8 Days in Iceland: Midnight Sun and Majestic Landscapes

Remnants of the Grimsby fishing trawler Epine at Djúpalónssandur.

‘We’re a bit waterfalled out’, the Australian couple I met on the tour bus expressed when discussing the unique nature of the tour we were on. Not that we didn’t see any waterfalls. It was just that this tour explored the more rugged and striking landscapes of Iceland, rather than point-scoring by ticking off the biggest waterfall, the best swimming hole, most active volcano, and so forth, like many other tours. Despite being the furthest away from Australia of all the countries I had visited, and the most expensive, I met (or heard) more Australians in Iceland than any of the other five countries I had visited on this trip. And this was in June, so there was no Northern Lights, it was (just) a bit too early for the Summer Solstice Festivals, too early for the puffins and before most school holidays. In many ways, however, June became the perfect time to visit: it was warm (if you can call it that) enough to be outside without discomfort; the days were long; in fact there was no darkness at all, just a bit of twilight between about 1.30-2.30am, then back to broad daylight, but this had the benefit of not having to worry about walking around the ‘dark’. Kids were still at school and above all, there was plenty of chicklife to see (and I mean the feathered variety); however, this could pose problems, as I’ll explain later. And, a bonus for me: there was also an arts festival happening with performing and visual arts happening across Reykjavik. But, like the other well-travelled Aussies on the trip, I was enticed by the dramatically rugged nature of the imagery and I booked a twelve-hour group tour exploring the Snaefellsnes peninsula and Kirkjufell.

View from the bus window: the road towards the Snaefellsnes peninsula.

True to Its Moniker: Ytri-Tunga’s Black Sands and Distant Seals.

Our first stop was Ytri-Tunga, a tiny farming village and beach famed for its “cute seals.” Sadly, they were playing hard to get that morning, visible only as distant dots on the horizon. Still, being June had its compensations: chicks were everywhere, and I was happily distracted watching ducks shepherding their tiny, determined brood through the shallows. The local residents here are Harbour Seals and Grey Seals, though it was the backdrop that truly stole the scene, a scattering of small houses framed by towering mountains, the kind of quintessential Icelandic landscape that had drawn me here in the first place.

Mountains and flora surrounding Ytri-Tunga.

Not far from Ytri-Tunga, we stopped at Búðakirkja, the 19th-century church famed for its striking black exterior. When I visited, its dark silhouette stood out beautifully against the vivid green landscape, though most of the year it is set against a blanket of snow, a different kind of contrast but equally photogenic. The current building is a faithful reconstruction of the original 1703 church, and some of the interior pieces are, impressively, still original.

Búðakirkja, a 19th-century church, originally built in 1703.

Our next stop was Arnarstapi, a small fishing village on Iceland’s Snæfellsnes Peninsula renowned for its dramatic coastal scenery, with basalt columns, arches, and cliffs that have long drawn visitors. One of the visual highlights here was Miðgjá, a striking natural rock arch just off the coast. While taking in the scenery, we also learned about and soon spotted a large colony of Arctic terns nesting nearby. The area is renowned not only for its striking natural beauty and the popular coastal hike to Hellnar, but also for its rich connections to Icelandic folklore, including the stories of Bárður Snæfellsás. During my visit, I was struck by how deeply folklore is woven into everyday Icelandic life, far from being confined to the realm of hippies or alternative subcultures as it often is elsewhere. On my taxi ride to the airport, I met a Finnish woman who had just presented at a conference on the subject. The moment she mentioned it, the driver eagerly joined the conversation, sharing everything he knew with evident enthusiasm.

Miðgjá, a natural rock arch off the coast surrounded by black volcanic rock.

The area was once a heavily populated trading post and there are ghost and troll stories and legends about the area. The troll in one of the stories, Bárður Snæfellsás has been recognised in a sculpture on the hill of the pathway to the beach. Although may seem like a decorative pile of rocks, the Bárður Snæfellsás statue by artist Ragnar Kjartansso commemorates the story of a medieval Arnarstapi resident. Bárður was a half-man, half-troll who lived here after fleeing Norway. After a severe family argument, he exiled himself to the Snæfellsnes Glacier. For centuries, the locals believed he was their protector and called him the Guardian Spirit of Snæfell.

The Bárður Snæfellsás statue by artist Ragnar Kjartansso.

Our next stop was the dramatic black pebble beach of Djúpalónssandur. On my visit people were picnicking on the black sand which gave a Surreal aesthetic. Our guide told us that the rusty pieces of metal cannot be removed as have historical significance, given that they are the remnants of the Grimsby fishing trawler Epine (GY7) which wrecked in 1948. The brown rusty shards and black sand made for an apocalyptic effect that did not frighten off a number of families who had decided to picnic on beach only meters from the large waves that our guide had warned us about not getting too close to (someone had died recently after falling into the water and being unable to be rescued from the cold water in time).

Remnants of the Grimsby fishing trawler Epine at Djúpalónssandur.

The pathway to the beach Djúpalónssandur.

Looking down onto the beach of Djúpalónssandur.

A short trip around the corner brought us to Saxhóll Crater, believed to have erupted some 3,000 years ago, shaping much of the surrounding landscape. The crater’s collapsed core plunges sharply downward, a stark reminder of the raw power of volcanic forces, while the rim offers dizzying 360-degree views over the wild terrain of Snæfellsjökull National Park. A new metal staircase now snakes up the side, guiding visitors safely to the summit. Its installation was once controversial, yet I found it oddly reassuring: it preserves the delicate rim by channeling footsteps along a single path, while sparing us from the perilous temptation to wander too close to the edge. I couldn’t help but imagine the chaos that might ensue without it, a few misplaced steps easily turning into a tragic “selfie death,” and I felt grateful for both the protection it offers the volcano and the safety it affords the climber.

Looking down into the Saxhóll Crater.

Descending the new staircase of the Saxhóll Crater.

Some of the Snaefellnes tours start in the opposite direction as it is done as a loop but I think our route was the most logical as we were able to build up anticipation of visiting – yes, a waterfall! And not just any waterfall, but Kirkjufellsfoss waterfall, adjacent to the "arrowhead" mountain Kirkjufell and the most used hero image for Iceland (albeit with a cut and pasted in Northern LIghts in the background). A photographer’s dream, we were able to squeeze two icons into one: a mountain and a waterfall. But before we got to the waterfall, our driver, who liked to personalise the tour wanted to take us to what he thought was actually the best view of Kirkjufell, only to find that the roads had only recently been blocked off with piles of rocks. Cheekily he double parked the minibus there and we, giggling like misbehaving kids on a school excursion piled off the bus to capture what he thought was the best angle. Then it was on to the official carpark and time to spend exploring the waterfall. Across the road, rising 463 meters above sea level, the formation of Kirkjufell mountain is a dramatic act taking place over millions of years - ever since the last phase of the Ice Age- by glacial erosion in Iceland. The mountain is very steep in all directions and layers of rocks are clearly visible from the bottom to the top. This was formed due to a unique natural phenomenon in Iceland named nunatak, a Greenlandic Inuit word referring to a high rock pointing out of glaciers, exposed peak that’s not covered by ice. And it’s in Season 6 of Game of Thrones!

A less quintessential view of Kirkjufell.

Kirkjufell Mountain and Kirkjufellsfoss waterfall, no editing or cropping whatsoever.

Kirkjufellsfoss waterfall.

Proof that I visited Kirkjufellsfoss waterfall and mountain!

While some Australians I met had waterfall fatigue, I was only just getting started. The waterfalls were breathtaking, of course, but it was the surreal, almost alien landscapes and unconventional beaches that left me wide-eyed. Even a stubborn cold (not COVID—I did the tests!) couldn’t slow me down. Next up was Reykjavik, a vibrant reminder that Iceland is far more than mountains and waterfalls, and that my adventure was only just beginning.

Typical mountain views along the roads in the Snæfellsness Peninsula.

While the twelve-hour guided tours certainly deliver, there are plenty of smaller-scale activities around Reykjavik that allow you to balance the budget, minimise travel, and enjoy a sense of spontaneity. On my first day out, after virtually no sleep thanks to a late flight and the Iceland 'Summer' in which the sun doesn't truly set, I set off to explore my own neighbourhood on the city’s outskirts. I discovered that it was not only close to the beach, with stunning views of the towering mountains, but also near what appeared to be two very different sculpture galleries. As I was passing one, a young woman asked if I would like to visit. I couldn’t very well refuse, and with my ICOM pass in hand, I stepped inside the Sigurjón Ólafsson Museum, one of several artist-focused sculpture studio museums found throughout Iceland.

One of the Modernist sculptures inside the Sigurjón Ólafsson Museum.

Established in 1984 on the original site of the artist’s home, just two years after his death, the Sigurjón Ólafsson Museum was founded by his wife, Birgitta Spur. The house and adjacent studio were rebuilt and expanded, creating a modest but distinctive space, made even more memorable by its location right on the beach. When I asked the attendant about the neighbouring museum, she was quick to distance the Sigurjón Ólafsson Museum from it, noting that it had no connection to the artist and was instead owned by a film director and his artist wife, her tone suggesting a subtle disapproval of the outsider venture.

Sculptures outside the 'Recycled House' owned by film director is Hrafn Gunnlaugsson.

Indeed, the ramshackle building and its outsider art rarely appear on Iceland’s standard tourist lists, yet it has developed something of a cult following. As I explored the periphery of what has come to be known as the ‘Recycled House,’ I discovered a treasure trove of what I would classify as Outsider Art: found objects, masks, and voodoo-like curiosities strewn throughout the space. A sign unabashedly highlighted the significance of the owner, proclaiming: “Home to the director of the legendary feature The Raven Flies.”

No false modesty here: a handy sign directing visitors to the Recycled House.

The film director is Hrafn Gunnlaugsson and the collection of recycled and repurposed objects is a living display of his love for and connection with objects, his travels, ideas, experiments, art, family and props from his films. His film ´When the Raven Flies´ is a 1984 Icelandic - Swedish adventure film. It is set in the Viking Age in Iceland. Inspired from the Sagas of Icelanders it aims to deconstruct Viking stereotypes and replace them with more authentic portrayals of the Viking era. And you can watch it on Youtube! The cinematography might be a little shakey but the scenery gives a great insight into Iceland’s geography.

More views of the exterior of the Recycled House.

Further along the beach from The Recycled House and the Sigurjón Ólafsson Museum lies one of the best-value days out in Reykjavík. For around $20 AUD, you can catch a return ferry to Viðey Island. The trip itself lasts barely five minutes, possibly one of the shortest ferry rides in the world, but once you arrive there’s a wealth to explore. You can wander the island’s pristine, history-rich landscapes, visit the café, see Yoko Ono’s Imagine Peace Tower and hike among the monumental pillars of Richard Serra’s Áfangar (Milestones). When I visited, the island was alive with birdlife and baby chicks. However, because Viðey isn’t heavily trafficked, my arrival caused quite a stir, enough that I was swooped by some protective parents while navigating the narrow paths. With its small playground and peaceful atmosphere, the island offers just the right mix of nature and novelty to keep both families and solo travellers entertained for hours.

Yoko Ono’s Imagine Peace Tower on Videy Island - and those clouds! No filters!

Two of Richard Serra’s Áfangar (Milestones) pillars on Videy Island.

Gull activity on the coast of Videy Island.

An Oyster Catcher hanging out near an anchor on Videy Island.

An ideal location for workshops or a classroom on Videy Island.

Reykjavik itself more than justified the several visits I made. I loved walking the promenade from my apartment into the centre, breathing in the vastness of the mountains across the bay. Locals seem entirely unfazed by the city’s perpetual bluster; rain or shine, joggers dashed past as if battling the elements was part of the workout.

With its abundance of museums and galleries, I naturally gravitated to the art ones and was never disappointed. I gave the infamous Icelandic Phallological Museum a miss after the shop’s tacky souvenirs killed the mood, but I did brave the Iceland Punk Museum. The concept, charting the rise of punk in Iceland, had real promise, and the story itself deserved better. Unfortunately, its setting in an old public toilet, complete with cubicle “galleries,” made it almost impossible to focus. Every video blared at once, and the few headphones available couldn’t muffle the chaos. I genuinely wanted to tune in and appreciate Iceland’s punk scene, but the only thing I clearly heard was Björk. Brilliant, yes, but punk? Not quite. When I articulated my thoughts with the “curator,”, an ageing punk himself, he simply shrugged, as if to say, that’s punk for you.

Solfar’ or ‘Sun Voyager' a sculpture by artist Jon Gunnar Arnason, and one of Reykjavik's icons, visible along Reykjavik's promenade.

Three views of Harpa, Reykjavik's large performing arts centre.

Whilst in Reykjavik I was taken by the prevalence of coloured corrugated iron buildings, both domestic and commercial. I discovered that these funky houses were called bárujárnshús, and extensive use was made of corrugated iron in reconstructing the city following a devastating fire in 1915. It was during the mid-19th Century that corrugated iron and Iceland started importing it in the 1860s. Ships travelling from England to Iceland to buy sheep would carry cargoes of corrugated iron to sell in Reykjavik. The timber-framed, two or three-storey buildings with pitched roofs, developed in response both to the climate and an historical shortage of construction timber that can be traced back to the Viking occupation. Vikings are said to have decimated the remaining ancient forests for shipbuilding timbers and allowed sheep to overgraze the land preventing regeneration of the forests. Once heavily insulated, the corrugated iron framework proved ideal for Iceland’s harsh climactic conditions.

One of the bright bárujárnshús or coloured corrugated iron houses in Reykjavik.

More examples of bárujárnshús, corrugated iron homes.

Walking along the Reykjavík promenade, I came across a statue that immediately caught my attention. It wasn’t of a king or a warrior but of a poet and lawyer. Einar Benediktsson, known as Einar Ben, stands near Höfði House gazing out over the water. The statue is made of bronze and has a quiet strength that suits its subject.

Everywhere I looked in Reykjavík there seemed to be something striking to see: innovative architecture, bold sculpture and house museums devoted to sculptors. Höfði House itself is a white timber building with a steep roof, famous as the site of the 1986 summit between Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev. It felt fitting that a man whose words once inspired Iceland’s independence should stand nearby, watching over a city so alive with creativity.

Einar Benediktsson statue, near Höfði House.

The sculptor Ásmundur Sveinsson (1893–1982) designed, lived, and worked in this striking white domed building, now part of the Reykjavík Art Museum. His garden is filled with his sculptures, ranging from powerful early figures to elegant later abstract forms.

No visit to Reykjavík would be complete without a stop at Hallgrímskirkja. At 74.5 metres tall, this Lutheran parish church dominates the skyline and remains one of the most recognisable symbols of Iceland. Even before stepping inside, I found myself captivated by its shape, far more elongated than most cathedrals. It seems to stretch skyward as if carved directly from the island’s volcanic landscape. The design by Guðjón Samúelsson was inspired by Iceland’s basalt columns, and once you see it, that connection feels unmistakable. The sweeping concrete forms resemble cooled lava, monumental yet graceful. Although grey and austere, it somehow feels quintessentially Icelandic, strong, elemental and quietly beautiful against the changing northern light. Out the front stands a statue of Leifur Eiríksson, the Norse explorer believed to have reached North America long before Columbus. The statue was a gift from the United States in 1930, commemorating the thousandth anniversary of Iceland’s parliament. He looks steadfast, gazing westward as if still intent on discovery, and together with the church behind him they make a striking pairing, one celebrating Iceland’s spirit of exploration, the other its enduring faith and creativity. Inside, the church is minimalist and calm, with white walls and tall windows that fill the space with natural light. The immense pipe organ commands attention, its silvery pipes gleaming like another piece of modern sculpture. I didn’t climb to the top for the view, but standing outside, gazing upward, was reward enough. Hallgrímskirkja manages to be both stark and soulful, a perfect reflection of the Icelandic spirit.

Hallgrímskirkja, statue of Leifur Eiríksson, the Norse explorer believed to have reached North America long before Columbus and two ubiquitous e-scooters.

Interior of Hallgrímskirkja with organ.

Shades of grey; another angle of Hallgrímskirkja.

Arriving in Iceland can be a bizarre and unique experience, depending on what hour it is. Unlike many airports around midnight, KEF (Keflavik, which is Iceland’s International Airport) looked like it was just getting started, with people still in departure lounges, food and drinks for sale and everyone looking both wide awake and spirited. Keflavik is actually not in Reykjavik and it is important not to confuse it with the local airport and to plan carefully, as taxis from the airport are outrageously expensive (around $200AUD) and most of the shuttle buses stop for a few hours early in the morning. Once you’re in your bus though, you may be in for a visual treat as the bus drives in a straight line along a road with nothing on either side but dark craters and rock formations. It’s like driving through Mars. If you arrive, like I did at midnight, you may even get to witness the midnight sun and an eerie, not quite twilight light along your drive.

The Jet Nest by Magnús Tómasson and The Rainbow by Rúrí at Keflavik Airport.

Out the front of the airport, against the midnight sun stood two imposing sculptures, The Jet Nest by Magnús Tómasson and The Rainbow by Rúrí. The Jet Nest, which depicts a plane emerging from a steel egg on a nest of rocks, was silhouetted against the lingering light. For me, that egg felt like a metaphor for what was to come in my eight days in Iceland. Nearby, The Rainbow arched in glass and steel, catching the faint light of sun, as if to promise that the adventure had only just begun.