Planet Iceland

Brutal and beautiful.

Iceland in the winter makes you work to enjoy it.

Grindavík during the ~30 seconds of sunlight it gets in January.

The icy stabs of Icelandic winter wind, long stretches of white, desolate landscapes, and the stoic nature of the people will have you questioning why you’re there—or, at the very least, why you didn’t listen to everyone on the internet who says you should go in the summer.

But then you’ll find yourself staring at otherworldly, awe-inspiring scenery, catching an aurora display, or soaking semi-naked in a thermal lagoon at subzero temperatures.

Then it’ll suddenly feel worth it.

Summer or fall may offer longer days and a more comfortable trip, sparing you an acute case of SAD as soon as you land. But winter transforms Iceland into something else entirely.

During a storm, when the snow mixes with the sand on Black Sand Beach, it’s like stepping into the black and white scene on the Harkonnen planet in Dune: Part Two. 

The aurora dancing above Iceland’s preternatural landscapes feels like a planetarium show—except you’re watching the very real wonders of physics and chemistry unfold before your eyes.

And walking through an ice cave formed by one of the world’s largest glaciers is like standing under the ocean after someone cast a freeze spell, leaving you the only thing moving in a frozen world.

Sure, summer, fall, or spring have their perks. You’ll likely have better road conditions that won’t leave you skidding on a 4-hour trip to your next destination in the middle of a snow storm, or less of a chance you’ll feel like you’re being smacked across the face by Mother Nature herself every time the wind blows.

But winter in Iceland has a way of compensating for its dreary quirks, and nowhere is this clearer than New Year’s Eve in Reykjavík.

Reykjavík’s NYE celebrations are known for bonfires and fireworks, but nothing can truly prepare you for the spectacular chaos of witnessing them in person.

Unlike most cities known for their fireworks displays, Reykjavík’s aren’t official or choreographed. They’re spontaneous and democratic, and engulf the entire city for hours rather than the usual 15-20 minute show.

Starting well before midnight and continuing past it, the city’s residents set off fireworks from rooftops, roadsides, intersections, and waterfronts. Driving through the city feels like witnessing a perfectly choreographed display from a drone’s POV, with fireworks bursting so close at eye level they make you flinch. The sheer horizontal, immersive scale of it is hard to wrap your mind around, most so than the the visual spectacle of the fireworks themselves.

So, challenge yourself. Go to Iceland in the dead of winter. You’ll probably regret it, but definitely won’t.