It’s spewing ash, but Iceland is very cool
Even before it became a naughty troll kicking out financial and geological mayhem from the top of the world, I had longed to visit Iceland. It was that intriguing brew of age-old and hip ultra-new, which had once attracted the singer Damon Albarn and writer Dave Eggers to live three. I love quirky countries that have somehow eluded the dull homogeny of globalisation: Iceland produced the first lesbian head of state; has one in four citizens who believes in elves; and Björk, who attended the Oscars dressed as a swan.
But there was always the cost: visitors to Iceland spoke of £50 main courses and £10 pints. Clutching one glass of wine all night as natives gaily order a third bottle is no holiday. Then, as it turned out, Iceland’s economy existed in an overblown bubble and when that popped abruptly in late 2008 prices became more reasonable — at least if you’re a Londoner.
So I booked flights through Iceland Express (about £400 each, not cheap considering that, at four hours from London, it is no farther than Greece) and on the internet came across a woman called Kristbjörg who would rent us her two-bedroom apartment with harbour views for €150 a day. And we went on to find that prices were comparable with London: a glass of wine in a restaurant was about £5-£7, a large beer about £4, and a round of cake and hot chocolates for four came to about £20. A main course in a nice restaurant was about £12. Not cheap, but it didn’t make us gulp.
Our flight was packed with school field trips — but then you could pass A level geography merely by descending into Keflavik airport, over the black lava soil and the pockmarks of dead volcanoes. It felt as though we were landing not in a new country but on an alien planet.
If, like me, you admire the handsome 18th-century solidity of Copenhagen and Stockholm, your first impression of Reykjavik could be “is that it?” The capital of Iceland is modern and not altogether stylish: endless estates of new flats seemingly erected from Ikea flatpacks; ring roads; few trees (forests were cut down a millennium ago by Vikings to make longboats and houses); and a city centre as low-rise and provincial as, say, Basingstoke.
But at least it rarely snows as the capital is protected by the Gulf Stream. We wandered through almost empty streets past countless tourist shops selling itchy Fair Isle sweaters and fish products, before taking sanctuary against the freezing diagonal rain in Reykjavik’s oldest café, the Mokka Kaffi, which was built only in 1958. Clearly Icelanders were too busy whaling and cod fishing to tarry for a cappuccino.
Iceland has a hardy, outpost feel, which reminds me — despite the climatic contrast — of the Northern Territory of Australia. And after a few days my eyes adjusted to a new aesthetic: the all-action skies, the older houses, made of corrugated iron to repel the weather, painted in dirty blues and burnished reds, striking against the grey sea and sky. And the menthol chill of the working harbour with its trawlers and visiting German warships, the mountains and the glacier beyond.
On the first day we resolved to see the city, take in the National Art Gallery, Culture Centre and National Museum. Well, they took up an hour — in total. An exhibition of Icelandic cinema — a lot of films seemed to concern suicide — absorbed seven minutes. We stretched the Saga Museum, which depicts the arrival of the Viking settlers in brilliant dioramas, into a further two hours.
Wondering how we’d fill a whole week, and if the reason Iceland always tops those international happiness rankings is because it doesn’t know what it’s missing, we went swimming. The very best thing about Iceland is its thermal springs. (Even the tapwater smells eggy with sulphur.) Sitting outside on a cold day in hot water is a glorious defiance of Nature. No wonder an early Viking king used to conduct all his audiences bobbing in a warm pond.
Much has been written about the Blue Lagoon, an outdoor spa 40 minutes from the capital, which, as if in some mad Utopia, is filled with the outflow from a geothermal power station. It is a strange, wonderful indulgence that deserves at least half a day to enjoy. But if your hair, like mine, is not, er, its natural colour, encase it in conditioner and swim hat since the silica particles — the stuff that clogs up jet engines — will turn it to matted straw.
Besides, Reykjavik, a city of 110,000 people, has ten swimming pools, all but one outdoors and each with a set of “hot pots”. The idea is to get into ever-hotter water until you stand pink, forehead veins throbbing, in the scalding 42-degree broil. Afterwards you feel wonderful and, what with the pure air coming down from the Arctic, sleep like the righteous.
We swam every day. At the Laugardalslaug, an Olympic-size pool, hardy Icelandic children — and my sons — slithered down flumes, bodies steaming in the subzero air. We went to the Sundhöllin indoor pool, a Neo-Classical building with exquisitely tiled changing rooms. It never cost more than £5 for the four of us. Hot pots are an excellent place to people-watch.
Icelanders, broad, a little hard-faced and capable looking, are no Swedes. Rather, since the Danish Vikings seized wives from my native Yorkshire, those folks in the hot pots and I share a gene pool.
In the evenings, we cooked at home, our sons excluding us from Reykjavik’s famous bar crawls. I think you can tell more about a nation from its supermarkets than its monuments, and Iceland’s are very basic, since most fruit and veg are imported. But there is wonderful fish: cod and the finest gravalax are great value. We peered at an odd vacuum-packed item: ugh, crushed sheep’s head.
Although Icelanders often remark that their national dish is frozen pizza, we ate well at the Icelandic Fish and Chip Shop and the Sea Baron, a rough shack by the harbour that sells lobster bisque and gamey-tasting whale meat.
On our third day we headed out of Reykjavik into scenery bleak and dramatic. Long-forgotten words such as moraine, scree and arête popped unbidden into my head. The only life for miles were hairy ponies, huddled together against the wind.
While in summer there is a whole gamut of outdoor adventures — riding in 4x4s up craters, whale-watching and driving round the island’s 830-mile ring road — this trip was in February, before Eyjafjallajökull had erupted and when the winds on the higher roads could be fierce enough to scoop your car into the sea.
So we stuck to the tourist trail, visiting Althing, the world’s first parliament, in the Pingvellir National Park. This is a plateau of rocks where chieftains came from across the land to resolve disputes. As we stood, faces lasered off by the cold, you had to respect the Vikings: why not just snuggle up in their huts?
The nearby Gullfoss waterfall was half-torrent, half-magical ice sculpture. It’s one of many spectacular waterfalls in Iceland including Seljalandsfoss, near Eyjafjallajökull. Later, at Strokkur, we watched the geyser retch and churn before projecting scalding water 30ft into the air, the steam thawing our numb toes.
Iceland is Earth’s belly button: the most visible reminder of its birth. It is Genesis and Revelation combined: primal, empty, odd and sometimes boring. But everyone should come here once.
Need to Know
Getting there Return flights from London to Reykjavik with Iceland Express (icelandexpress.com) from £178.
Janice Turner booked her apartment, Solvallagata (€150 per day for four in summer), through 101 West Side Apartments (00 354 825 3533, 101westsideapartments.is).
Iceland activities
Glacier Hiking
If you go to Iceland you probably want to see a certain volcano, and if you take the “Walk Through Ice and Fire” or “Take a Walk on The Ice Side” day tour with Icelandic Mountain Guides, you can see the eruptions from Eyjafjallajökull. A ten- hour round trip from Reykjavik includes about three hours on a glacier, so wrap up warmly.
Details Icelandic Mountain Guides (00 354 587 9999, mountainguides.is) offers the “Ice Side” tour for £110pp.
White-water rafting
Northern Iceland will be more accessible when Iceland Express (icelandexpress.com) launches flights from Gatwick to Akureyri next month. The Skagafjördur region is home to several powerful glacial rivers, the Jökulsá Austari and its more relaxed cousin the Jökulsá Vestari, but either should put adrenalin junkies through their paces.
Details 00 354 453 8383, rafting.is. Four-hour trips cost about £40pp.
Horse riding
Seeing the countryside from on top of a horse — the local breed was brought to the island by the Vikings — is a serene way of getting a different perspective. The company Is Hestar offers short day-tours, or itineraries over several days if you’re really keen. You can even join local farmers herding their sheep from the southern mountains.
Details 00 354 555 7000, ishestar.is. Two-hour rides start from about £50.
Jeep tours
There’s off-roading and there’s Icelandic off-roading — in a specially adapted vehicle with tyres the size of small house. A “Golden Circle” day tour will take you out to Thingvellir, where the parliament was founded more than 1,000 years ago, and on to the hot springs and geysers at Haukadalur and the Gullfoss waterfalls.
Details 00 354 660 1499, superjeep.is. A Golden Circle tour costs from £160pp.
Diving
You normally think of “Great Barrier Reef” or “Caribbean” when it comes to diving and snorkelling, but in Iceland you can do so between tectonic plates. At Silfra, near Thingvellir, visibility is great — often more than 100m — and you can swim knowing that you are, literally, in between America and Europe. (The distance grows by about 2cm a year).
Details Arctic Adventures (00 354 562 7000, adventures.is) can organise a two-dive trip at Silfra from about £160pp.
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