantic corner room on the fourth floor.
Of all the Strawberry hotels I’ve stayed at (around 30), this is definitely one of the most spacious and charming in a post-industrial kind of way. What I assume was once the factory floor where rolls of tapestry were printed is now a huge lounge with an abundance of spaces to sit and work, have coffee, or eat. Breakfast, snacks, and dinner are included in the room price, and there’s also a gym and sauna. The whole shebang. Love it!

In addition to the Walpurgis Night bonfire on Sickla Meadow tonight, we’ll also make time for the cherry blossoms in Kungsträdgården, a visit to Fotografiska, a gallery stroll along Hornsgatspuckeln/Mariapuckeln, and some additions to my already fairly extensive photo archive of the Royal Capital.

Happy Walpurgis Night!

Here’s a photo from my book signing event for MALMÖ at Hansakompagniet, one of Malmö’s many shopping malls. I don’t know if it was because of the crazy-ass trade war, the threat of an escalation between Russia and Ukraine, or whatever other crisis going on in the world, but even though it was “Salary Saturday” yesterday, my signing pen was mostly unused. One of the employees at the bookstore told me that book signings are not what they used to be and that even famous Swedish authors don’t generate much interest these days. Still, it was a pleasant experience, and I got to chat with some interesting folks about Malmö.

The Pope has just passed, and I think it might be time to rewatch the excellent film “Conclave” again.

I’m not religious in any shape or form, but I was once a semi-serious candidate for a position as an altar boy at the Catholic church adjacent to my old school, Saint Victor’s, on Holloway Drive in West Hollywood, Los Angeles.

I attended St. Vic’s for four years and mostly had nuns as teachers. I also attended Mass every Friday. It was a very strict school, where corporal punishment was common and an effective deterrent. The principal at the time, Sister Mary, would pull out her ping-pong racket and whack the living daylights out of my disobedient schoolmates – especially a fellow from our street called Kevin McKenzie, who was a serial offender of the school’s rigid rules.

I’m not sure if I was a particularly obedient student or just never got caught. In any case, as far as I can remember, I never felt the full force of Sister Mary’s wrath on my uniform-clad behind.

I took this photograph about a decade ago during a visit to St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City, Rome.

#ThePope #Conclave #catholicschool #AltarBoy #saintvictorsurloire #WestHollywood #LosAngeles #SchoolMemories #strictschool #CatholicChurch #Nuns #sistermary #CorporalPunishment #ChildhoodMemories #kevinmckenzie #StPetersBasilica #vaticancity #Rome #Photography #Nostalgia #remembering

Yesterday’s book release and signing at Malmö Konsthall’s Bookstore was both fun and inspiring. I signed books for friendly folks from Denmark, France, and even from as far away as the exotic East Asian country of Kyrgyzstan.

The new book has sold just over 200 copies so far, exceeding my expectations for the first launch week by a wide margin. Best of all, I’ve heard from several hard-core Malmöites who’ve bought MALMÖ that the book provides a great showcase of the city’s highlights, which was my intention all along.

I saw these commuters on the way back from Antibes to Nice the other day. They reminded me of our roles, theirs and mine. How much I was paying attention to my milieu and how little they cared about theirs.

There’s a special kind of ache tucked into the end of a short trip — that quiet moment on the way to the airport or on the tarmac where you wish, not dramatically, but deeply, that you’d stayed just a little longer.

Short journeys are often like bursts of joy. They glow like sparklers — bright, immediate, but fleeting. They offer sunsets caught from a café table, the taste of salt on skin after a brief swim, or a conversation that opens and closes like a seashell, never quite finished. Wonderful, yes. But they rarely settle into your bones the way longer trips do. They don’t change you as slowly or as deeply.

And yet, there’s one place that never seems to mind how short my visit is.

The French Riviera — the Côte d’Azur — welcomes me like an old friend who already knows my rhythms. There’s no awkward small talk here, no pressure to rush. The scent of the sea, the warmth of the stone streets, the soft glimmer of lavender light in the late afternoon — it all feels like home, even if it’s been a while.

Nice in particular, with its sun-faded shutters and barefoot elegance, doesn’t ask me to explore everything at once. I can stroll the Promenade des Anglais with a slow heart. I can sit still and sip a cold, blonde beer while the city leans into the sea. I don’t need to conquer anything here. All I have to do is to just show up, breathe, and let the Mediterranean do the rest.

There were plenty of weekend-celebrating guests crowding around the hotel’s massive breakfast buffet this morning. I’m in Copenhagen to capture a few more images of the city before I start working my book “Classic Copenhagen” which should be out sometime this summer.

The collective assumption that we could all outsmart the horde of starving Swedes, Finns, Romanians, Americans, and other hotel guests by showing up a little extra early for breakfast completely backfired. The stoic kitchen crew did their absolute best to keep the bowls of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and waffle batter topped up and fresh.

I’m genuinely impressed by Comfort Hotel Vesterbro. Big rooms, gym, bar, great view, friendly staff at a fantastic location.

Talked to a few Danes yesterday, and most of them just laughed at our lunatic president over in D.C. The only real concern, someone said, would be if the dumb tariffs end up hitting Novo Nordisk — so that Denmark’s new cash cow, featuring blockbuster diabetes/weight-loss drug Ozempic, ends up costing even more than it already does when shipped to the U.S.

Who knows, Ozempic might just become a new favorite among transatlantic smugglers. I don’t know but you could probably fit quite a few condom-packed GLP-1 receptor agonist pills up your butt — as long as you don’t eat the kind of massive hotel breakfast I had this morning.

It’ll obviously be a lot worse, and a lot tighter fitting, for those trying to smuggle Champagne from France – not to mention smugglers going for Spanish Jamón Ibérico… those colons are gonna have to work overtime!

The photo was taken through one of the windows from my room on the 5th floor.

This was our view a couple of days ago. We’re finally, finally, finally at the edge of winter, and as per usual, I have no doubt spring will appear suddenly and without much fanfare. That’s how it is here in southern Scandinavia. I’ve been wearing short pants for about a week already, and today I wore them to our local supermarket without freezing even a little. On the other hand, I typically wear shorts to and from the gym all year round.

This is what it looked like last night as we walked home from the train station in Malmö after out return from 24 intense hours in Göteborg. Spring is on the horizon but hasn’t yet arrived. I’m waiting for the “Malmö” book to arrive from the printers and in the meantime, we’re helping Elle move from her very first apartment to a newly renovated one in a completely different (and apparently cooler) part of town.