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There are sites in Reykjavík and along the Golden Circle where the tourism crush has become unbearable. But as María Reynisdóttir, tourism specialist for Iceland’s Ministry of Industries and Innovation, tells Traveler, these are isolated infrastructure challenges. Iceland is still plenty big, and there are areas of the country where travelers can drive for miles without encountering another soul.
On June 8, Iceland is unveiling a rebranded Arctic Coast Way, which will connect many of these areas. The hope is to draw attention to the 21 villages, 17 communities, and four islands located along the 560-mile stretch of northern coastline spanning from Hvammstangi to Bakkafjörður. My mother and I drove a good chunk of this last September, 10 months before it became a thing. Here’s how we did it.
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The trip: Five days, 470 miles
What to drive
Unless you’re off-roading, a compact vehicle will serve you just fine along this route. Learning to drive a stick shift saves a bundle, as an automatic costs more. My mom and I rented a car at Keflavík International Airport (KEF) in Reykjavík and drove it one-way to Akureyri Airport (AEY) in the north. For the return, we booked a one-way flight via Air Iceland Connect back to Reykjavík Airport (RKV) and pre-ordered a Flybus voucher to transfer us between the domestic and international airports.
When to go
This drive is best done between April and September, although budget-minded travelers may appreciate the (slightly) discounted hotel rates in the shoulder months of March and October. Just bear in mind that some businesses operate seasonally (mid-May through August). Note: The only thing predictable about Iceland’s weather is its unpredictability. Check road.is and safetravel.is daily for the most up-to-date driving conditions.
Day 1
My mom and I flew from Stockholm to Reykjavík and rented a shrimpy Ford Focus from the Avis at KEF. Having visited Reykjavík numerous times before, we hit the road straightaway. We had a 264-mile drive to our first overnight destination, Siglufjörður, where we had rented a cute cottage via Airbnb.
Fortunately, there was plenty to distract us along the nearly six-hour drive. Around the halfway mark, we veered 3.5 miles off Route 1, a.k.a. the Ring Road, and down a gravel path toward Kolugljúfur, a gorge where the river Víðidalsá feeds into a tumbling waterfall. Kolufossar isn’t the most famous cascade in Iceland, but it still draws the Instagram set; we encountered a dozen selfie-takers and two drone operators, the latter precariously perched on the ragged edges of the canyon cliffs.
The same ‘grammers missed the memo on Blönduóskirkja, though. The striking design of the modernist church, 40 minutes northwest in Blönduós, was inspired by a volcanic crater. Another 36 miles on, we stopped at Glaumbær in Skagafjörður. The historic turf-roofed farmhouses were built during the Age of the Settlements, circa 900 A.D., and have been transformed into a living museum. The property’s timber structures were added as recently as the 1870s, and the last inhabitants didn’t vacate the premises until 1947. Wandering the old pantry, storerooms, and blacksmith’s workshop felt like stepping onto the set of a period film.
Day 2
We used the tiny fishing town of Siglufjörður (population: 1,206) as a base to explore neighboring villages along the rugged northwestern coast of Trӧllaskagi, a.k.a. Troll Peninsula. True to its name, trolls were the first thing we noticed in Ólafsfjörður, the town next door. They were everywhere—painted on the sides of houses, a fish-processing plant, and the town’s indoor public pool. The troll murals were painted by an American artist who had done a residency is this remote corner of Iceland. Now, roadtrippers like us make a point of stopping in Ólafsfjörður just to troll hunt.
After lunch, we drove 30 minutes south to Bjórböðin, a spa and restaurant in Árskógssandur. Opened in June 2017, this was the country’s first “beer spa,” where deep oval soaking tubs made from Kambala wood are filled with 100-degree young beer, live beer yeast, water, and hops. After baking in the outdoor sauna, we slipped into the sudsy mixture in a private bath. For 25 minutes, we scrubbed our skin with the gritty brewers yeast, which is believed to soften hair follicles and cleanse the skin. Post-soak, we headed up to a darkened "relaxation room," where our bath concierge swaddled us in towels. We laid in silent meditation and tried not to fall asleep. Weirdest family bonding experience ever? Maybe. But also surprisingly relaxing.
Day 3
After checking out of our Airbnb in Siglufjörður, we grabbed a quick and tasty lunch at Fish & Chips Siglufjörður. (This was one of the few budget-friendly meals we could find in North Iceland, although lunch for two still cost about 4,000 krona, or $33 USD.)
We stopped for home-baked pastries at the charming café Gisli, Eirikur, Helgi in Dalvik, 40 minutes south; made a failed attempt to visit Safnasafnið, an Icelandic folk and outsider art museum in Akureyri that keeps strict seasonal hours; and took a leaf-peeping spin through the 742-acre Vaglaskógur national forest in Fnjóskadalur, which was staging quite the explosive color show in late September.
But the highlight of the drive—which ended at the modest Post-Plaza Guesthouse in the port city of Húsavík—was Goðafoss, one of the most epic waterfalls in Iceland. Nicknamed the “waterfall of the Gods,” it’s where the rushing Skjálfandafljót river drops nearly 40 feet across a 98-foot expanse.
Day 4
We spent the morning strolling the compact streets of downtown Húsavík. We shopped for Scandinavian housewares at Garðarshólmi; loaded up on cream-filled pastries at Heimabakarí Eðalbrauð Ehf; popped by the Húsavík Whale Museum, home to an 82-foot-long blue whale skeleton; and photographed the storybook-handsome, 112-year-old Húsavík church.
Continuing with the marine life theme, we joined a three-hour whale-watching tour in the afternoon. Our guide, a Dutch marine biologist from Salka Whale Watching, rated the roughness of the sea that day as “seven out of 10.” We wore winter coats plus full-body thermal suits and raincoats, and were slip-sliding across the deck, seawater spraying in our faces, as the boat flew this way and that. It might have been a miserable experience had we not been lucky enough to spot an astonishing five humpback whales—two of which swam within 20 feet of our boat. Though the water was choppy, the crew took good care of our small band of determined sightseers.
My mom and I ended the day in the best way imaginable—with no-fuss takeout from Fish & Chips, a favorite of Húsavík’s local fishermen, and a long soak at the Geosea Geothermal Sea Baths. The 10-month-old spa boasts six outdoor pools and sweeping views of Skjálfandaflói, the bay that had mercilessly knocked around our whale-watching boat like a toy in a bathtub.
Day 5
We devoted our final day in North Iceland to volcanic Lake Mývatn. After moving to Fosshotel Mývatn, a higher-end chain hotel located 40 minutes south of Húsavík, we drove to the Namafjall Geothermal Area. We could smell the sulphur before we even parked the car. Located at the foothill of Námafjall mountain, Hverir put on a dazzling display of hissing fumaroles, bubbling mud pots, and cracked earth. We watched with awe as one tourist stuck his hand directly in front of a hot vent and then howled in pain when it injured his fingers.
Next we took Highway 862 out to Dettifoss, the most powerful waterfall in Europe. Right as we strolled up, a daredevil tightrope walker was beginning his terrifying cross high above the furious churn. Three rainbows appeared between the sun and the spray, making for an incredible moment. Another half-mile schlep along the rocky Jökulsárgljúfur canyon and we found Selfoss, Dettifoss’ smaller but arguably wilder sister waterfall.
In the afternoon, my mom and I spent an hour riding shaggy Icelandic geldings with Gilli, owner of Safari Hester on the southern side of Lake Mývatn. He taught us to how to tolt, a trot that is surprisingly smooth when done right. We rode across a beautiful grassy area with mountain and lake views, and up a pseudo crater. The ridges had sheer drop-offs on either side; if one of our boys slipped a horseshoe, we’d both be dead. My mom was terrified of the heights but I told her what I tell myself when I climb into a taxi in Rome or Delhi or New York City: You gotta trust the driver.
For our final meal in Iceland, we splashed out at the touristy Vogafjós Cow Cafe near Mývatn. The restaurant is attached to a working dairy farm. My mom ordered a burger, which I couldn’t stomach given the circumstances; I went with raw lamb and housemade mozzarella and geysir bread. The bill totaled almost $125. Once the sticker shock passed, we reattached our jaws and shrugged it off. Tomorrow we would be on a plane, headed back to the U.S. Memories like these are worth every penny.