Exploring Iceland’s Ring Road: A Journey of Nature and Connection
Route One, known as Iceland’s Ring Road, loops around the entire country for 1,321 kilometers, cutting through mountain passes, winding along fjords, plunging through tunnels, and hugging raw coastlines. Driving it never gets old. The light shifts constantly, the weather does what it wants, and no two stretches ever look quite the same.
Every time I complete this circuit, something in me changes. Iceland’s landscapes have a way of pulling you out of your own head — after days spent staring at black shorelines, twisted lava fields, and glaciers that have been grinding away for centuries, a strange calm settles in. I’ve only ever felt it here.
We set off on a showery late-May afternoon in a sturdy 4×4 camper van. Iceland had just come off an unprecedented heatwave — five consecutive days of unseasonably mild temperatures that had everyone talking. By the time we headed toward Borgarnes, the weather had other ideas. Dark rainclouds rolled in, wind gusts shook the van, and the wipers went into overdrive. Watching wispy clouds tear across the slopes of Hafnarfjall, I reminded myself what we were here for: a 12-day expedition around the Ring Road, guided by gut instinct and whatever the locals had to say.
Small Town Life
We pulled into Borgarnes for the first of many pylsa breaks and I spotted a modest little shop called Brúartorg. Canon, Fuji, and Nikon logos decorated the sign, along with the words “gjafir, garn, myndir” — gifts, yarn, pictures. A small bell rang as we pushed the door open.
Inside, I met Elva, who has run the place with her husband for over 36 years. “Things have changed a lot,” she said, glancing around the shelves. The shop started as a traditional photo lab and gradually became something else entirely. “Ten years ago, we started selling yarn and gifts since people don’t print as many photos anymore — everything is digital now.”
Originally from Stykkishólmur, Elva has lived in Borgarnes for four decades. “It’s a good life,” she said with a smile. “We appreciate the community here. We used to know everyone, but as Borgarnes expands, it’s becoming harder to keep track.”
She’s clear on one thing: the locals aren’t looking for more than what they have. “We love it here,” she said. “Some go to Reykjavík for education — our daughter included — but they often return to lay down roots.”
The Pandemic’s Toll
Further into Borgarfjörður, we found Hverinn, a campsite and diner run by Biggi and his wife Stína, who left Reykjavík behind in 2019. “We thought we’d be slowing down,” Biggi said with a laugh. “It hasn’t turned out that way.”
The pandemic landed hard on their new venture. “It was tough,” he admitted. “Our business relies on tourism, which vanished for two years. It’s still a challenge. Loans accumulate, and interest rates have skyrocketed. Those lost years linger over us.”
Still, Biggi isn’t one to dwell. “You can’t stress over it,” he said. “Business is steady now — summers are good, winters slow, but we only close for a month. We even grow our tomatoes and carrots — there’s pride in offering something you cultivate yourself.”
When I asked if he’d ever move back, he shook his head. “Even after this, I’m not sure I’d move back to Reykjavík. It’s too fast-paced, too noisy. But you have to be open to change.” He smiled like he already knew how that sentence would land.
Horses Being Horses
On the way to Akureyri, we stopped for the night at Syðra-Skorðugil, a well-regarded horse farm with excellent lodgings. After a long soak in the hot pot, we got talking with Sophie, a young Danish stablehand who was running summer riding tours.
The owners were away at an equestrian competition nearby. “They’ll be showcasing all the gaits in various combinations,” she explained. “I don’t own an Icelandic horse, so navigating this world is still new to me. I’m used to classical dressage and natural horsemanship with my Spanish and Scottish mounts — they’re entirely different in temperament and size.”
Her face changed when she talked about watching the horses out in the open. “It’s incredible riding over the hills and witnessing herds of horses — young and old — play and bask in the sun. They roam freely, truly being horses.”
The community’s relationship with these animals, she said, runs deep. “Every conversation revolves around horses,” she laughed. “Friends visit, and it’s horses. The carpenter arrives, and it’s horses. At dinner, horses. Life is horses!”
A Stormy Day Ahead
We pushed east the next morning through driving rain. Route One cut through Öxnadalur like a black ribbon — smooth asphalt splitting green fields under a bruised sky. We pressed on through a stormy Öxnaheiði, passed Akureyri without stopping, and kept moving.
The pull was Mývatn. It’s one of those places that rewards time — trails threading through fractured lava fields, old moss, black sand, and vivid red volcanic mountains, with sea stacks rising from the water and hiking paths branching in every direction.
On one of those paths, we ran into Alessandro, wearing a neon ICE-SAR jacket on an evening walk. A teacher and Search and Rescue volunteer, he had stories. “We respond to emergency calls,” he said. “Just a few days ago, we helped someone stuck near the Hverir mud pools.”
Alessandro grew up in Madrid, and Iceland still catches him off guard sometimes. “I’ve never dealt with snowbound car issues before,” he said with a grin. “I generally manage mountain rescues. To be honest, I’m grateful for the chilly rain now — keeps the flies away.”
Rotted Wyrm
A day later we reached the shores of Lagarfljót, where the Hengifoss food truck was doing steady trade. Nicola, a newcomer from Sardinia, handed us steaming bowls of kjötsúpa and cups of sheep milk ice cream.
“Surprisingly, Iceland has been hotter than my home,” he said. “One day hit 35 degrees — it was… excessive.” Under a light drizzle, we drove the loop around Lagarfljót, its silty waters sitting calm between stretches of dense woodland and scattered campsites.
We stopped at a plaque documenting sightings of the Lagafljót wyrm — Iceland’s own Loch Ness monster. “In 1790, reliable sources reported a creature surfacing,” it read, before offering the rather deflating note that many sightings may be attributed to decaying organic material floating in the water.
Cool Rocks
One of the East’s most unexpected stops is Petra’s Stone Collection in Stöðvarfjörður — hundreds of colourful gems gathered over a lifetime by its namesake, the late Petra. We arrived late in the day with just 20 minutes to look around, and were met by Embla, a bright-eyed young woman who seemed genuinely thrilled to show people the collection.
“I’m new here, just started six days ago,” she said. “It’s been chill and rainy, but meeting people from all over is wonderful!”
Embla had lived in Reykjavík but came back to small-town life three years ago to help with her family’s coffee business. “There are so many creative individuals here,” she said. “I really love it.”
Clubs Every Night
The East went quickly, and by noon the next day we came out the far end of the Almannaskarðsgöng tunnel into sunshine and the South. The change was immediate — brightly coloured jackets at every turnoff, cars stacked up at viewpoints, the hum of tourist season in full swing. We stopped in Höfn for rock crab and langoustine soup and laughed at how loud the world suddenly felt after days of near-silence.
We found quiet again at the Hoffell Hot Pots — natural springs set into the earth, no fuss. The kiosk was run by Mattia, a young Italian who had originally planned to cycle around Iceland and somehow ended up here instead.
“It was the first job I found!” he said, still apparently amused by that fact. He still had plans to cycle around the country. “But I really love it here — the peace and surrounding nature — it’s just perfect for me.”
Old Tissues and Glaciology
We camped at Skaftafell and made the most of a rare break in the cloud to hike up to Svartifoss. Standing under those towering columns of eroded black basalt, we noticed a ranger named Ari Kristinn working the trail with a dustpan, looking mildly exasperated.
“I’m picking up trash,” he said. “A lot of tissues people mistakenly think are biodegradable. It builds up over time.”
Ari came to the ranger team at Skaftafell after university, settling into the daily work of keeping the place intact. “Visitors are particularly interested in the glacier’s history — where it used to be,” he noted.
Don’t Look Back
Back at the campsite we met Sara, another ranger who looked familiar. She had worked at Kaffibarinn in Reykjavík before COVID-19 reshuffled everything and she ended up staying in Skaftafell instead. “There’s something magical about this area,” she said — which seemed to explain a lot about why people keep gravitating back.
Heading toward Vík, the tourist surge was impossible to miss. The town that was once a quiet fishing stop now had tour buses stacked along the main street. We ducked into Skool Beans, a coffee operation running out of a refurbished U.S. school bus, and had a good chat with the barista about keeping a sense of community amid the summer rush.
At Hótel Dyrhólaey, the reception desk and dinner buffet were in full chaos mode. It was warm and filling and we were glad for both, though Sara’s words about the area’s quieter side kept drifting back to me.
I Cannot Smile
Up at the Dýrhólaey viewpoint the next morning, with Reynisfjara’s black sands spread below and Mýrdalsjökull sitting heavy on the horizon, we found Pascal, a young German photographer working carefully with his equipment. “I’m new to photography,” he admitted. “I thought — why not invest in the best gear?”
It was his first time in Iceland. He’d been out shooting the sunset the night before and was still buzzing from it. When I asked him to pose for a photo, he paused. “I cannot smile,” he said with complete sincerity — his mouth almost twitching before settling back to serious.
I’ve Seen It All
Before closing the loop, we took a detour to the Westman Islands — one last dose of the unexpected before winding down at The Brothers Brewery. Jóhanna, the bartender, had the easy manner of someone who’s seen every type of visitor walk through the door. “You can’t do anything foolish without it being known,” she laughed, then talked about how the local drinking culture has shifted over the years.
The quieter winter months are a reality they deal with head-on, but the bar isn’t going anywhere. Back on Route One, a wind warning was in effect and we let it make the decision for us — we headed back to Reykjavík a little ahead of schedule, which felt right. Iceland’s weather doesn’t negotiate.
The Ring Road was done. We felt wired and worn out and, as always, quietly altered by the whole thing.
Lux 4×4 camper provided by Go Campers — rent one at gocamper.is. Room and stable tour provided by Syðra Skörðugil — book at sydraskordugil.is. Room provided by Hótel Dyrhólaey — book at dyrholaey.is.
