Reykjavík

Iceland was one of the last habitable places on earth to be settled. Irish monks may have visited earlier, but the Norse arrived in numbers from about 870. The Book of Settlements, written in the 12th century, says the chieftain Ingólfr Arnarson threw his high-seat pillars into the sea near Reykjavík and settled where they washed ashore, around 874. The name Reykjavík means smoky bay, from the steam that rose from hot springs in the area. Historians debate the exact date and story, but the name and the site have not changed.

For most of the next thousand years Reykjavík was a farm and, later, a small fishing settlement. Iceland set up its own assembly, the Althing, at Þingvellir in 930, and converted to Christianity by a vote there in 999 or 1000. It came under Norwegian rule in 1262 and passed to Denmark with the Nordic union in 1380. The Danish crown held a trade monopoly from 1602 to 1787, which impoverished the island; a volcanic eruption at Laki in 1783 caused famine and killed a large part of the livestock and about a fifth of the population.

Reykjavík got a town charter in 1786, when a few weaving and wool workshops (Innréttingar) set the stage for a small town. The 19th century brought the independence movement led by Jón Sigurðsson, whose statue stands on Austurvöllur, the square in front of the parliament building. Iceland gained home rule in 1904 and sovereignty in a union with Denmark in 1918, and the republic was declared at Þingvellir on 17 June 1944, the date that is now the National Day.

The 20th century turned a fishing town into a capital. British and then American troops were stationed on the island during and after the Second World War, and the 1986 Reykjavík summit between Reagan and Gorbachev at Höfði house put the city on the diplomatic map. Financial deregulation in the 2000s led to a boom, and the collapse of the three main banks in 2008 brought a currency crash and a recession. The recovery was driven by tourism, which grew from about 500,000 visitors in 2010 to well over two million a year by the late 2010s. That growth explains much of what visitors see: converted warehouses on the harbour, new hotels and a walkable centre packed with cafés.

The centre of Reykjavík is small enough to read in an afternoon. It sits on a low peninsula on the south shore of Faxaflói bay. The north side is the sea, with the Old Harbour at the western end, the Harpa concert hall next to it, and a shore path that runs east past the Sun Voyager sculpture. Behind the harbour the old town runs south: Austurstræti, Austurvöllur square and the cathedral form the historic core, and the small pond Tjörnin marks the western edge of it.

Laugavegur, literally the washing road, is the main street. It runs east from Bankastræti and Skólavörðustígur, and a few hundred metres in it reaches its busiest stretch of shops, cafés and bars. From Laugavegur, the side streets climb south-east to Skólavörðuholt, the hill where Hallgrímskirkja stands. Its tower, 74.5 metres high, is the best orientation aid: if you can see it, you can walk to it.

Postal codes are a useful clue. 101 is the centre and the old town. 105 is east of it and includes Hlemmur and Laugardalur. 107 is the west side (Vesturbær) with the university and a local pool, and 102 is Vatnsmýri, the low ground where the domestic airport lies. Buses (Strætó) run from Hlemmur and Lækjartorg to the suburbs. Many visitors never need them: a first visit fits on foot.

Two features shape the map and are easy to miss. The first is the wind: the peninsula is open on three sides, so streets that run north–south funnel gusts from the sea, and the shore path is the coldest walk in town. The second is the ice: from November to March, pavements are heated in parts of the centre but not on the hill, and a fall on a slope is the most common injury for visitors. Plan a route with a café every 15 minutes, and wear shoes with grip.

Iceland sits on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, where the North American and Eurasian plates pull apart, and hot water comes close to the surface. Reykjavík’s name is literal: the first settlers saw steam. In the 1930s the city began piping hot water from springs at Laugardalur to a few buildings, and by the 1940s and 1950s a large geothermal district-heating network served most homes. Today more than nine in ten Icelandic homes are heated by geothermal water or electricity, most of it from hydro or geothermal sources. Hot water comes out of the tap smelling of sulphur, which is harmless, and cold water is clean enough to drink without a filter.

The pools are the social centre of the city. Nearly every neighbourhood has one, and each has a lap pool, a shallow area and a row of hot pots at different temperatures, usually between 38 and 44 °C, with a steam room. The oldest public pool downtown is Sundhöllin, opened in 1937 and refurbished in later years; the biggest is Laugardalslaug. Locals swim laps before work, sit in the pots to talk politics in the evening and take the children on weekends. Entry is cheap, around ISK 1,300–1,800 for an adult in 2026 (estimate), and children pay less.

There are rules, and staff enforce them. Take off your shoes at the entrance, shower naked with soap before you enter the pool, and rinse again after. Signs with a diagram show the parts of the body to wash. The rule is about hygiene: the pools use little chlorine, so cleanliness depends on the swimmers. Visitors who skip it get a polite reminder at the door. Alcohol, phones on the deck and glass are not allowed.

The big lagoons are a different product. The Blue Lagoon, on the Reykjanes peninsula near the airport, is made from the run-off of a geothermal power plant, with silica-rich water that gives the milky-blue colour. Sky Lagoon, in Kópavogur on the edge of the city, faces the sea and has a seven-step ritual. Both are timed-entry, priced at ISK 12,000–20,000 (estimate) and best booked ahead. The city pools give the same hot water without the ticket queue.

Reykjavík sits at about 64 degrees north, just below the Arctic Circle, and the light changes more than the temperature. Around 21 June the sun sets near 00:00 and rises near 03:00, with a bright twilight in between; you can read outside at midnight. Around 21 December the sun rises near 11:20 and sets near 15:30, and the low sun stays near the horizon. The change in daylight is about five to seven minutes a day in spring and autumn, so a trip in March or September has very different hours from one in June or December.

The weather does not follow the seasons closely. Summer highs sit around 12–14 °C and winter highs around 2–4 °C, thanks to the Gulf Stream, so the city is milder in winter than New York. But the wind, rain and low cloud can change hour by hour: locals say that if you do not like the weather, wait five minutes. A waterproof shell, a warm mid-layer and shoes that grip are the winter kit, and the same shell works in July.

The Northern Lights are caused by charged particles from the sun hitting gases in the upper atmosphere, and they are visible in Iceland from about September to early April, when nights are dark enough. Three things need to line up: darkness, a clear sky and solar activity. City lights wash out the sky, so tours drive 30–60 minutes away, and many operators offer a free repeat if clouds hide the display. Check the Icelandic Met Office aurora forecast and cloud cover on the day, and do not book only one night.

The other seasonal event is the birds. Puffins nest on islands off the coast from about late April to mid-August, and short boat trips from the Old Harbour go to see them. Whales, mainly minke and humpback, are seen from spring to autumn on boats that leave several times a day; sightings are likely but not guaranteed. In winter the sea can be rough and some trips stop. Always check the weather warnings from the Met Office and the road-condition service before any trip that leaves the city.

Icelandic food began as a way to keep protein through a long winter. Lamb, fish and dairy were preserved by drying, smoking, salting and fermenting, and the tastes that outsiders find odd are the products of that history. Hákarl, fermented Greenland shark, and svið, singed sheep head, are eaten at the midwinter Þorrablót feast, not daily. What you meet on an ordinary day is better known: lamb soup, fish stew, rye bread, smoked fish, skyr, and a hot dog from a harbour stand.

Lamb roams free on the highland in summer and is prized for its taste. Fish is the everyday protein, with cod and haddock in stews and pan-fried char in restaurants. Plokkfiskur, a mash of fish, potato and onion in white sauce, is the comfort food; kjötsúpa, lamb soup with root vegetables, is the warming standard. Rúgbrauð, dense rye bread, is traditionally baked in the hot ground near geothermal springs and served with butter and smoked fish. Skyr, a thick cultured dairy, is closer to yoghurt but is technically a fresh cheese.

Since the 2000s a new Icelandic kitchen has grown up in the city, using local ingredients with modern techniques, and the harbour and Laugavegur have small restaurants of every price. Tasting-menu dinners cost from ISK 18,000 a person, and a main course in a mid-range place costs ISK 4,500–8,000 (estimate). Prices are high because most food and drink is imported or produced in a small market. The cheapest full meals are soup, the hot dog and the supermarket picnic.

Drinking is shaped by law and price. Alcohol above 2.25% is sold only in the state Vínbúðin shops, which are closed on Sunday and shut early on Saturday, and in licensed bars. A beer costs ISK 1,400–2,200 in a bar, so many people start at home, and weekend nights run late: bars serve until about 04:30 on Friday and Saturday. Brennivín, a caraway schnapps, is the traditional spirit; craft beer is now common. Coffee is strong and often comes with a free refill, and tap water is free and cold.

Iceland has about 390,000 people, and nearly two thirds of them live in the capital region. The scale shapes manners: people are direct, informal and quick to use first names, and the phone book lists people by first name. Icelanders use patronymics, so a woman named Anna, daughter of Jón, is Anna Jónsdóttir, and her brother is Jónsson. This is why family names are unusual and why everyone is called by their first name, including the prime minister.

The language is Icelandic, a North Germanic language close to Old Norse; a person from the 13th century could read most modern text with effort. The country works hard to keep it, coining new words rather than borrowing: a computer is tölva, a mix of number and prophetess. Almost everyone speaks fluent English, so visitors get by easily, but a Halló or a Takk is welcomed. Emphasis falls on the first syllable, and some letters, such as þ (th as in thin) and ð (th as in this), look unfamiliar.

The behaviour that matters most to visitors is pool manners: shower naked with soap before you swim, and follow the signs. Nature is the second area. Moss, soil and the thin crust of lava fields recover slowly, so stay on paths, do not drive off marked roads and follow closures and warnings; fines are large and signs are enforced. Tipping is not expected because service is included in prices, and a small extra for exceptional service is welcome but not standard.

Icelanders are reserved at first and friendly once talking, with a dry sense of humour. The country’s folklore, from hidden people (huldufólk) to the thirteen Yule Lads who visit children before Christmas, is treated with a straight face and some irony. Safety is high: the country tops global peace rankings, and police do not carry guns as a rule. The risks are nature and weather, not people. Check the forecast, road conditions and warnings, and ask locals and your hotel when in doubt.