There's no place like Stockholm

Shortly after arriving at the Grand Hotel in Stockholm, I sat down to my first smorgasbord. Guided by a sweetly attentive waiter – 'Take it veerrrry slowly' – I tried five of a possible eight different kinds of cured herring (all miraculously good), a cream of asparagus soup, various seafood and egg salads, three styles of salmon, some classic Swedish meatballs with lingonberries and, after all that, a single strawberry, just to show willing. I had to draw the line at cheese. And it was all accompanied by a glass of highly alcoholic aquavit and a cold beer 'chaser'. By the time I heaved myself up from the table for the final time and staggered out of the now-empty restaurant, it was eleven o'clock and time for a walk in the fading light to digest.

I was immediately struck by the city centre's stately architectural solidity: combined with its watery setting, it feels like a Rome/ St Petersburg hybrid. On a balmy July evening when the sky doesn't fully darken until nearly midnight and the streets are full of tanned, toned, ridiculously healthy-looking locals, it's hard to imagine its wide boulevards and elegant buildings smothered under feet-deep snowdrifts in the depths of winter. And equally hard to believe that this is the land of disturbingly dark goings-on, as Sweden's now most famous export, Stieg Larsson, would have us believe. It all seems so terribly wholesome. I headed across the water to the winding cobbled lanes of the Old Town on the island of Gamla Stan, passing huddles of men fishing for salmon in the channel between the Royal Palace and the Opera House. Outside the hulking monolith that is the palace, guards stood sentinel in buttercup-yellow sentry boxes, their bright white trousers glowing in the moonlight. And everywhere people were ambling in a late-night passeggiata, or sitting outside at busy restaurants and pubs.

You can't get a true taste of the Swedish summer without taking a boat out into the archipelago. Between Stockholm and the Baltic Sea lie more than 24,000 islands where virtually every Swedish family seems to have a holiday home, ranging from tiny bothies to mansions. So the next morning, after indulging in that other Swedish speciality, a massage, at the Grand's smart Raison D'Etre spa, I hopped aboard a steam ferry and headed out. Sitting on deck, I watched Stockholm recede into the distance, the city's massive warehouses gradually giving way to brightly painted clapboard cabins and wonky private jetties. The Swedes love the water – being in it and on it – and I saw a few brave souls launch themselves into the bracing water for a brisk swim, while we continually passed locals messing about on everything from jet skis to elegant yachts, their crews waving as we steamed almost silently by.

Disembarking on the island of Vaxholm, I found a relaxed open-air restaurant close to the harbour where blonde families were crammed together at wobbly wooden tables, and after a lunch of crayfish skagen (an open rye-bread sandwich), I spent a happy hour or so browsing in the island's many boutiques. Although I resisted the temptation to buy any number of model lighthouses and sailing boats and other twee souvenirs, the interiors shops were more tempting, full of stylish modern Scandinavian design, pretty crockery and white-painted furniture.

Back in the city, a highlight was the impressive photography museum Fotografiska, on Södermalm, for a beautiful exhibition by the Australian photographer Vee Speers, and Lennart Nilsson's extraordinary A Child Is Born series of babies in the womb. Another was an excellent dinner at Riche, a brasserie-style restaurant in Ostermalm that from the outside wouldn't look out of place in Paris, with a tented conservatory running along the pavement. The interior was enjoyably eccentric with wine glasses hung on racks around the bar lights, creating makeshift chandeliers, and colourful artwork on the walls. It was packed with attractive thirty-somethings and there was a remarkable amount of enthusiastic flirting going on at the bar. I can't vouch for the Swedish chat-up lines, but the food was delicious: homemade gravadlax, tender veal with asparagus and radishes, and panna cotta with stewed rhubarb.

Everyone obviously had a good night as next morning the city was deserted. I walked along the Strandvägen waterfront to Djurgården, an island almost completely given over to a public park, as well as a few museums and a theme park. The Vasa Museum is home to the magnificent warship built by King Gustav Adolf II, which sank in Stockholm harbour as she sailed out on her maiden voyage in 1628. Raised to the surface in the 1960s, the ship, which survived in almost immaculate condition, has been restored and can now be viewed in all its spectacular glory, alongside scores of artefacts found on board. It's one of the most impressive sights in the city and a dream for anyone inclined towards historical geekery.

Wandering back along the waterfront, I passed several great big old fishing boats, all now converted into neat houseboats. Most had clearly been the scene of lively dinners the night before and on only one were people up and about. Young and scruffily stylish, they were lying in hammocks in the sunshine, reading the papers and chatting over coffee, a picture of wholesome laid-back summer contentedness. And not a tattooed, body-pierced Goth in sight. Sorry, Stieg.

Where to stay

The Grand is close to the National Museum, several good restaurants and bars, and bang opposite the Royal Palace. It has a beautiful spa and two restaurants – The Veranda (try the smorgasbord) and the two-Michelin-starred Restaurant Mathias Dahlgren. Deluxe double room with harbour view from SEK 5,200 (£460), B&B (00 46 8 679 35 60; grandhotel.se).

Getting there

SAS flies from Heathrow to Stockholm several times daily, from £70 one way (flysas.com).

What to read

Tove Jansson's brilliant The Summer Book is a touching and often funny tale of an elderly woman and her young granddaughter spending the summer on an island in the archipelago in the Gulf of Finland