Discover Húsavík: Your Holiday Weekend Getaway Guide

As Verslunarmannahelgi, also known as Merchant’s Weekend—the last public holiday before Christmas, and one Icelanders wait for all summer—rolled around in early August, I did what most of the capital does: looked at the forecast, winced, and started packing. Reykjavík was getting soaked. I got in the car instead, drove six hours north with good music for company, and somewhere between Blönduós and Húsavík a double rainbow showed up like it had been hired specifically for the occasion.

Verslunarmannahelgi is, above all else, a camping weekend. That’s just understood. So I loaded up the tent, an inflatable mat—genuinely one of the top three objects that has improved my life—and an embarrassing number of pillows from home. If the car has room, bring pillows. They change everything, both the quality of sleep and the general feeling of the tent as a place you actually want to be.

Finding the right pitch was the first order of business. Húsavík has an official campground, but one look was enough. It sits right beside the road, tents and trailers wedged together so tightly you can’t quite tell where the parking ends and the camping begins. Fortunately, a twenty-minute drive past Húsavík brings you to one of the most beautiful campsites in Iceland. Search for Camping 66.12 NORTH and save it — it’s spacious enough for everyone, even if part of me wanted to keep it quiet.

All About That Horizon

Picture this: 18°C and sunny. (To anyone reading from somewhere warm — yes, we know, please keep it to yourself. This is our summer and we’re enjoying every second of it.) You’re putting up your tent with a calm, wide ocean stretching behind you and two islands sitting on the horizon like they’re posing. That evening you’re frying veggie burgers on a camping stove while kids chase a giant bird-shaped kite across the grass.

“After years of circumnavigating Iceland, I confess: I had never set foot in Húsavík until this trip.”

The campsite has one rule worth mentioning: tents and trailers must stay at least four meters apart. It’s enough distance to feel like you have your own corner of the world, while still leaving room for the inevitable people-watching. A group of girls nearby was clearly having their first tent experience, which their rental white Dacia Duster seemed to confirm. A few elderly campers had settled into a card game. A couple were tending to a camping cat — the most unfazed animal I’ve ever seen, wearing the expression of something that had spent the entire summer outdoors. A friend photographed another camper sitting on a hay bale; the bales were scattered across the site like oversized marshmallows. Even Reykjavík’s former mayor, Dagur B. Eggertsson, was there, along with everyone else angling for the best seat to watch the sunset burn through the clouds.

By night the wind picked up and rattled the tent, but I didn’t mind. The day had been too good for that to matter.

The campsite isn’t just pretty — it’s practical. There’s a full kitchen with pots, a toaster, and a microwave, gender-segregated bathrooms, plenty of device charging points, and laundry service for a small fee. Rates are reasonable too: 2,000 ISK for the first night and 1,000 ISK for any additional nights.

A word for Bjarni, the campsite manager, who seemed to be everywhere at once — greeting arrivals, sorting out problems, keeping the whole place running. When I mentioned on my first morning that I wanted to stay an extra night, he grinned and said, “Just settle up when you return; I wouldn’t want to charge you twice!”

Northern Pints

Spending proper time in Húsavík brought a small embarrassment: despite years driving around Iceland, I had never actually stopped here before. It sits slightly off the main Ring Road drag, which probably explains it. That, and the town has had a surge of attention lately thanks to the Netflix film Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga, which spawned a few themed spots around town — a trivia exhibition and a Jaja Ding Dong bar among them. Apparently the absence of a standout ice cream shop had also kept it off my radar. Regardless, the place has a quiet charm that’s hard to argue with.

Húsavík has fewer than 3,000 residents and is a cluster of colourful houses above Skjálfandi Bay. Alongside the Eurovision curiosities, it has the century-old Húsavíkurkirkja, a local brewery and taproom called Húsavík Öl, and the well-known GeoSea baths.

Walking into the Húsavík Öl taproom, I found a busy terrace of locals well into their weekend. A cheerful grandmother had clearly claimed the best patio seat as her personal post — she was there every time I walked past. Inside, the space is small but has an unexpectedly urban feel, which is strange and wonderful given that beyond the windows there’s only ocean, empty islands, and the Arctic Circle. I went for a fruity, hoppy New England IPA. My companion chose non-alcoholic, and the options were genuinely impressive — seven different choices for non-drinkers.

The Horizon Slips into the Water

I’d checked the GeoSea opening hours earlier and found they stay open until midnight through the summer season — through August 31 — which fitted perfectly with what I had in mind. We arrived around 10 PM to find the pools full of people who had made exactly the same plan. For over an hour I shared the water with an American family who seemed determined to befriend every child in Iceland.

“How do you say ‘nice to meet you’ in Icelandic?” the mom asked, while her kid patiently coached her through it. What came out was something like “Blah-blah-florp!” — I’m still laughing about it.

The crowds don’t really diminish what GeoSea does well. The infinity pool sits flush against the cliffside and the effect is convincing: water and horizon become the same thing. The temperature varies across the pool, with warmer pockets that work as natural seating areas. There’s a bar, though reaching it requires climbing out and walking a short distance — a minor inconvenience. The only other feature is a steam room, which is plenty. GeoSea isn’t trying to be a spa complex; it’s a view with warm water around it. Sitting there watching the sun drop into Skjálfandi Bay, I found myself thinking about coming back in the depths of winter, when the brave few would have the place almost to themselves.

Hot Cocoa and Whale Tails

Húsavík doesn’t let you forget it’s Iceland’s whale-watching capital. The signs are everywhere — bright boards outside tour operators, brochures offering museum and restaurant discounts to anyone who books a trip. I’d seen whales twice before, in Greenland and off Hafnarfjörður, and both times were genuinely awe-inspiring, but I’d never gone on an organised tour. A combination of curiosity and something close to FOMO got me in the end — helped along by the fact that there wasn’t much else competing for Monday morning.

So on the Monday of the long weekend, before heading back to Reykjavík, I booked the “Húsavík Original Whale Watching” tour with North Sailing. They run a wide range of options — silent electric boat tours, combined puffin and whale excursions, even sailing trips to Greenland. I picked a three-hour tour leaving at 9 AM. The hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls promised at the end may have influenced the decision somewhat.

Once on board the traditional oak vessel, Sæborg, the guides handed out waterproof suits straight away — very welcome for someone who gets cold easily, even on a clear day. These tours are popular all summer, and the boat filled up fast. Heading out of the harbour I noticed several similar vessels nearby, all sitting low in the water, cameras pointing in every direction.

The guide explained the clock system: the boat is the clock face, and whenever a whale appears he’ll call out “one o’clock” or “six o’clock” to point everyone in the right direction. Apparently it works better than compass bearings for a group of tourists who’ve never been on Skjálfandi Bay before. “Or just look where everyone else is looking,” he added, with the grin of someone who has said this a thousand times.

I had landed a good spot at the front of the ship, which turned out to be prime real estate — “one o’clock” was called out more than any other direction during the trip. First came puffins, beaks crammed with fish, doing their businesslike thing just above the water. Then a dolphin appeared, and then suddenly a whole pod of them, leaping and circling the boat in what felt genuinely like showing off.

Things quietened down after a while. We followed another vessel that had reportedly spotted a whale and waited for it to come back up. While we drifted, the guide talked about the wildlife — including the blue whales that show up in summer, creatures so large they make everything else seem small. He produced some baleen plates to pass around. I respected the biology while firmly keeping my distance from the object itself. Some filtration methods I’d rather not think about at close range.

“A humpback is diving now, and they can stay submerged for about 40 minutes. Unfortunately, we can’t wait that long,” the guide said, and we turned to look elsewhere.

We got a glimpse of a humpback’s tail before it slipped under again — more of a tease than a sighting, really. The dolphins kept coming back, their small fins cutting the surface in a way that could genuinely alarm someone who didn’t know what they were looking at.

The day on the water was worth it regardless. On the way back, one view stayed with me: a mountain ahead of us, textured and velvety, ridged and sculpted, with a single small cabin on it. The guide mentioned that a local family uses it as a shelter for hikers passing through. You can only get there by boat or by a 20-kilometre hike through wilderness. That one is going on the list. Maybe next Verslunarmannahelgi.

The whale-watching experience was arranged through North Sailing. For tour bookings and further information, visit northsailing.is.