Glaciers, gales, and a magnificent black beach.
Iceland Road Trip
We awoke to the gentle silence of the countryside and the unsettling blink of a partially charged camera. The power went out at Efra-Sel sometime during the night, robbing our electronics of their dreams of waking up completely refreshed.
It doesn’t matter. We had waterfalls to chase, a glacier to climb, and a weather forecast that promised excitement. It’s time to layer up and roll out.
We hit the road wearing every piece of clothing we owned, including sailing-grade thermals, waterproofs, windproofs, and wool. And by the end of the day, every layer had been soaked through.
Coffee on a School Bus
Shortly after leaving, we came across what appeared to be a mirage: an American school bus converted into a café, sitting in the middle of nowhere as if it had just rolled off a movie set and retired. Inside, it was warm and quirky, with the aroma of cinnamon and fresh coffee.
We sat sipping our drinks as sheep watched us through the fogged-up windows. They didn’t seem particularly interested, but we were charmed nonetheless.
Seljalandsfoss: The Walk-Behind Wonder.
We continued down the road until we reached Seljalandsfoss, a waterfall known for the trail that loops behind it. We took it, of course, and walked straight into the misty roar of falling water, laughing through chattering teeth as our waterproofs gave way, layer by layer.
Smaller waterfalls dribbled and danced down the cliffs, like forgotten siblings. We also explored them, already soaked and figuring we couldn’t get any wetter.
Skógar and the Flyby
We made a quick stop at Skógafoss, where water cascades in a dramatic, wide sheet onto a spray-soaked plain. There’s also a museum here, with turf houses, fishing gear, and Icelandic history, but the wind had other plans. We admired everything from a respectful distance and then moved on.
Sólheimajökull: Our Date with the Ice
Our next adventure was a three-hour guided glacier walk on Sólheimajökull, the massive tongue of a larger glacier that is creeping its way toward the valley. We strapped on crampons and helmets, grabbed our ice axes, and followed our guide up the creaking, cracking ice.
It was otherworldly. Blue and black swirled through the glacier, with volcanic ash veins tracing time across its surface. The wind howled along the ridges. The ice creaked beneath us. It felt like I was standing on a living, breathing thing.
By the time we got down, we were exhilarated, exhausted, and chilled to the bone.
Dyrhólaey – Cliffside Chaos
As we approached Dyrhólaey, the dramatic promontory that overlooks Iceland’s south coast, the weather turned wild. Wind and rain pelted us sideways as we climbed toward the viewpoint, hoping not to be swept back into the parking lot.
We got a few glimpses of the famous stone arch through the mist, but mostly we just shouted at the wind and laughed at how ridiculous we must have looked. No puffins. No clear skies. Just raw Iceland, with the volume turned up.
Reynisfjara: The Black Sand Finale.
Then came Reynisfjara, a black sand beach near Vík. Basalt columns rose like organ pipes from the cliffs, and waves thrashed against the shore in a rhythm that dared you to approach.
We did not. The sneaker waves here are authentic—fast, fierce, and unforgiving. We watched from a safe distance as others approached too closely, cameras in hand, tempting fate.
The sea was silvery. The sand was coal. The atmosphere was quietly electric.
Burger and Bed in Vík.
By the time we arrived in Vík, we appeared to have survived a particularly damp expedition. Every layer of clothing was soaked, even those that claimed to be waterproof. We walked into a roadside diner and ordered burgers, thankful for the warmth, calories, and lack of wind inside.
Next, we arrived at Vík Hostel, our overnight destination. It was functional. The entrance doubled as the common area, cluttered and a little tired, with five chairs monopolized by a lone man reading a book as if his life depended on it. We let him have his moment.
The rooms were basic, but the beds were comfortable, and, most importantly, the power worked. We hung damp socks from anything that could pass for a hook and plugged in every device we had. Everything gradually returned to life.
This includes us.
