24 hours in Reykjavik: A perfect day of sunshine, viking posers, and sleep deprivation

Departing less than a day after arriving in a new country should be a crime. Especially if the country is Iceland, with its vast and wild terrain, ferocious volcanoes and roaring waterfalls that have long captivated my fascination. 

When I found a flight from London to the US that included a 24-hour layover in Reykjavik, it was too enticing of an opportunity to turn down. I figured that it would have to quench my thirst for an Icelandic adventure for now. Luckily, time was on my side, as I happened to be passing through the land of the midnight sun on one of the longest days of the year.

4pm: The joy of missing out

I rarely plan much beyond my first night’s accommodation when traveling so it’s only while standing in Keflavik International Airport’s immigration line that I eagerly look up reservations for the (overplayed) Blue Lagoon from my phone. No availability for today, tomorrow, or the coming few weeks. There goes my vision of soaking in Iceland’s famed thermal pools along with every other tourist.

6pm: Dinner for one, thank you

My disappointment quickly vanishes once I leave the airport, being swiftly booted out of mind by none other than hunger. I’m intrigued by unusual cuisine and am determined to taste some of Iceland’s local delicacies. I land at Grillmarkadurinn, an underground restaurant specializing in contemporary takes on traditional dishes, inspired by the Icelandic land and sea. 

As I’m deep in the process of savoring my smoked arctic char, I’m interrupted by my server. “Sorry miss, this is for you,” she apologizes and drops a folded piece of paper on my table. I apprehensively unfold the note to read the words “Let’s not dine alone. Come join my table ☺” scrawled across it. My fears are confirmed. The other solo diner in this dimly lit establishment—a dark-haired gentleman more than a decade my senior—has invited me to join him. While I thoroughly enjoy meeting new people on my travels, I also quite enjoy dining alone, particularly in favor of an awkward pseudo-date in which I want no part. 

10pm: A run-in with vikings

I emerge from the dark, cave-like restaurant into full sunlight around 10pm. There is something quite disorienting and yet incredibly satisfying about nights that aren’t discernible from mornings. I wander through Reykjavik’s storybook streets lined with buildings painted in bright colors, eager to see what characters and adventures I stumble across. Local watering holes are usually a good place to start. 

I find a corner pub, order an overpriced pint of average Icelandic ale, and slurp it down with satisfaction as I observe my fellow bargoers. Among the predictable suspects are a surprising number of people clad in metal Viking hats, capes and fur cloaks. I know this is a Nordic country with some notably quirky habits, but isn’t Viking dress outdated by at least a few centuries?

A pair of American guys sit down next to me: “Hello! Where are you from? What brings you to Iceland?”

“Seattle. Just passing through on a layover, I’m afraid. And you?” 

“We’re from D.C., and have been road-tripping around the island for a week. Today we stumbled across a Viking festival!”

The mystery is solved. Apparently, each year in June, a Viking Festival takes place in the neighboring town of Hafnarfjörður. The town transforms into a Middle Age commune complete with markets selling Viking ware, thematic feasts of pig roasts, and traditional games like axe throwing and Viking battles. 

Midnight: Sidewalks, seashores, and sunsets

After another round of beers, I hit the bright, midnight streets of Reykjavik with the two American-posing-as-vikings from the bar. Icelanders are congregated in squares and on sidewalks, drinking, laughing and relishing this everlasting daylight. We take a seat on the edge of a seawall and watch the waves lap at volcanic rocks. 

“The midnight sunset is incredible, isn’t it?” comments one of my new friends. 

I pull my sweater closely around me to shield myself from the winds. Willing myself to overcome my aversion to brisk temperatures, I watch in awe as the midnight sun slowly dips into the gray-blue waters, tinting the clouds a tangerine pink in the dimming sky that never grows fully dark.

A walk on the boardwalk is a fantastic way to combat sleep deprivation. The brisk morning air whistles across the moody sea while I amble through the Old Harbour lined with sailboats.

2am: A day worth celebrating

We continue to wander and are soon drawn to loud beats pulsating from a club. The energy is palpable in this space filled with sleekly dressed Icelanders throwing back drinks and lounging around tables with buckets of iced champagne. “Come join our table!” a well-suited Icelander welcomes us. “Let’s take a shot, it’s our National Day!” 

Turns out that today, June 17, isn’t only one of the longest days of the year. It’s also Iceland’s National Day which commemorates the day Iceland was established as a republic in 1944. After dancing for as long as my feet will move and my eyes will stay open, I make my way back to my hotel. I lay my head down on my pillow against the backdrop of a fully lit sky.

9am: A time for tourism

A walk on the boardwalk is a fantastic way to combat sleep deprivation. The brisk morning air whistles across the moody sea while I amble through the Old Harbour lined with sailboats. To keep warm, I duck into modern clothing and concept stores oozing Icelandic minimalistic chic and cozy up in an eclectic café for tea.

Following breakfast, I head to one of Reykjavik’s most iconic landmarks: Hallgrímskirkja. This Lutheran church, built in the 1980s, sets itself apart from pretty much any other Lutheran church you can imagine. I stare up in curious awe at the sharp, winged edges of the towering structure, which happens to be the tallest building in Reykjavik’s skyline.

2pm: A lobster roll worth every penny

From Hallgrimskjykja, I head towards Harpa Concert Hall, home to Iceland Symphony Orchestra and another contemporary Icelandic architectural wonder. The panes of rainbow-colored glass catch the light and reflect in the surrounding water. Once inside, I climb winding stairs and stare out over the Reykjavik skyline into the vast sea encircled by mountains.

Hungry again, I grab a lobster roll from a street vendor that I had been eyeing for hours. I savor each bite of the rich, sinfully delicious sandwich, which may just be the most expensive street food I’ve ever had. After licking my hands clean and bidding farewell to the decidedly charming and mildly peculiar town center, I begrudgingly make my way to the shuttle station to catch my bus to the airport.

4pm: It’s not ‘goodbye,’ it’s ‘see ya later’

I leave just as I arrived, my face pressed against the window of the bus, mesmerized by a lone white house sitting atop grassy meadows springing up through the ashen rock, a scene which soon fades into the crashing sea. I am slightly annoyed at myself for not booking a longer layover—but decide that perhaps it was just enough to inspire my next trip to this storied island. I need some sleep anyway.