A weekend in Iceland: Northern Lights, spectacular glaciers, buzzy restaurants and lots of tourists

Iceland is pricey but ‘seductively singular’, writes Úna McCaffrey

Mon Nov 02 2026 - 06:00 • 7 MIN READ

When I got home from a weekend in Iceland, I realised my view of the world had changed, literally. The luxury hot spa where I’d been lounging for hours a few days previously had ruined the coating on my prescription glasses, so everything was blurry. Nobody seemed to have much sympathy for my genuine spa eyesight trauma, and they were of course right to be unfeeling. Who could feel sorry for somebody still glowing from such a fantastic, restorative trip?

To reduce sympathy levels further, this was my second weekend in Iceland with friends within a few years, the repeat location chosen because we had all been saving up for a return since the moment we’d left. In short, this is a place so seductively singular that I’ll forgive you if you stop reading now to go and book your own Icelandic mini break of dreams – the quiet but vast Icelandic tourism machine will ensure you’re not disappointed.

It is undeniable that tourism on this island of just 400,000 or so people is an enormous business, now surpassing traditional fishing as its biggest industry. But it carries it lightly – across three days, my group experienced very few to no instances where commercial tourism was in our face without us wanting it to be. Instead, everything just worked well, in a low-key but enormously efficient way. This approach makes it a great weekend destination, with itineraries easy to build and high-quality experiences easily accessible.

Reykjavik itself is a colourful, low-rise town of about 140,000 residents, with the slice-you-open sharpness of the air gusting in from steely Faxafloi Bay somehow enhancing its blanket-like calm.

The dominant building in this very walkable capital city is the giant Hallgrimskirkja, a Lutheran church with a 74.5m tower ready to be enjoyed by visitors who appreciate heights. The church also helpfully acts as the stop for airport buses and as a general landmark in the centre of town, facing straight down the Instagram-friendly Skolavordustigur road, which is painted in rainbow colours. Heading this way will bring you to the freezing water and ethereal mountain views of the bay, which we chose to take in after arrival on Friday afternoon from the pre-dinner warmth of a sunset drink in Sky Bar, an eighth floor hostelry with a balcony located almost at the shore. We followed up with an excellent meal in nearby buzzy restaurant, Rok, where the Icelandic char was a highlight.

Having been before, I knew food and drinks prices across Icelandic venues can prompt a train of reactions: alarm, followed by reluctant recognition that there is no option but to go along with things, followed by philosophical acceptance. I’ll just say: it helps if you’re a solo traveller and don’t have to pay bills for a whole family. But it’s also worth knowing that, for food at least, more affordable takeaway and quick options are available in the city. Within these (and please pay attention to this and imprint it on your brain if you plan to visit), you’ll find the sublime, heavenly, glorious cinnamon rolls made daily by Braud & Co, a small bakery on a quiet street near the Hallgrimskirkja. These cinnamon rolls should almost be avoided because they will ruin all cinnamon rolls you might try to enjoy in other places for years to come, possibly for the rest of your life. They were good enough on my Saturday morning in Reykjavik to get me up impossibly early (not my forte) to buy them, just so my group could enjoy them with breakfast. Worth it, many times over.

This was the day we took to the glasses-unfriendly waters of Sky Lagoon on the edge of the city, a relatively new addition to the Icelandic tourism roster and one that has clearly had gazillions sunk into its “experiences”. Everything about this place is close to perfect, from the fancy changing area to the 40-degree warmth of geothermal waters (I’ll just recommend not wearing glasses) with a bar at the side, to the sauna with views over the bay, to the body scrub, cold mist and steam room. If you have time, indulge in the seven-step ritual, a luxury you’ll feel like bottling.

That evening, chilled and warmed at the same time, and relaxed after a couple of hours tooling around the shops in the city centre (touristy but somehow tolerably so), the main Northern Lights chaser in our group persuaded us to abandon a plan for a fancy restaurant meal (Messinn is another good option) in favour of a takeaway pizza and a night-time tour in search of their magic. This decision, informed by Northern Lights forecasts, turned out to be the best of the trip; we feasted on abundant waves of purple, pink and green in the silent skies outside the city until our necks became sore with craning. Even the most cynical traveller would have been silenced by what we saw, with the lights following us back to the city, clearly visible above the Hallgrimskirkja as we headed back to our Airbnb.

And all of this was before we even got into Icelandic tourism proper via the hours-long bus tour – a rite of passage for any visitor. There’s a huge variation in these, with some on coaches, some on minibuses, some involving hiking and some involving all-terrain vehicles. You can even throw in a trip on the Plane Wreck shuttle to the wreckage of a US Naval Service plane dating from the 1970s, if that’s your jam.

On our previous trip, we had done the Golden Circle tour, which takes six to seven hours. This sounds like a lot of time on a bus but it doesn’t really feel like it when you’re looking out the window at the stark Icelandic landscape or the fluffy manes of the Icelandic horses that wouldn’t be out of place in comic books. You also get decent periods outside in the biting air at the stunning double-tiered Gullfoss waterfall and the nearby bubbling geothermal pools. Geysers will also feature, and who doesn’t love those? Icelandic people certainly do because their geothermal energy, drawn from volcanic areas, cheaply powers much of the country, including most homes. Incidentally, this geothermal system also results in hot water from Icelandic taps smelling sulphuric – fine when you get used to it but initially a shade disarming in the shower.

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For tours such as this, decent clothing is essential, though the requirements vary according to the time of year and how likely the wily cold is to creep up into your bones (usually very). Think layers and waterproofs, hats, a couple of pairs of gloves and proper outdoor shoes or boots. Guides will bring you to safe spots but it’s always going to be up to individual travellers how safely they behave when they get there.

One example of this came on the tour we chose on this trip, to the South Coast, a 10½-hour odyssey that delivered magic at every turn. One stop here is Reynisfjara, a black sand beach that boasts basalt formations somewhat similar to those at the Giant’s Causeway in Co Antrim. It’s a harsh, austere environment, with dangerous and steely waves providing a threatening soundtrack. But it’s also immensely fragile, as proven by the extensive coastal erosion wielded by strong easterly winds since our last visit. Parts of the beach that were previously walkable are now inaccessible, as authorities scramble to protect what remains.

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The South Coast tour also features two waterfalls, Skogafoss and Seljalandsfoss, with the latter particularly special because visitors can walk behind it. Your raincoat will earn its keep here, but in the best way possible – to be so close to this volume of noise and power is humbling.

The bittersweet highlight for us though was the 8km-long Solheimajokull glacier, which, like its fellow glaciers around the world, is demonstrably retreating due to climate change. This phenomenon has led to the formation of a beautiful but sad lagoon in front of the ice cap, which sits powerless yet elegant in the face of its own destruction. This was a lovely, poignant tourist experience, and one that felt like a particular privilege. It was busy though, particularly with international school groups visiting. Seeing so many people hiking over the glacier makes it hard to avoid hypocritical thoughts of over-tourism in this country, which needs visitors to grease its economic wheels but also wants to retain its very particular identity, the one that appeals to the tourists in the first place.

Tourist numbers have grown particularly quickly since 2010, which our guide attributed to journalists being stuck on the island after the eruption of … deep breath … the nearby Eyjafjallajökull volcano and subsequent large disruption of European air travel caused by an enormous dust cloud. The lovely pictures of the island broadcast around the world at the time ended up being the best kind of advertisement, he reckoned.

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Anybody who can call themselves one of these tourists is lucky, because this is a place like no other. As I dozed on my flight home early on Monday morning, I felt fulfilled and happy, refreshed by healthy Icelandic air, cleansed by Icelandic waters and heartened by wry Icelandic hospitality. It’s the kind of thing that could become a habit.

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