Iceland Is Open to U.S. Travelers—and Gloriously Uncrowded

Puffins are those adorable, cartoonlike black-and-white seabirds with bizarre orange-and-black beaks. They raise their young on the 1,400-foot-high ocean cliffs on Iceland’s Westfjords peninsula, along with hundreds of thousands of other roosting birds. My partner, Jim, is an avid bird photographer and didn’t want to miss this prime birding site on our first visit to Iceland last month.

We also didn’t want to miss one of the most scenic, remote and least-populated parts of the island nation. In planning our first post-lockdown foreign trip we sought something far off the tourist track.

After the harrowing drive to the Latrabjarg bird cliffs northwest of Reykjavik, the capital, we began the hike up a steep trail to the edge. At a turn in the path, where the ocean-facing cliff was first visible, we found hundreds of gulls, eiders and other birds nesting on ledges, squawking and diving into the water for food—but no puffins. Amid a stiff breeze we trekked higher along the cliff, even inching to its rim on our stomachs for a scary look down. Still, no puffins. Finally, after about a half-hour of traversing the undulating terrain we got our payoff: A pair of puffins huddled on a cliff-side perch a dozen feet in front of us. Click, click, click went our cameras.

We picked Iceland for a trip because it had been welcoming Americans for several months, but we still faced some pandemic frustrations. After landing in Reykjavik, exhausted by an overnight flight from New York, we had to line up for a free Covid swab test despite being fully vaccinated. Then we had to wait five hours in our hotel room for the results before we were allowed to explore the city. (Since our trip in June, Iceland has eliminated the testing requirement for those who show a certificate of full vaccination or a prior Covid-19 infection.)

We spent the first few days exploring Reykjavik, a compact city known for its soaring, Expressionist-Art Deco Hallgrimskirkja church, which dominates the skyline, and the Harpan concert hall, a modernist structure whose crystal-shaped walls of windows reflect the sea and sky.

Then we drove 45 minutes east of Reykjavik to take the so-called Golden Circle tour, hitting up the most popular tourist attractions—though we came across only a few tourists at most spots and only a handful of minibuses. First stop was Thingvellir National Park, where the tectonic plates of North America and Eurasia meet—we walked in the gap between them. Next we explored the sulfur-smelling Haukadalur hot springs area, whose Icelandic name for one of its superheated water spouts—Geysir—became the English word geyser. The final stop was the Gullfoss waterfall, a roaring, two-tiered gusher.

Just over halfway into our eight-day visit—after we had already left our hotel in Reykjavik to stay at a guesthouse in the Westfjords—we had to take another swab test as mandated by the U.S. government to re-enter the States (the requirement still stands). That test may be taken up to three days before the return flight but not within 24 hours of it, lest the results fail to come back in time. After finding an Icelandic government clinic—not an easy task outside Reykjavik—we paid a $60 fee and took the test.

Still, the hassles were worth it. The Westfjords’ scenery is among the most dramatic we have seen. If you mix the rugged Scottish Highlands with Alaska’s snow-topped mountains and the barren mesas of the American West, and add in the twisting Pacific Coast Highway and Capetown’s vertiginous ocean vistas, you would get an approximation of northwest Iceland.

As we traveled down near-deserted two-lane roads in the Westfjords the blue water glistened in what seemed like an endless series of inlets. Waterfalls poured down mountainsides whose exposed sediment layers show volcanic eruptions dating back millennia. Miniature Icelandic horses scampered in fields while newborn black and white lambs lay with their mothers by the sides of the road—and a few times right in it.

In the higher regions of the Westfjords peninsula the landscape turns arid, dusty and rock-strewn, recalling NASA’s videos of Mars, though not as red. You can see why scenes from “Game of Thrones,” the “Star Wars” franchise and other movies and TV shows were filmed in Iceland’s prehistoric topography.

During the last two days of our trip, we traveled southwest of Reykjavik to another natural wonder: the Fagradalsfjall volcano, which began oozing molten lava and belching flames in March. Trekking about 20 minutes from the roadside with other travelers we came upon what looked like a party at the farthest extent of the lava’s spread. A cluster of people stood around hand-held grills, roasting sausages above a pile of lava rocks—still red hot and smoking.

Nearby, we took a soak at the heavily advertised Blue Lagoon spa. The bluish, mineral-laden water in the enormous man-made pool comes from deep underground; its promoters claim it’s good for the skin. The water, a byproduct of a nearby geothermal power plant, is as warm as a bath—a welcome surprise because the air in Iceland didn’t get above 50 degrees most days. We found our $57-a-person dip soothing, though touristy. The pool has the vibe of a resort hotel—complete with a swim-up bar—and the spa’s elaborate gift shop pushes $49 tubes of mud facial masks and lava body scrubs.

Speaking of expense, Iceland is no bargain. Restaurant prices can make Manhattan seem reasonable. Nondescript roadside motels that would cost $100 a night in the U.S. are twice that.

But now is a good time to go. Tourists are sparse, and sunlight in summer is almost never-ending—more than 20 hours a day. That means you can visit the sites until almost midnight. We did that a few times when we wanted to jam in just one more waterfall before going to bed.

THE LOWDOWN

Exploring Iceland’s otherworldly scenery

Staying There

In Reykjavik, the Radisson Blu 1919 Hotel, located in a 102-year-old former shipping company headquarters, offers high-ceilinged rooms within walking distance of museums and the waterfront (from about $190 a night, radissonhotels.com). In the Westfjords, the Malarhorn Guesthouse in Drangsnes has simple rooms overlooking a fjord and island (from about $150 a night with private bath, malarhorn.is).

Eating There

Fish Market in Reykjavik offers Asian-influenced seafood in a stylishly designed two-level space (12 Adalstraeti, fiskmarkadurinn.is). In the tiny Westfjords village of Patreksfjordur, cozy Stukuhusid serves fish, lamb and other local fare with freshly baked bread, killer desserts and a view of the fjord. (50 Adalstraeti, stukuhusid.is). Tjöruhúsid, in the Westfjords town of Isafjordur, offers daily-catch fish served on long wooden tables inside a rustic harborside building (Nedsti kaupstadur; facebook.com/Tjoruhusid).

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