We flew to Iceland expecting glaciers, waterfalls, and postcard-perfect views. We came home talking about flies, a rogue wave, endless daylight, and a suitcase that nearly stole the show. Looking back, it was the unexpected moments that made us fall in love with Iceland.
The Iceland I Didn’t Expect (And Honestly, That’s Why I Loved It)
People always ask the same question when they find out we’ve been to Iceland.
“So… how was it?”
I should probably answer by talking about the waterfalls first. Or the glaciers. Or those dramatic landscapes that look like they’re straight out of a movie. Those are the things Iceland is famous for, after all.
Instead, I usually say something like, “Can I tell you about the flies?”
Somehow that’s always where the story begins.
Then I tell them about the wave that soaked my shoes on a black sand beach, even though I thought I was standing at a perfectly safe distance. I tell them how we spent almost every evening trying to convince our son it was bedtime while the sun stubbornly refused to set. And if they’re still listening, which thankfully most people are, I finish with the suitcase that decided to lock all of our medicine inside… on a Sunday… in the middle of nowhere.
Those aren’t the moments I expected to remember when we booked this trip.
I imagined ourselves standing in front of waterfalls, hiking across glaciers, spotting puffins, and breathing the freshest air we’d ever known. And don’t get me wrong, all of those things happened. Iceland was every bit as breathtaking as we’d hoped.
But when I look back now, the moments that make me smile aren’t always the big attractions. They’re the little detours, the unexpected mishaps, and the stories that seemed mildly inconvenient at the time but somehow became funnier every time we retold them.
Maybe that’s what family travel is really about.
The places get you on the plane.
The stories are what come home with you.
So if you’re looking for a detailed guide on what to do in Iceland, this probably isn’t it. But if you’ve got a cup of coffee and a few minutes to spare, let me tell you about the Iceland I didn’t expect.
Everyone Says July Is the Warmest Month…
Before every trip, I become a slightly obsessive researcher. My browser history turns into a strange collection of weather forecasts, packing lists, Google Maps screenshots, and random travel forums where someone named “MountainGoat87” confidently claims that waterproof socks changed their life. By the time we boarded our flight, I felt pretty prepared.
Every article seemed to agree on one thing.
July is the warmest month to visit Iceland. Perfect. Cool enough to be comfortable. Long daylight hours. Ideal for a family road trip.
What absolutely nobody prepared me for…
…was the flies. Not giant, terrifying flies that belong in a horror movie. Just tiny, determined little things that seemed to appear every time I stopped to admire the view.
Picture this.
You’ve just pulled over because the scenery is impossibly beautiful. There are green mountains in one direction, waterfalls in another, and the kind of fresh air that makes you instinctively take a deeper breath. You came to your airbnb room…
…and immediately start waving your hands around like you’re directing planes at the airport.
That became my signature move in Iceland.
Stop the car.
Admire the scenery. Go home.
Swat.
Take a photo.
Swat again.
Smile.
Swat one more time.
At one point I caught myself laughing because I must have looked ridiculous. There I was, standing in one of the most beautiful countries in the world, enthusiastically losing an argument with insects.
The funny thing is, I don’t even remember being annoyed anymore. Now, whenever I look at those photos, I remember the tiny dance I was doing just outside the frame. Looking back, I think the flies were Iceland’s way of saying, “Welcome. Things might not go exactly as you planned.” As it turned out, they were absolutely right.
The Sun Apparently Doesn’t Believe in Bedtime
If the flies were Iceland’s welcome committee, then the midnight sun was its greatest magic trick. I’d read about it before we left, so I knew the days would be long. But reading about nearly 24 hours of daylight and actually living through it are two completely different experiences.
Your brain simply refuses to believe what your eyes are seeing. The clock would say it was almost nine o’clock at night. Outside, it looked like the perfect time for a picnic.
Now imagine trying to explain that to a child. Every evening turned into the same conversation.
“It’s bedtime.” Our son would look out the window, then look back at us with complete confidence.
“But it’s still daytime.”
Honestly… He had a solid case. The sunshine pouring through the window wasn’t exactly supporting our argument. We found ourselves closing the curtains, dimming the lights, and pretending the bright blue sky outside didn’t exist.
By the third night, I almost started questioning the clock myself. Surely it couldn’t be bedtime already? It still looked like the middle of the afternoon.
One evening, I remember standing outside after dinner, soaking in the light and thinking how strange it felt that my body wanted to keep exploring while the clock insisted the day was over. There was something wonderfully confusing about it. Iceland has a way of making you lose track of time. Not because you’re busy. Because nature quietly rewrites the rules you’re used to living by.
By then, I probably should have realized that Iceland wasn’t interested in following my expectations. It kept replacing them with better stories.
Iceland Has a Funny Way of Keeping You Humble
By the time we reached Reynisfjara, Iceland’s famous black sand beach, I was feeling pretty confident. I’d already read the warning signs about sneaker waves. I knew they could be dangerous, so I wasn’t planning to go anywhere near the water. I’d even congratulated myself on being the sensible tourist.
From where I was standing, the waves looked… calm. Not tiny, but certainly not dramatic enough to make me nervous. I decided it was the perfect moment to film one of those slow, cinematic videos. You know the kind. Start with your feet, slowly pan toward the ocean, capture the black sand, and pretend you’ve accidentally become a travel filmmaker. For about five seconds, everything was going beautifully.
Then Iceland reminded me whose beach it was. I never saw the wave coming.
One moment I was admiring the view. The next, icy water rushed over my shoes, soaked my socks, and packed black sand neatly inside my sneakers as if it had every intention of coming home with me. There wasn’t a dramatic crash or some movie-style moment where everyone screamed. It happened so quickly that all I could do was stand there, look down at my soaking wet shoes, and laugh.
Lesson learned. In Iceland, calm doesn’t always mean safe. And nature doesn’t need to be loud to remind you who’s in charge.
Sometimes the Best Decision Is Turning Around
One place I was genuinely excited to visit was Sólheimajökull Glacier. The weather, however, had different plans. The rain had turned the rocky path slippery enough that every step felt like a decision. We looked ahead. We looked at each other. And we turned around.
At first it felt disappointing. A few minutes later, we watched another car get stuck on the same rocky road we’d just decided not to continue. Suddenly turning back felt less like giving up and more like good judgment.
Iceland Is Beautiful…
…and sometimes almost too beautiful.
Hours of driving past green fields, lava landscapes, waterfalls, and mountains somehow became oddly hypnotic. The scenery never got boring. The road did. Long straight highways have a funny way of making you appreciate coffee stops.
I Think My Lungs Needed This Vacation Too
I don’t know if it’s scientifically possible. But I swear my lungs felt cleaner.
Maybe it was the waterfalls.
Maybe it was the lack of traffic.
Maybe I’d simply forgotten what really fresh air feels like.
Either way, every deep breath felt like a free upgrade.
The Little Things I’ll Remember Most
Yes, we found puffins.
Yes, we fed the fluffiest Icelandic horses I’d ever seen.
Yes, we stopped at tiny elf houses and somehow stopped questioning why they were there.
And yes, one of my favorite coffee stops came from a bright yellow school bus parked in the middle of nowhere.
Those probably weren’t the biggest attractions. They were simply the moments that made the trip feel ours.
Horror Story… I’ve Lost Count
By the second half of the trip I’d stopped counting the unexpected adventures.
The latest? Our suitcase refused to open.
Not in Reykjavík. Not on a weekday.
In the middle of nowhere. On a Sunday.
With all of our medicine safely locked inside. Perfect timing.
After an impressive amount of Googling, pressing random buttons, and politely asking the suitcase to cooperate, it finally opened. I’ve never been so happy to see a blister pack of medicine.
A Little Catch-Up Before You Go
Before this trip, I thought I knew what Iceland would be. I pictured waterfalls, glaciers, black sand beaches, and maybe a few puffins if we were lucky.
And yes, we found all of those. But those aren’t the first things I think about now.
I think about swatting away tiny flies while laughing at how unprepared we were.
I think about standing in broad daylight at 11 p.m., wondering if we’d ever feel sleepy again.
I think about turning back from a glacier because nature had other plans, and realizing that not every trip has to go exactly as planned to be unforgettable.
I even think about our suitcase arriving home looking like it had survived its own Icelandic adventure.
Somehow, those imperfect little moments became the stories I tell the most. That’s probably what travel does. You leave expecting to collect landmarks. Instead, you come home collecting stories.
And Iceland? It gave us plenty of both.
Until next time… Thanks for catching up with me. 🍅
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