A Warm-Blooded City Meets a Cool Nordic Wonder
I found myself running to my gate – not because I was late for my flight, but because someone said there would be cake. And salsa dancers. And a DJ. And, because this is Miami, ice cream too.
Only here could an inaugural flight celebration double as a pre-boarding fiesta. Icelandair was officially launching its first Miami–Reykjavík nonstop service, complete with a ribbon-cutting ceremony, speeches from dignitaries, and the kind of airport energy that makes strangers chat like old friends.
By 6 p.m., our group – a mix of travel writers, creators, and industry folks – boarded Flight 690. There’s a particular excitement that comes with a first flight. Even the safety briefing somehow feels historic. And as we lifted off over Miami’s glow, it was hard not to think: next stop, Northern Lights.
A Soft Sunrise Over Lava Fields
We touched down in Keflavík just before sunrise, stepping into a cold so crisp it felt almost theatrical. After leaving the airport we were driving through the Reykjanes Peninsula: moss-covered lava fields, windswept cliffs, and faint steam rising from geothermal vents. Recent volcanic activity near Grindavík gave the landscape a cinematic edge – dramatic even by Icelandic standards.
Reykjavík greeted us in the soft morning light. We passed Höfði House, the site of the 1986 Reagan-Gorbachev summit, then paused at the Sun Voyager sculpture, its polished silhouette catching the early sun. Harpa Concert Hall shimmered like a prism on the waterfront, and Hallgrímskirkja’s basalt-inspired tower rose above it all like a compass needle.
We checked into The Reykjavík EDITION, a sleek anchor to the harbor. Inside, everything felt warm and intentional – Icelandic woods, soft lighting, quiet luxury. It was the perfect landing spot after an overnight flight.
Dinner that night at Tides, the EDITION’s Michelin-starred restaurant, spotlighted Icelandic ingredients with modern finesse: arctic char layered with celeriac and smoked almonds, each bite as clean and cool as the landscape outside.
A Taste of Reykjavík
The next day, Reykjavík unfolded through its cuisine. A walking food tour introduced us to Icelandic cheeses, soups, pastries, hot dogs – and yes, fermented shark that locals consider a rite of passage. The city has an easy charm: streets lined with wool shops, tiny cafés with fogged-up windows, design stores full of things you vow to bring home and then realize won’t fit in your suitcase.
After dinner at Sumac, Reykjavik’s spice-driven standout, I was convinced the city’s food scene was far bigger than its size would suggest. The lamb alone could have made the case. Icelandic lamb already has a reputation – grass-fed on open pastures, naturally seasoned by mineral-rich soil and salt-tinged air – but Sumac treated it like a passport stamp. Slow-cooked, deeply aromatic, layered with cumin, yogurt, and herbs, it arrived tasting both familiar and entirely new. Somewhere between North Africa and the Middle East, but still rooted in Iceland.
It made me rethink Reykjavík’s culinary profile. For a city that fits inside one Miami neighborhood, it cooks like a global capital: ambitious, curious, culturally fluent. There’s a kind of quiet intensity to the food here – not showy, not contrived, just driven by people who care deeply about craft.
Sumac wasn’t a lucky find or a one-off exception. By the time we finished eating, it felt like evidence of a bigger truth: Iceland is an underdiscovered food destination – not just great lamb and fish, but a constellation of restaurants that borrow and reinterpret flavors from around the world.
Southbound
The next morning, we headed south through Iceland’s Golden Circle. Geysir erupted on schedule, shooting boiling water into the air like clockwork. Gullfoss roared into its canyon with glacier-fed force. And at Friðheimar Greenhouse, we ate tomato soup among vines warmed by geothermal energy – a surreal, strangely cozy experience in the Icelandic chill.
By late afternoon we reached Hotel Rangá, a countryside lodge beloved for its stargazing, themed suites, and hot tubs overlooking miles of open landscapes. The owner, Friðrik, welcomed us like family and served dinner himself – hearty Icelandic dishes paired with stories of Hella, horses, and winters that can feel endless.
And then, as if on cue, the sky delivered.
A faint green arc appeared, then brightened, then rippled. The Northern Lights – our first sighting – draped themselves across the night like silk. No camera could capture it the way the moment felt: crisp air, quiet awe, and the soft hum of voices calling others outside.
It’s hard to believe a few hours earlier I’d been eating tomatoes in a greenhouse.
Black Sand and Waterfalls
The next day began at HorseWorld, where Icelandic horses showed off their famous tölt – the extra gait that makes riding feel more like floating.
But the real highlight? Reynisfjara, the black sand beach immortalized in Game of Thrones. The minute I saw the towering basalt columns and the brooding Atlantic waves, I fully – unapologetically – fangirled. Hard. There’s something thrilling about standing in the exact spot where fictional worlds came to life.
Seljalandsfoss, where you can walk behind the waterfall, and Skógafoss, thundering with glacier melt, added to a day of nonstop “Is this real?” moments.
Off-Roading Into the Hidden South
Our final full day brought an unexpected twist: Hilmar, our amazing guide with Activity Iceland, took us deep off-road. And I mean deep.
We climbed over rugged terrain, crossed small rivers, and descended into a valley where few visitors ever go. There, untouched black sand stretched endlessly – a hidden beach carved by shifting tides and wind. Not Reynisfjara. Not on any tour brochure. This was raw Iceland, the kind only a local like Hilmar knows how to reach.
We hiked glaciers, explored more areas used in filming Game of Thrones, and spent the morning stitching through landscapes that felt alternately lunar, icy, and ancient.
It was the kind of day you don’t get on your first trip to a country – unless you have someone who knows the side roads and the soft spots and the stories.
One Last Icelandic Glow
On our way back – only a two-hour drive to the airport – we made one final stop: Laugarás Lagoon, Iceland’s newly opened thermal spa. After days of waterfalls, wind, and glacier hikes, its warm pools and slow-paced wellness focus felt like an exhale. Steam curled into the autumn air. Conversations drifted lazily. And the group, now bonded by shared adventures (and shared snacks), soaked in the last quiet moments before the return to Miami.
With Icelandair’s new direct route – three weekly flights connecting our tropical city to the subarctic North – Iceland becomes an easy, unexpected getaway. Not for those seeking warmth, but for those seeking wonder. For travelers who want to sit in geothermal lagoons, chase waterfalls, eat tomatoes grown with volcanic heat, and sleep at countryside hotels like Rangá, where the biggest nightlife decision is whether the aurora forecast looks promising
