Þetta Reddast: Embracing Icelandic Adventures

They say in Iceland, when things go sideways, just say þetta reddast. When plans fall apart or when the “wind blows harder than your hope,” just say þetta reddast. It means: everything will work out. Somehow. Even when it feels like it won’t. (Hakuna Matata?!)

I didn’t realize how much I’d need those words when we set off for Iceland.

We started with a four-hour flight delay with flashbacks of our last hop over the pond. Thankfully, this time we didn’t get delayed 2 days. We also didn’t have to disembark three planes. However, we sure showed up exhausted before we even arrived. We landed in Keflavík under gray skies. We tried to rally, eager to find some magic. Truthfully, the town felt underwhelming. Quiet. A little lifeless. My heart sank. I found myself wondering: Is this it? Did we make a mistake coming all this way?

But Iceland had this way of revealing herself slowly, and who doesn’t love a good build up?

We got to Reykjavík and something shifted. The energy. The colors. The rhythm of the city. We walked Rainbow Street. We strolled through shops. We wandered past vibrant murals and cozy cafés. We saw adorable sweaters and outer wear that made me wish I wasn’t such a sweaty human. We visited the iconic Hallgrímskirkja church, with its silhouette slicing through the clouds. We stumbled upon a cinnamon roll that might’ve been baked by actual angels: flaky, warm, *moist* and absolutely perfect. Two other people back have verified, it was in fact the best cinnamon roll they’ve devoured as well. I remember laughing as we ate it on the curb like giddy kids. We said to each other: maybe this is going to be something special.

Þetta reddast.

The next morning, we set out for the Golden Circle like the little basic beaches we are. Geysers burst from the ground like applause as people awed at the site of such a natural phenomenon. We hiked quiet trails through Þingvellir National Park, where tectonic plates meet, and everything felt ancient but alive. We napped beside a waterfall. One of those naps that resets your nervous system and rearranges your thoughts. I basked in the sun while listening to the flow of water through rocks. My mind melted. It was just what I needed.

We soaked in natural hot springs that stretched into a steaming lake, surrounded by mountains, mist and silence. Everywhere we turned, Iceland offered proof that beauty doesn’t always announce itself loudly. The more imperfect something was, the richer it seemed. That wonder lives in quiet details. That exploration leads to expansion: mind, body & soul. Even if you feel uncertain, you might be on the verge of something breathtaking. Especially, when you’re unsure how to read signs or can tell if you’re even going the right way. Thankfully, our cell serviced worked well enough to follow Maps majority of the time.

From Reykjavík, we packed up the car and began the drive toward Vík, Iceland’s dreamy southern edge. On the way, the land opened up in a way I didn’t know was possible. It was like driving through a twisted fairy tale. The beginning of “the more I saw, the more I fell in love.” Poetically perfect for my heart!

We stopped first at Seljalandsfoss, where you can walk behind the waterfall as it pours like silk over a mossy cliffside. The spray soaked us, but we laughed, wind-whipped and wide-eyed. Again, being a kid and enjoying getting wet rather than worrying about my hair or make up. The downpour cleansed me from the inside out.

Then came Skógafoss. Towering, thunderous, ancient. After a real life stair master experience, we hiked above the falls, climbing past one cascade after another. I couldn’t believe how empty the trail was. Peak season, and yet… we were alone with the sky and the water and the wind. (Plus, some sheep and mountain goats!) That’s something I noticed about Iceland, even in the presence of grandeur, there’s still space to breathe. It never felt crowded, rushed, or performative. Just raw, real beauty waiting quietly for you to arrive. The total opposite of the US.

Next stop: Dyrhólaey and the Black Sand Beach, where the cliffs drop dramatically into charcoal waves and puffins nest. I had a surreal moment when a famous photo I’d seen came to life right before my eyes. Beauty was continually coming to life, and I was moving with it. We watched the pretty puffin’s flap their tiny wings against the wind, comical and majestic all at once. One of our main goals was to see a puffin up close. (We are bird people, okay?!)

We were blessed with seeing four up close and captured their personality on film. Nature doesn’t try to impress you in Iceland, it just does. And you’re better for witnessing it. Her full range is impressive. Mars one moment, mossy forest the next. Lava fields. Lush green valleys. Bare, windswept mountains. It was otherworldly and grounding all at once.

In Vík, we wandered the beach, let the cool rainy mist kiss our faces, and gave ourselves permission to chill. Just be. We grabbed a bite and leisurely enjoyed our meal without being rushed by staff or societal standards. They had a great NA option we love: Gull Lite! Vegan options were also very common in most places we visited. However, a lot of places shut the kitchen down by 8 or 9, so we did endure some struggle there.

And still, through all of it: þetta reddast. Even when the weather shifted, or we missed a turn, couldn’t find dinner, or our energy dipped… everything worked out. Better than we could’ve planned.

The next day, we headed east toward Glacier Lagoon. A beautiful place where icebergs float like sleeping giants. It’s my new favorite place as someone who runs hot. We saw seals resting with one being very injured. My self talk even started to shift at this point. I thought, “he will be ok. He’s tough. He will make it through this.” CALL ME A LOCAL NOW, thanks!

Jökulsárlón is fed by Iceland’s largest glacier, Vatnajökull, cloaked in layers of volcanic ash and time. The contrast between white ice and black grit made me feel small in the best way. Earth in motion. Time made visible. I learned the bluer the glacier, the fresher the break. A scar that hadn’t yet dulled with age. There was something oddly moving about that. An old lyric came to mind: “beauty in the breakdown.”

That afternoon, we laced up our boots and hiked Múlagljúfur Canyon. Its name sounds like something from a fantasy novel. Rightfully so. (Every day felt like a fantasy novel here.) The trail was steep. The kind that burns your legs and humbles your lungs and heart rate. (Zone 5!) But the higher we climbed, the more the landscape unfolded. Glaciers in the distance. Waterfalls cascading from impossible heights. Green cliffs falling into blue silence. Breathtaking. And yes, this image deserves full space.

Hard? Yes. But worth it? A thousand times over.

And again, þetta reddast. It always does. Even when you’re out of breath. Even when your thighs are shaking. Even when you doubt if you’re strong enough to make it.

Iceland seems to mirror life in that way. When you’re willing to keep going, it reveals what you couldn’t see from the bottom.

After the beautiful heights of Múlagljúfur Canyon, we made our way back toward Vík again. On that drive, we counted thirty-two waterfalls. Thirty-two. Some just tumbling off cliffs like silver ribbons, others gushing with drama. It felt like the Earth couldn’t help but pour herself out in every direction. We are reminded that so much is happening all the time without us. Our perspective is zilch in the grand scheme of things.

We rolled into Vík again, slower this time. We wandered, rested, let the beauty digest. It’s funny how returning to the same place twice can feel completely different. The second time, you’re softer, changed. You’re more open. That’s the beauty of travel in itself.

Next, we headed back to Reykjavík. We took our time, stopping along the way when something called to us (which, in Iceland, is often. Caves, petting horses, viewpoints, etc). there’s always something down a lonely road.

Back in the city, we explored more of what we missed the first time around. We discovered more adorable (albeit similar) shops and alleyways that felt like secrets. We found quiet cafés tucked between old buildings and bold murals.

We also stopped in a cozy bookstore. I found a book titled InnSæi: the Icelandic word for intuition. It is often translated as “the sea within.” I was instantly pulled to it. Halfway through now, and it’s speaking directly to the part of me that’s been learning to trust life more deeply. That same part that understands: þetta reddast isn’t just optimism. It’s a way of seeing. That even in the wild, the weird, the uncertain, there’s a current of support. A rhythm underneath the chaos. A sea within. Within the Earth and within our souls.

The Icelandic Phallological Museum charmed us with its cheeky brilliance. It also offered a surprisingly delicious drink served in a very “exciting” memorable glassware. We sent photos to our friends, none were surprised. We stopped at FlyOver Iceland. It’s more than just a ride, it’s a full body immersion into Iceland’s heart and history. The film was stunning. However, what stuck with me most was the spirit of the culture they shared. It was grounded, mystical, and communal. They are so damn tough, it’s admirable. So different from the rush and prove energy back home. Iceland’s energy is more like: be still and listen. Let the land speak and learn from it.

Þetta reddast.

On our last day, we gave ourselves the gift of the Sky Lagoon. Bougie? Absolutely. Worth every second? Without question.

We did the Skjol Sky Ritual, a seven step cycle that felt like a sacred spa ceremony. Cold plunges, steam, saunas, and salt scrubs that melted into the skin. It was pure indulgence and restoration. I bought a jar of that magical salt to bring the ritual home with me. I’m hoping to replicate the silky smooth skin effect it had. We ended with an Icelandic crowberry drink, tart and herbal and perfect. Again, plenty of alcohol free options. Another quiet nod to Iceland’s thoughtful way of doing things for all the humans.

That last night in Reykjavík, we didn’t rush. We just wandered. Let the city hold us one more time. Laughed a little louder. Watched the light stretch longer than it should, staying up late with it. Soaked in the magic one more time.

Because here’s what Iceland teaches you:

You don’t have to force it.

You don’t have to know what’s next.

You just have to keep going.

Hard to say goodbye? Of course. Not just to the country, but to the version of myself I met here. The one who didn’t need to rush and constantly adjust. Who let herself be held by moss covered cliffs, hot water, and stillness. The one who believed even more, that life might just keep working out.

Even the final stretch tested us. Of course! Figuring out the rental car return was a bit of a puzzle (do you leave the keys? Where’s the drop zone? Are we even in the right place?!), but in classic Icelandic fashion…

Þetta reddast.

Somehow, always, it works out.

We boarded the plane feeling full. Grateful. Changed.

And as the clouds swallowed the coastline behind us, I read my Innsaei book and thought to myself…

Þetta reddast.

Thank you, Iceland. I’ll be back.