A Weekend In Iceland

“Some interesting parts,” our driver says about his homeland. “And some hardly worth being proud of.” To visitors, though, who probably don’t live near glaciers and volcanoes, or with Viking vim and Scandinavian stoicism, Iceland’s blend of culture and nature is nothing short of extraordinary. Reykjavík is just three hours from Heathrow and five hours from JFK.

Day 1: Water, Water Everywhere
Iceland is an island (duh), so you can orient yourself based on where you are to the icy, slate-blue stuff: in the capital there’s water to the north, water to the west, and water right in the city center. Tjörnin Lake is home to swans, gulls, and women pushing prams. Civic-minded folk will want to spend some time at the po-mo Ráðhús Reykjavíkur, the city hall, whose concrete edifice either clashes or complements the more subdued surroundings. Hash it out over a glass of Brennivín, Icelandic schnapps, which tastes like licorice that’s been set on fire.

The party begins on the plane or even before, as buxom ladies beckon from Icelandair’s marketing materials, urging viewers to visit the world’s northernmost capital. Upon arrival, however, Reykjavík seems less wild and more quaint. Perhaps it’s the cold (–3°C, on average, in January) or the endless sun (up to 22 hours per day in July). Perhaps it’s the perceived expense or the 2008 economic collapse. Or perhaps it’s simply numbers: roughly 200,000 people live in the area, so the city feels like a smallish town.

From your home base at the fashionably monochromatic 101 Hotel, head to the docks, where you can watch the city at work, as fishing boats arrive and depart. Heading east along the shore takes you to the Sólfar (The Sun Voyager), by Jón Gunnar Árnason, which abstractly re-imagines the arrival of the Vikings in a skeletal ship made of metal. Cross the street and visit the Living Art Museum, home to experimental work by Icelandic and international artists. Or stare out at the water. Think big thoughts about travel and exploration long ago and, depending on the hour, dinner.

You can sample that day’s catch at Icelandic Fish and Chips; this organic bistro is far fancier than it sounds. Or you can double back to the very popular Fish Market for dishes like minke whale sashimi. Fished out? Can’t stomach the ethics? Try the lamb or the duck instead.

And now for an entirely different way to enjoy water. Plenty of tour companies offer packages to the Blue Lagoon, on your way to or from Keflavík International Airport. Sure, it’s crowded, but as soon as you enter the murky, light-blue, silica-rich waters, everyone else disappears, literally, thanks to the curtains of steam. Don’t leave without spending some time on the viewing platform: the hardened black lava stretches for what seems like miles.

For a less packaged experience, try swimming in one of Reykjavík’s municipal pools. Geothermal currents crisscross beneath the city, providing all of the city’s electricity and heating all of its water as they go. The largest of the pools, Laugardalslaug, has two water slides, steam baths, and several so-called hot pots, areas where the water is even more acutely toasty. You won’t find branded products here, as you can at the Blue Lagoon, but you’ll be able to socialize with people who actually speak Icelandic. Also, there’s a zoo full of farm animals on site.

Day 2: History, Stories, Stores
Begin at Hallgrímskirkja, the country’s largest church and sixth-tallest structure. Its basalt folds, which fan out symmetrically on either side of the steeple, were designed to resemble the rippling rocks of the landscape. Alexander Calder sculpted the statue of Leif Eriksson, the world’s most famous Icelander who’s not Björk. Summer visitors should climb the tower for tremendous views.

Walk down Skólavörðustígur to Eymundsson, a glass-and-steel outpost of the local chain bookstore. Look for Letters from Iceland, W. H. Auden’s travelogue in verse, or anything by Arnaldur Indriðason. Starring a breakfast-loving detective with a drug-addled daughter, his thrillers constitute a twenty-first-century saga about a country coping with immigration, tourism, and changing mores. (Voices, about a fat Santa who meets his end in the basement of a popular hotel, is a personal favorite.) Practically next door, 12 Tónar is a record shop, label, coffee place, gallery, and concert hall rolled into one.

At the end of Skólavörðustígur, Bankastræti meets Laugavegur. The geometric shape formed by the three streets offers the city’s most excellent shopping. Down Bankastræti, stop in at the Naked Ape for graphic tees and oversized art books. The shop functions as a collective, selling the wearable, readable, and hangable work by many local artists. It frequently holds parties too. GuSt sells handcrafted women’s clothes in the colors of a winter sky, in woolly fabrics. And lamb skin.

During the day, the bank-turned-restaurant B5 has coffee and nibbles; at night it serves wine and cocktails in what used to be the vaults. The Philippe Starck-designed objects and big banquettes are fun no matter what the hour. The decidedly dissimilar vibe at Lækjarbrekka manifests in lacy frills, grandmotherly oil paintings, and small rooms with low ceilings, befitting the 19th-century house the restaurant once was. Nosh on traditional ingredients, including red deer, langoustine, and puffin. Yup, puffin: that cute little bird makes for good eating. Smoked, it resembles liver in its oily looks and slightly ferrous taste.

Day 3: Geysers, and Glaciers, Volcanoes and Valleys
As alluring as Reykjavík is, if you spend your whole trip there, you’re missing the point. Iceland’s landscapes—note the plural—include jagged rocks pointing heavenwards, a vast Arctic tundra (the country is essentially a big desert), and cooled, cracked prehistoric lava fields, a desolate, tree-free bleakness. All are visible just a few kilometers beyond the city.

The easiest day trip, the so-called Golden Circle, takes you to three famous landmarks in the southwest. Unfortunately, it takes just about every other visitor there too. Nevertheless, they’re worth seeing, even if you have to elbow your way in. At Gullfoss, you can get within spitting (or falling) distance of the River Hvítá as it thunders into a ravine, producing Europe’s biggest waterfall. You’ll see a lot of water at Strokkur too: roughly every five minutes, it gushes twenty meters into the air, producing childlike squeals in everyone nearby, the loudest from those foolish enough to touch the scalding hot pools that form. (The word geyser originates here.) And then there’s mossy, gorgeous Þingvellir, where early settlers congregated in the year 930 to form a commonwealth. Depending on when you go, the area looks lush and inviting, green stretching to distant mountains and blurred horizons, or blackened and treacherous, like the planet Mars drained of its fiery color. It is awesome.

Many of the roads to Thórsmörk wash out during the spring, when melting snow rushes down to engorge river beds. Named for the Norse god Thor, this valley in the south is so capacious and ringed by glaciers so enormous, only a god could have carved it, or so the story goes. This area has become popular since the 2010 eruption of Eyjafjallajökull nearby. Newly created lava fields are visible from trails along Fimmvörduháls, another volcano; so new, in fact, that some rocks are still warm. Hire a guide for the day, and he or she might just arrive at your hotel in a super Jeep, whose wheels are larger than your average refrigerator.

West of Reykjavík is the Snæfellsjökull Peninsula, notable for natural wonders and for being the setting of many sagas. A guide will ensure that you hit the highlights, or you can rent a car during the summer months and plan your own excursion. Most people will simply head to the peninsula’s namesake, the Snæfellsjökull glacier. Rising up a thousand and a half meters, this beast dominates the horizon, snow-covered and sparkling. If you make it to the top on a cloud-free day, you might see Greenland. Afterward, head to Breiðafjörður Bay, to go whale watching; to Stykkishólmur, to take the ferry to the hauntingly isolated West Fjords; or the Ring Road, past lava tubes and black sand beaches, back to Reykjavík.