Six Days on the South Coast: Day One in Reykjavík
Skógafoss waterfall
Most people will tell you that burnout calls for something slow and gentle. A beach. A resort. Somewhere quiet. I think it's the opposite. I think you need to stand in sideways rain on a cliff while the wind tries to take your jacket. You need to watch lava fields stretch to the horizon and glaciers calve into lagoons and waterfalls so loud they swallow your thoughts. You need to walk between tectonic plates and feel the earth's heat rise through your shoes. Iceland doesn't relax you. It overwhelms you. And somewhere inside that overwhelm, the work stress, the emails, the months of running on empty, they shrink. Not because you rested, but because you finally saw how small they were. You come back a little different. And I don't think anyone goes to Iceland without coming back a little different.
We took an Icelandair red eye out of Raleigh at 8 p.m. I didn't sleep. Not a single minute. Brandon managed to half-nap, which was good because he'd be driving us from Keflavík to Reykjavík once we landed and picked up the rental car.
Iceland’s coastline from the plane window
From the air, Iceland introduced itself all at once. The Atlantic stretched out below us, dark and endless. Wisps of steam rose from hot springs scattered across the landscape. And then the lupine, purple against the black volcanic rock, spreading in every direction like someone had tipped over a paint can and walked away. The lupine was brought over from Alaska in the 1940s to help revegetate Iceland's barren, wind-stripped landscape, and it worked almost too well. It's considered invasive now, crowding out native moss. It was still stunning.
Lupine fields outside Keflavik airport
The drive from KEF to Reykjavík is about 45 minutes. Sun and clouds were trading places across the sky. Before the trip, I'd made a Nordic-inspired playlist, and we put it on as we pulled out of the airport. I don't know if you've ever driven through a lava field while listening to Sigur Rós, but it made everything outside the window feel like it had been scored specifically for us. The rental car, meanwhile, beeped at Brandon every time he crept one mile over the speed limit.
As we entered Reykjavík, we noticed what looked like a spaceship in the center of town. It was Hallgrímskirkja, the city's landmark church, rising above the rooftops. We'd get a closer look later in the trip.
We arrived at the Canopy By Hilton Reykjavík around 9 a.m., and despite the early check-in request, the room wasn't ready. So we did what any sleep-deprived, slightly delirious couple does upon arriving in a foreign country: we went looking for the best breakfast we could find.
Breakfast at Sandholt
Pastries at Sandholt
The smell of fresh sourdough reaches you before you've fully stepped inside Sandholt, a family-run bakery on Laugavegur, Reykjavík's main street. Four generations of the same family have baked here since 1920. We could have done takeaway and skipped the wait, but we had time to kill and nowhere to be, so we got in line for a table.
The cheese danish with almonds was my favorite pastry. But the shakshuka stole the show. It arrived bubbling, with a side of their house sourdough that we soaked up so aggressively we ordered a second round of bread. We took our time and never felt rushed. We needed a place to sit still, eat something warm, and convince our bodies we hadn't just crossed the Atlantic without sleep.
Shakshuka, pastries and sourdough bread
By 11:30 a.m. the room was finally ready. We closed the blackout curtains, collapsed, and slept harder than we had in months. Three hours later, we woke up for Sky Lagoon.
Sky Lagoon & The Seven-Step Ritual
Steam rising off Sky Lagoon.
The first thing I noticed at Sky Lagoon was the smell: ocean, salt, clean cold air. I always relax when I catch that scent, and I could feel it starting to work before we'd even checked in.
The Smakk Bar tasting platter.
We opted for the Sér package, their date-night pass with private changing facilities, two drinks, and a tasting platter from Smakk Bar. The platter was our first real introduction to Icelandic food, including reindeer, a first for us. We paired it with a house white wine and settled in.
Then it was time for the lagoon. We stepped down into the warm water and made straight for the infinity edge, where the Atlantic spread out farther than our eyes could reach. There were rock seats with jets built into them, and a small waterfall people took turns posing under. Couples everywhere.
Brandon and me in the lagoon.
We were there for four, maybe five hours. We didn't want to leave. Some of that time we were quiet, resting our arms on the edge, staring out at the horizon, letting the heat from the thermal water and the soreness from the flight cancel each other out. Other stretches we talked. We went through the itinerary I'd built, day by day, getting excited about what was coming. The hot springs were already exceeding expectations, but knowing what was ahead – the waterfalls, the glaciers, the Westman Islands, made it feel like the trip hadn't even started yet.
At some point I caught myself composing a client email in my head and then watched the thought dissolve like it had no business being there. It didn't. Not with the Atlantic in front of me and steam rising off water heated by the earth itself.
When we were ready, we began the seven-step ritual. You get one pass through it per visit, so we saved it for the end. It starts with the cold plunge. The cold goes straight to your bones. You're allowed a maximum of two minutes. One guy stepped in and immediately stepped right back out. Didn't say a word. Just got in, registered his mistake, and left. Brandon and I outlasted him, but not by much. He counted out loud for us, and we made it to thirty seconds.
Then the sauna, which had a stunning ocean view and heat that felt like it was trying to separate my face from my skull. I made the mistake of sitting at the top tier, where all the heat collects, and lasted a few minutes before moving down. The remaining steps came in quicker, gentler succession: a cold rain mist, a full-body salt scrub, a dimly lit steam room, the Saft, a tart little shot of crowberry and Icelandic herbs, and the crowberries grow in lava fields we'd driven through that morning. A hot waterfall shower finished it, and then the lagoon took us back for as long as we wanted to stay.
By the time we left Sky Lagoon, I felt like a different person from the one who'd landed that morning. The red eye, the jet lag, the months of running on fumes, all of it drifting off with the steam. I'm already researching hot springs and swimming culture in the States.
Iceland’s Famous Hot Dog & Beer
Hot dogs at Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur
On the way to our last stop, we grabbed a lamb hot dog at Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur, the stand made famous when Bill Clinton stopped by in 2004 and ordered his with only mustard, an order locals still call “a Clinton.” We did it properly and ordered ein með öllu (one with everything). Brandon, the self-appointed hot dog connoisseur, was not impressed. His exact words: Costco hot dogs are better. I thought it was a tasty treat and a good option when you’re limited on time, but Chicago still holds the title for us.
Beers at Kaldi Bar
We closed the night at Kaldi Bar, a cozy and easygoing spot for Icelandic craft beer. The World Cup was on, Brazil versus Scotland. The bar was mostly locals, plus a crew of Brazilians who erupted every time Brazil scored. We grabbed a pint and settled in. Watching a World Cup match in a foreign bar is one of the fastest ways to feel like a local somewhere you just landed.
We ended up talking to an Icelandic woman standing near Brandon. She was maybe in her early thirties, wearing a beautiful Icelandic sweater and checkered pants. She was pulling for Scotland this match. "They're the underdog," she said. "Like us." Iceland hadn't made the World Cup since 2018, back when they were the smallest country ever to qualify. It wasn't really football she was proud of. It was the impressive fact that her whole country, a few hundred thousand people on a volcanic rock in the North Atlantic, had made it to the biggest stage in sports.
The locals ordered another round. We finished our drinks and walked outside.
The rainbow street at night, Hallgrímskirkja at the end
And then there was the sun. Still up at midnight. We walked back through busy streets in full light, seagulls still calling overhead. The hotel was close. Brandon kept looking up at the sky and shaking his head.
We made it back to the Canopy and pulled the blackout curtains tight. The light crept around the edges anyway. We put on our eye masks.
Midnight in June
Day one. We'd been in Iceland for eighteen hours and I already didn't want to leave.
