How Tourism Has Shaped Icelandic Culture: A Subtle Shift
Everyone agrees tourism has changed Icelandic culture. The harder thing is putting your finger on exactly how. It shows up in small moments — a glance across a restaurant, the feel of a room. Sometimes you’re just another raincoat in the queue, waiting to hear about the arctic char special or get reminded about the “shower first” rule at the local pool.
But then something real breaks through. That quality, more than anything, is what drew me to settle here. When there are fewer people around, each person seems to matter more. There’s room to breathe, room to actually talk to someone. What people say and do registers, rather than dissolving into background noise. Maybe it’s a holdover from before Iceland became a city, or maybe it’s just island logic. Either way, it’s a genuinely warm feeling — one that sticks with you.
Echoes of Community in Vestmannaeyjar
A lot of southern Iceland has lost that quality, but walking into the town pool at Vestmannaeyjabær — Heimaey’s centrepiece — is like stepping back into something older. The pool guard greets you with a smile, a flicker of mild surprise that you’ve turned up at all. In the corridors, locals drift past trailing small children, nodding at strangers as though they half-recognise them. In the hot pot, people shift to make space and say hello. These small gestures add up to something — an unspoken web of neighbourliness that feels like Iceland before it became a destination.
Navigating the Tourist Footprint
Vestmannaeyjar handles visitors well. Whether that’s down to the community’s closeness or simple geography — only so many ferry spaces, campsite spots, and beds — it’s hard to say. Most tourists get funnelled towards Vík anyway, which keeps things manageable here.
During our stay, a cruise ship dropped anchor, which produced some memorable scenes. One bright morning I stepped out of the camper van to find a golf ball sitting at my feet. To my right, every hole on the local golf course had been taken over by cruise passengers doing their best to hit straight in the coastal wind.
Later, hiking up the Eldfell volcano — an obvious tick on the cruise itinerary — we fell in step with a cheerful stream of elderly Americans in fluorescent jackets, calling out greetings at every switchback.
The View from the Summit
We hung back halfway up to let the selfie rush pass, then carried on to the top. It was worth waiting for. To the north, the Icelandic coastline stretched out rough and dark, glaciers half-swallowed by cloud while the rest of the sky stayed blue. Below, the black lava field from the infamous 1973 eruption ran right up to the edges of Vestmannaeyjabær — the town looking small between the sea and the cliffs, which were packed with seabirds. Eldfell is more of a stiff walk than a proper hike, but the summit pays you back.
Discovering Local Delights
Back in town there’s plenty to keep you occupied. Vestmannaeyjabær has a football field, a museum dedicated to the volcanic eruption, and The Brothers Brewery, which turns out a solid range of beers brewed on the island — and pulls a respectable pint of Guinness, if that’s what you‘re after.
The beluga sanctuary has drawn attention far beyond Iceland. Walking up to the large building by the harbour, we assumed the whales would be outside; in fact they were sheltered inside from the weather. Through the doors, Little Grey and Little White were doing slow laps in their tank. When Little White came over and pressed up against the glass to look at us, it was one of those encounters that’s difficult to describe after the fact.
Culinary Delights Await
Vestmannaeyjar punches well above its weight for food. Kráin does excellent fish and chips — with a free cup of mushroom soup while you wait, which is a nice touch. For something more considered, Næs offers a polished dinner with a menu that takes local ingredients seriously. The halibut crudo and pan-fried wolffish with tart apple were both outstanding, and the server made a point I’ve heard echoed elsewhere: “In many places in Iceland, the fish is usually frozen. But not here.”
Næs is the younger sibling of Slippurinn, which is now in its final season. I was lucky enough to get a table for the nine-course tasting menu — a meal built entirely around Chef Gísli Matt’s affection for the Westman Islands. Blue guillemot shell holding delicate egg yolk custard. Thyme-infused lamb with earthy celeriac and a velvety cheese sauce. Course after course of that calibre. On the way out I told the waiter, only half joking, that I might never eat lamb that good again.
What Næs does well is hard to separate from what the islands do well — a sense of place that comes through in the food without being forced. It tastes like an older Iceland, but it doesn’t feel stuck there.
Camper van provided by Go Campers. Check them out [here].
