Iceland. Cold, Vast, and full of Wonders

Iceland – Cold, Vast, and Full of Wonders. And Us, Right in the Middle.

A personal travelogue about an island that doesn’t reveal itself immediately—but stays with you for a long time.

Cold Instead of Cherry Blossoms – and Reinhold’s Longtime Dream

Iceland had been on Reinhold’s wish list for a long time. So, the entire planning was in his hands. Me? I was more cautious. Skeptical.

Iceland? Of all places? While spring was finally arriving at home, I packed a hat, gloves, and a healthy dose of doubt.

“It took quite a bit of persuasion—and a persistent Reinhold.”

Reykjavík and the Ultimate Question

The sky is gray, the drizzle fine and relentless. As we sit in the rental car, I ask myself for the first time: What are we actually doing here?

Iceland doesn’t greet you—it tests you. Cold. Silent. Yet somehow full of character.

Vík, Waterfalls, and the First Wonders

The further we drive, the quieter my doubts become. Iceland reveals itself slowly—but when it does, it does so completely.

Our cottage in Vík lies between green hills and black beaches. Vast. Open. Empty. And beautiful in its starkness.

“Suddenly, we’re right in the middle—between black beaches and green hills.”

Lobster, Bird Eggs, and a Pass That Wasn’t Meant to Be

Höfn surprises us with sunshine—silver light over glaciers and harbor. In the evening, we sit by the water and eat lobster—fresh, tender, almost taken for granted here.

They say Höfn has the best lobster in Iceland. We don’t argue.

And then we celebrate a birthday. Reinhold’s birthday. A small light. A quiet moment. And a lot of gratitude.

“Sometimes, a Guglhupf is all it takes to feel at home anywhere in the world.”

In the supermarket: bird eggs in the refrigerated section. Svartfuglsegg & Fýlsegg. Never seen them before. Never thought about them.

Iceland surprises even while shopping—and shortly after, in a snowstorm, it makes you feel your own limits.

We wanted to cross the pass. But in the supermarket parking lot, a backpacker says:

“Snowstorm. Everything’s closed.”

We extend our stay. Two days. And try to make the best of it. In a small pizzeria, we comfort ourselves with surprisingly delicious reindeer burgers—warm, spicy, unexpectedly good.

Sometimes, all you need is a plate full of comfort to keep going.

Then we take the chance.

At first, everything seems fine. The road is clear, the weather holds back. But Iceland had only hesitated briefly. Then comes the storm—fierce, loud, blinding.

Snow blows horizontally across the road. Our rental car has summer tires. And we suddenly have a lot of respect.

Calm in the Mind – Finally Breathing

After the storm comes the calm. In Akureyri, we’re simply grateful to have arrived safely.

The sky is gray, the wind still blows—but something has changed.

We let ourselves drift, have a drink at Villa Lola, read, watch.

“The wind never completely disappears. But now, it doesn’t bother us anymore.”

Snæfellsnes Remains a Promise

Sometimes, Iceland removes something from your plan—and gives you insight instead.

Snæfellsnes remains hidden from us. The storm was stronger, shifted our schedule. And that was okay.

“You never see everything. And maybe that’s exactly how it should be.”

Jökulsárlón Glacier Lagoon

Icebergs drift leisurely—like floating sculptures in blue and white. The bridge watches silently over them. And we? We simply marvel.

Waterfalls. Many. Very Many.

In Iceland, you feel like you stumble upon the next waterfall around every corner. Sometimes roaring, sometimes dancing—but never boring.

And at some point, you stop counting. Because you start marveling.

The Golden Circle – Well-Known but Impressive

• Þingvellir – barren, quiet, steeped in history.
• Haukadalur – bubbling, restless, as if the earth is breathing.
• Strokkur – reliable like a beat, unpredictable in the moment.
• Gullfoss – loud, cold, overwhelming. A waterfall that stays with you. Not because it’s the biggest. But because you see it—with different eyes.

Fun Fact: Who’s Actually Sending Emails Here?

In Iceland, time runs differently—and sometimes, so do the keyboards.

 

The Icelandic tourism board once had a wonderfully quirky idea: Instead of stressing over emails on vacation, why not let an Icelandic horse handle them?

Yes, really.

 

The project was called “OutHorse Your Email.” You simply entered your name and absence dates—and left everything else to an Icelandic horse with a melodious name like Hrimnir frá Hvammi.

 

The white horse then trotted over a giant keyboard—and sent automatic replies in the form of hoof tapping:

“aijo-ifhjawur nadfHDUO ashfOl. ??wge.&€“

What came out might not have been particularly helpful—but honestly: not much different from some messages from the finance department.

And that’s exactly what we love about Iceland: This mix of nature, humor, and a gentle “Just let go.”

Vestrahorn – Iceland’s Dramatic Backbone

Rugged, silent, and completely surreal.

Black sand meets rock. And suddenly, the world feels like a movie set—only it’s real.

Reykjavík – A Day to Drift

Before heading back, we let ourselves drift through the city once more. Breakfast in one of those cozy cafés where the coffee is strong and the bread smells of butter.

A stroll through small shops, bookstores, galleries—nothing urgent, just looking, being.

In the evening, we eat Icelandic: fish, lamb, root vegetables—all simple and good.

Reykjavík is quietly urban, Nordicly reserved. No grand finale. But that’s exactly what fits.

A day in the city. Then: one last immersion before we leave.

One Last Bath – A Quiet Farewell

The lagoon of Kjósarhreppur. Warm. Steaming. Quiet. Almost a farewell ritual. Almost reconciliation. Entirely Iceland.

 

Final Glance, Grand Cinema

Iceland bids farewell with a sunset above the clouds—dramatic, beautiful, a bit surreal. A picture for the heart.

Sunset over Iceland

This Journey Wasn’t a Vacation – It Was Real

We came with a route. And left with respect, awe—and a new perspective on the weather.

“This journey wasn’t a vacation. It was an experience. A boundary-pushing adventure. An encounter with the power of nature—and a bit with ourselves.”

And yes—we’d go back in a heartbeat. Perhaps especially when the weather is at its worst.