Nothing prepares you for the bracing cold of Iceland in winter.

The wind slices straight through you and attempts to shelter away from this frigid attack are futile, as the wind whips from all directions at once.

I thought I was being collected by the van rental company (Northbound) as soon as I made it though immigration but I stood there in that intense freeze for nearly two hours, before the company thought to come and unite me with my home on wheels.

[You can calculate your potential fuel costs here using this link].

They [Northbound] were actually A M AZ I N G - it was just that I had not noticed them looking for me! My bad.

A late start though!

Keflavik airport is about 30 minutes drive from Icelands capital city, Reykjavik. The entire country has a little over 400,000 people so we can hardly call it a city - rather a large town with a commanding view out onto the wild North Sea. I found a camping spot in the town rather than heading out - given that I had lost several hours in the arrival process, I was eager to eat and settle in for the afternoon, as being after two in the afternoon that I landed, I did not arrive in the capital until the early evening.

Camping grounds in Iceland are common, and are the only way you can stay in mobile or temporary accommodation on wheels.

Here is a second link for camping grounds in Iceland.

It is illegal and heavily frowned upon, as well as being a heavily fined offence, to freedom camp in the country. Consequently, most camping spots are extremely well - equipped, including piping hot powerful showers, large warm kitchen areas complete with cooking equipment (not all had this), and access to some of the best hot pools and hiking in the land. A steaming hot shower was a welcome treat for me. I had set up my van after navigating the self-booking and passcode system into the only camp site in Reykjavik itself, parking in a quiet spot (lets face it, in March there was not a rush on camp spots)- and had become cold in the process.

I was glad I had thought to bring my hot water bottle - as a steaming hot shower, followed closely by dinner and a hot water bottle inside my sleeping bags and duvets, was much anticipated and a small luxury that I came to appreciate time and time again as I drove campsite to campsite in Iceland. The free geothermal powered showers were out of this world good. No limits to hot water and a lack of people braving the far northern spring-come-winter, I could wallow in the hot water for as long as I desired.

After a fantastic nights sleep, I woke early, wrapped myself up within several warm layers, and walked into town on the hunt for coffee. I visited the famous cat cafe and explored the quaint streets of the islands capital.

I was pleasantly surprised to to find Reykjavik’s main shopping street to be littered with an excellent array of outdoor clothing and equipment shops.

This was my kinda town.

The kind of place where you could wander freely in full outdoor gear get-up and not be looked at like some sort of weirdo.

What a town. Albeit a cold town.

I decided to stay another night - there was a great vibe I wished to marinate in for a bit longer (and it also suited me to build up my courage to head into the hinterlands, for a little longer).

Reykjavik-Borganes: Driving north then west from Reykjavik, I headed towards the Snaefellsness Peninsula. My heart of hearts wanted to go into the West Fjords but I did not have an F-road vehicle and many of the roads were still closed. As I wanted to drive around the island in a clockwise direction, it made sense to head to one of the most popular areas in Iceland first.

I drove out of the city and out into the mountain clad highway - the famous R1 ring road - pretty much the only road you could drive right around the country. The wind whipped at my wee home on wheels, rocking it from side to side, unsettling me somewhat and making me think again about getting out to photograph the ethereal white-blasted scenery. I opted on many occasions, for the ‘image from the car seat ‘ method of capturing a view, and I longed more and more to be walking amongst the gigantic scenery, but the cold was simply too severe to consider this especially with the bitingly strong polar winds also.

I was finding myself less and less willing to be subjected to the forces of nature outside my little warm cocoon.

I stopped at the famous church - Búðakirkja, also known as the Black Church at Búðira - a solid stalwart against the environment amidst a tumble of eroded volcanic rock covered in moss, and a backdrop of steep glaciated mountains. I wondered why people chose to erect churches in the most eerily lonely places, as if to add to their already isolated position at the top of the planet - echoing a kind of stoicism against the harsh elements.

Driving the peninsula with the wind speed increasing, I was battling against snowdrifts which threatened to blow me into the ditch.

As the day wore on I became increasingly aware of needing to park in a legitimate camping spot, and I found my car wifi would not provide the locations, let alone once I did find them; they were gated off, allowing no access. I had no choice but to continue onwards in the hope I would find somewhere OR risk camping illegally. I wondered if anyone would be foolish enough (apart from me) to be out and about in this weather and that maybe I could get away with it. Really … would the camping police actually be out in this maelstrom?

The Snaefellsness Peninsula was proving challenging driving, and I had wanted to slow my journey around this arm of the island but with deep snow in places; bitter strong wind; I decided to drive directly to the town near the famed Kirkjufell mountain, Grundarfjörður, and camp there.

I trundled slowly through the town like a cowboy in a western - instead of tumble weed crossing my path, drifts of fresh snow blew across the bonnet of my van, blurring my vision and creating an effect only seen in Hollywood movies. I located the campground below a small local ski field sporting a single hopeful looking rope tow, and backed my van into a small single vehicle space inside layers of packed snow which had formed a frozen room - like atmosphere.

The campground was the most miserable place I had been to on the planet - no working toilet or kitchen area and a slippery path to both meaning simply getting there required an ice axe and crampons to safety make the five metre distance from the van.

It was promising to be a grim outlook for the night.

Two other campers were squeezed into the snow-laden parking spot next to me and it was not looking likely that a comfortable night was in store.

I was truly FREEZING.

I decided to walk to a hotel (The Old Post Office Guest House) I had seen on my way in to the town and go for a warm bed and shower with an inside working loo instead. I told myself I would do it just once. I called the owner on a phone placed in the entrance and explained my predicament, hoping for a cheap small but warm bed with a lovely warm Icelandic shower. Alas no rooms in my price range - the cheapest bring 25,000kr - approx $300 NZD, for the night. Deflated, I succumbed to the knowing of an icy retreat inside my van with no chance to even boil water to heat my hot water bottle - the wind was so strong I could not even light my gas cooker!.

The owner, seeing my sunken composure, then explained to me that her daughter owned an Airbnb and she invited me to stay for FREE as a customer had vacated and if I didn’t mind just using my sleeping bag I could stay as long as I liked.

I waited on the road while her daughter Marta walked to meet me. She warmly invited me with a broad open smile, to make use of her air BnB, encouraging me to stay as long as I liked. The wee apartment was warm, with a huge bathroom sporting a strong hot shower, comfortable beds, a small kitchenette and ample room to relax.

I have never felt more overwhelmed and grateful in my life.

True trust and hospitality does actually exist! As it turned out, luckily for me, Marta and her Columbian husband Jan, owned the towns best cafe - The Valeria Cafe’. A small eclectic oasis in an otherwise grim world, with great coffee. In my world it equated to H E A V E N.

They roasted columbian beans, exported from Columbia where Jan’s family lived. They used this also as a chance to support the small mountainside community in Columbia not only through the beans but by importing crafts made by locals which were sold in the Valeria Cafe. I drank coffee, I photographed the famous ‘witches hat’ of Kirkjufell mountain, longed for hiking into the surrounding mountains and explored further into the peninsula in my van when the weather erased up slightly. I photographed Marta’s cafe for her, and took notes for a future article.

I fell in love with the place.

I should have stayed longer. Two nights was not enough. Marta invited me to stay longer - but the road was calling and her hospitality really had been too much already.

I made a friend.

I stayed two nights in that cute small town, also taking a day trip to a Secret life of Walter Mitty filming location on the coast - Stykkishólmur. I saw furry wind-blown Icelandic horses huddled together to mitigate the cutting icy blade of the stiff ‘breeze’; I drove next to frozen lakes; snow-clad viking-esque mountains, deep glacier-carved valleys, solitary churches and long lonely roads strangled in snow-drift.

This was a place like no other.

I reluctantly said farewell and drove out of town towards the ring road bound for Akureyri, only to discover it was closed due to snow and ice - my hopes of completing the circuit would be dashed.

I had no choice but to drove south west to Borganes again.

I drove through a gravel road (the R54) to Borganes, stopping every now and then to capture the achingly raw remote landscape. Ok. Me and my little van - we would have to come back. I slept the best I have ever slept in that wee black oasis that night in the Borganes camping spot. Facing out into the estuary, with no one in sight, I watched a golden setting sun spreading warmth and saturated colours over the surrounding landscape. I cooked my evening meal and drank a glass of white wine, savouring the moment and sitting squarely in it.

Marinated in golden light, the simplicity of living and cooking there was pure delight.

I decided if the weather improved and the road had opened the next morning, I would indeed continue north.

The non-north continuation:

North was not to happen - and if I was to wallow in disappointment, I would potentially miss out on the southern coast due to having to limit my time along that stretch of landscape. It transpired that the southern coast (typically one of the most popular areas of Iceland), was a veritable glut of waterfalls, mossy dramatic canyons, mountains and all of the good things a singular main road on a volcanic glacier covered expanse could offer.

On my way south I stopped at Icelands longest waterfall, Glymurfoss, located in Hvalfjörður fjord in the west, with a height of 198 meters. I hiked up a lonely trail skirting the steep deep valley where the frozen fall disappeared into. I could not see the bottom of it - such was the depth of the canyon it tumbled into in great icy shards. This Fjord was utterly stunning - with a glassy surface, it reflected the surrounding mountains, imbibing an aura of calm.

Aside from the Walter Mitty movie, the other cinematic foray into Iceland that strongly influenced my decision to get to Iceland, was ‘Bokeh” - a post-apocalyptic sombre movie set on the island, which show-cased it through melancholic cinematography. One of the scenes in the movie depicted a natural hot springs pool - something Iceland is famous for, and even produces maps of all the natural springs around the island. I decided I wanted to visit the pool from Bokeh - it was such a striking scene in the movie that I knew I needed to see it with my own eyes. Located off the south coast near Seljavallalaug, the spring is accessed from a carpark near a small collection of houses, from where a short trail meanders through a steep-walled valley following a broad stream gently upwards.

It is a strange vision to come across this man-made pool in the middle of nowhere - a truly surreal experience to strip bare and soak in the murky green waters, warming ones bones, surrounded by snow-capped peaks. I felt as if I had earned the soak also - these pools in Iceland take on an emblematic meaning compared to the hot pool experience in New Zealand.

Stopping at the famous Skógafoss, I hiked for around three hours up behind it while crowds of people stood below in awe of its magnificent curtain of spray. Rainbows fleetingly danced through the delicate spray, fooling one into thinking that perhaps the sun might come out to stay for a while, whilst busloads of people pushed and positioned themselves in front of the wall of white for the best shot. And this was late winter - early spring.

I shuddered to think what the summer would bring.

I ventured behind by climbing the trail which lead up to a viewing platform above Skógafoss - by far in my opinion, the better falls were behind this famous body of water - in the form of at least eight other large impressive drops coursing through narrow snow-lined canyons over precipitous drop-offs. A narrow trail skirted the canyon on the gentle ascent, offering views down and across the Skógá River, culminating in the Fimmvörðuháls Pass, a mountain pass between the Eyjafjallajökull and Mýrdalsjökull Glaciers.

This stunning hike offered me views of volcanic areas, and unique geological formations and can be also hiked to Þórsmörk, the famous area accessible only during the summer months. As I climbed higher, the snow beneath my feet thicker and I knew I would need to turn back.

It felt good to move.

I camped there that night in the falls carpark camping ground. It was free and offered a basic camping set up which included a decent but solo shower and a very small but exposed cooking area.

There are other falls nearby as well that can be reached by walking or a very short drive.

These are Kvernufoss (in my opinion well worth seeing - can also walk behind this one), and Seljalandsfoss (the waterfall you can walk behind if you are brave, which also has the secret waterfall of Gljúfrafoss a short walk away).

In the middle of the night I was woken by my camping neighbours who were excitedly (and loudly) chatting.

Poking my head out of the van door, I immediatey knew why there was such commotion - the northern lights danced above the lip of Skógafoss in swirling green waves which i coud easily see with the naked eye.

What would my camera be able to see ….?

Duty bound to capture an event I may not get a chance to see again, I grabbed my tripod and camera and hesitantly crept to the base of the falls only to be blasted by the penetratingly cold spray, after a precarious walk to capture the lights, over slick frozen river stones. I captured one very fuzzy shot, and not being committed enough to the cause to tough it out in -20 degrees, I high-tailed it back to the comfort of my wee van, happy in the thought that I had at least witnessed the northern lights.

More detailed information on the stunning southern coast waterfalls can be found here.

The following day saw me arrive at Vik, a small southern coastal town, where I decided to take a tour with Katla Track ice cave tours. This was somewhat of a treat as the tours were not cheap - but I longed to experience the blue interior world of the Katla volcano.

A small church overlooks the coastal hamlet of Vik

I was not disappointed. It was other-wordly.

The tour took us out to the cave area, which was named after the volcano under the Kötlujökull glacier, where the ice cave is located. Kötlujökull is an offshoot of the immense Mýrdalsjökull glacier, which is Iceland’s fourth largest glacier. The glaciers volcanic history showed clearly here; told through a layer cake narrative of black volcanic debris, white snow and blue ice striations. It was a world unlike any other - simultaneously beautiful and strikingly surreal.

Vik afforded me the opportunity to shop for food and also grab a decent coffee at an excellent cafe in the small mall (Lava Cafe), which was also opposite the famous Icewear flagship store. A much needed purchase of sox, leggings and spikes was made there. Whilst the camping ground at Vik was closed for the season, it was still possible to park there. However, I needed to use the mall toilets and to get my water from there in order to heat water for my hottie.

I cosied my van up beside the locked kitchen building to shelter from the wind, and had another incredible sleep. There was something about the cool glacial air that was enhancing my ability to sleep soundly. I felt settled, content and truly happy - less is more … (although less heat was potentially more misery!)

Further along the south coast from Vik, is Skaftafell, an area surrounded by glaciers, including Skaftafellsjökull and Svínafellsjökull, and is close to the massive Vatnajökull Glacier, the largest in Europe.

I was not intending to camp in this area at all, but high winds and a closed road ahead was preventing me from venturing further east.

I rolled up tentatively to the camping ground office (a small wooden hut) where I mindfully eased myself out of the van in order to pay for my camping spot. For five minutes I battled against the wind to open the hut door - a heavy metal shield fashioned like some sort of old iron castle door against the elements. It would slam shut caught on the back of a brutal wind gust.

The trick was to slip in between these wollops.

I slid in sideways, taking the opportunity to get inside while I could, with the door thumping closed behind me like a hammer bludgeoning a stubborn nail into place, not allowing any chance for a mis-calculation in timing.

I wasn’t in the mood to lose a hand.

Given the weather situation going on around me, I was actually surprised to see a human in this structure at almost 8 PM. The lovely park ranger (I guess the same as a DoC worker in New Zealand) inside, suggested to me that I camp hard up against the kitchen and ablution block, in order to shelter from the south-easterly winds. He informed me I would likely have to stay two nights as the roads were not looking to re-open any time soon.

I backed my van against the veranda so that I could open the rear doors directly to the kitchen and bathroom. This camping ground had by far the BEST showers I have ever experienced - huge shower spaces, strong powerful steaming hot water and wide shower heads. The free unlimited showers were such a bonus. I lingered, and even sat on the ground - allowing myself to completely warm up; the steaming water rumbling down my back, behind my neck, saturating my hair, warming my muscles, my joints, my bones. I camped two nights due to road closures caused by severe gale force winds. I fell asleep to the wind attacking my van, with sudden loud cracks as gusts of wind whipped over the surrounding mountains and landed into the valley.

It was comforting, in a weird way.

I slept.

When I say “wind”, I really cannot even begin to explain the ferocity with which the winds in Iceland blow. This is the one detail (and by no means a small one!), that the Instagrammers fail to disclose. It is something else all together.

It is not simply wind - it is a raging tempest.

The wind forces cars off the roads; folds car doors in half when they catch against a gust. It ravages tents, destroys a good hair day, eats through umbrellas like some sort of feral wind-beast, and it can literally push a grown man in a backward walk. It is, if nothing else, a rampage against the calm which one should feel when visiting Iceland!

I hiked to the nearest glacier and Skaftafell waterfall (frozen) - otherwise known as Svartifoss. This fall is known for the distinctive black basalt columns that surround it, giving it the name "Black Falls". It sits in a natural amphitheatre, reached by a narrow trail from the campsite. In winter the fall freezes into a set of long fingers suspended above the basalt columns below; in its summer liquid form, it cascades over the rocks below - turning them a distinctive bright luminescent green.

With the weather not letting up for adventures further to the east of the country, I was limited to turning back in order to allow time for driving the popular Golden Circle. I was totally obsessed with seeing the Vestrahorn mountains — a place I had longed to set my eyes on for decades.

The ragged distinctive shape of the Vestrahorn mountains is one of Iceland's most striking and unforgettable features, where jagged unrelenting peaks rise sharply from the surrounding black sand beaches, in the area known as Stokksness, some 15 km from Hofn. Hofn is a small fishing village which also featured in the Walter Mitty movie - posing as Greenland!

Often with a waning tide, impressive reflections of the range can be witnessed, making the Stokkness area an incredible paradise for photographers. The area was also used for a movie set at one point. The replica Viking settlement was originally built for a film that was never saw completion, but it has since been used in other productions, including "The Witcher: Blood Origin". Set against the small but incredibly commanding mountain range, it makes for an intimidating scene.

I stayed a night here in the Viking Cafe and Guesthouse camping ground.

They offered a cheap place to park, warm and clean showers, and a small shed for cooking. There is also an excellent cafe - with good coffee. You can walk out to the beach from here with some seriously dramatic coastal views to be had back along the west coast, as well as towards the east along the beach and around some small estuary areas. There is also a loop walk which encompasses the mountains themselves - but this is best approached during the summer months. The tantalising Estrahorn also beckoned - but this would need to be left for another Icelandic adventure.

I returned to Vik via Jokulsorn lagoon and the famed ‘diamond beach’ and several all-encompassing strips of magnificence.

I cannot even put into words how incredible this landscape is.

I arrived at Diamond beach and had the entire expanse of iced splatters black sand to myself.

I wandered in awe amongst the large erratically shaped chunks of ice which had drifted onto the beach due to the slow and steady glacial carving into the Jokulsarlon lLagoon. The beach here is well known for the unwanted death of many a good camera, as photographers in their attempt to capture a sunrise against this wild and uncertain stretch of beach, trip over the scattered ice blocks as they try to evade the incoming waves.

Therefore it is crucial to be aware of what is around you.

I witnessed and warned, two tourists who arrived to photograph themselves atop a car-sized block of ice - glowing like a large aquamarine molten glass, one woman climbed on top and I warned her that a decent wave could knock her off. She shut me down telling me she knew what she was doing, and I watched with no surprise as a sneaker wave came in, thrashed against the giant lump of ice, and threw her heavily down onto the sand on her backside - soaked in the frigid sea water., she screamed - horrified to have been caught out.

Well - I did warn her. What a start to her day.

Her friend feebly tried to rescue her but the damage had been done. The raw energy here is almost too much to take in. The sun spread its golden expanse through the scattering of diamond-like icicles and I could see what it was such a popular place to visit - it was truly magical. I departed as soon as a large tourist bus rolled into the parking lot - a timely escape and people swarmed onto the beach. Nothing is sacred anymore. I drove across the road to the stunning Jokulsarlon Lagoon - a contrast of white against turquoise as the glacial meltwater from the Breiðamerkurjökull Glacier created a visual feast dotted with lazy seals who lolled about atop any decent sized ice floe.

The weather was unsustainably cold this day, with a wind that cut straight through my thick down jacket and two layers of beanie pulled tightly over my ears.

I Wanted to visit several more coastal sights before I left the country, so opted for a night in Vik and then to find a hidden valley I had seen someone post about on Facebook - Múlagljúfur. And then to visit some of the sites in the famous Golden Circle.

A warm luxurious night in a Vik backpackers consolidated my stay n this part of the south coast, and I used it as a spring board to view the famous tumultuous Reynisfjara, one of the most dangerous beaches in the world. A night in a backpackers - a warm room, great shower, access to hiking in the wind up a steep and unforgiving hill all. I also treated myself to a meal out - fish and chips and a gin. All for a whopping 88 euro!

Once was enough. I was too late for Puffins - sadly - however one tourist at the backpackers told me he had seen some on the cliffs above the Vik camping ground. On further inspection, it was determined he had seen gulls - not puffins. THATS OK I MUSED - I WOULD JUST NEED TO COME BACK AND FINISH the road trip and visit Marta again in warmer more hospitable weather.

Snaps from stops I had along the southern coast :

THE GOLDEN CIRCLE:

There were two waterfalls I particularly wanted to visit in the ‘Golden Circle’ - so called due to its close proximity to Reykjavik and the ease with which people can see maximum impact sights for minimum drive time. I went to the powerful Gullfoss - the most prominent waterfall on the Golden Circle route, and Bruarfoss - which is arguably one of the prettiest waterfall in Iceland even though it is not a large powerful one.

One of the benefits of visiting the island in March and April was that it was still cold enough to keep tourists away. There were few people to contend with - although Skogafoss certainly made up for that. I lost count with how many waterfalls I visited - all the big famous ones along the southern coast - powerful, commanding, unrelenting even in their semi-frozen state.

Múlagljúfur is a mossy steep canyon heading up into the high country with gorgeous views into steep valleys, rivers, and frozen waterfalls. The luminescent green of the moss was incredible even in the “spring” - giving it an unearthly radioactive glow.

The drive in from the main road is down an unmarked gravel road - no signage, but there is a small parking spot. The trail leads up a gentle slope into steeper and more precipitous trails, in places crossing narrow land bridges with drop-offs either side. The snow line was low, therefore making a walk into higher ground somewhat dangerous. In drizzle and -10, it was already miserable and moody enough. I persevered if only for the chance to stretch my legs and attempt to work up a sweat. Any chance at sweating was stamped on by the oppressive cold as if my sweat glands had retreated far into the inner reaches of my body so they themselves could keep warm.

My final drive took me along the coast and through a vast volcanic lava field consisting of isolated hilltop churches and rocks strewn as if cast by some enormous viking giant over the mossy fields. The road rolled lazily over this landscape, catering carefully and respectfully for its curves rather than ploughing straight through them mindlessly.

I visited the small lonely coastal cottage of a famous poet and concurred with his choice of habitation location - I too would flourish in a barren isolated spot away from all signs of life - but I wondered if I could last as long as he did, in Iceland, in a permanent brace against the elements. Surely that alone would use more energy than I would care to expend against weather. Up a hill maybe, sure, but against the wind?

The night before I flew out was spent in Sandgerði where a modern small campground provided a strong warm shower and some open-ended ‘protection’ against the elements. A lighthouse graced a small bay nearby and I made a mental note to do a final astro photography attempt before I left. Alas this is was not to be.

The cold and wind won out yet again.

I layered up and fired up my cooking system on one of the tables, noting with interest all the burn marks from previous stayers at this site, also no doubt bracing themselves from the cold whilst prepping a meal, and opting to cook atop the wooden tables and burn round marks in them.

A corner table housed a variety of food items left by people to scavenge, I left my cooking oil, some veggies, toilet paper and various other items which felt like a final philanthropic move in this wildly sorted out country.

Taking my wee home on wheels back to the rental car agency was kind of sad for me.

I had slept incredibly well for almost two weeks despite not having a heated van. I was warm, cosy and comfortable. The van had everything I needed, was trusty and reliable. It even had its own wifi for maps. I rolled on into the carpark in order to go through the processes of surrendering her. Even getting out of the van and into the building was paving to be a feat requiring great physical determination - it was as if Iceland was attempting to hold me in its icy grip with the wind - reluctant to surrender me back to the sandy environs of Cairo.

The large airport “Iceland” greeting and map was my final little bit of the country that I could cling to. I vowed to it as if it possessed some all-knowing power of prophecy, that I would come back; it appeared to agree, I thought. I was scheming to myself about how I could do a house sit or maybe even work there (is that even possible..?), either way Iceland had not seen the last of me.

TIPS FOR ICELAND TRAVEL:

If travelling there in summer, book EVERYTHING early
Avoid summer if possible!
Travel in the shoulder seasons is the cheapest - car rentals and accommodations are all a lot cheaper than during July/August
Expect cold weather for all months including summer and prepare with layered clothing - do NOT rely on the weather reports.
There is no such thing as bad weather - just the wrong clothing. If you really want to engage in all Iceland offers, then wear the appropriate clothing against the elements.
Wind is an incantation of some sort of demon induced entity. It is NOT wind as we know it.
Take FULL insurance for any vehicle you hire.
I went March/April and did not require an in-car heater. I took a hot water bottle though and my own sleeping bag and was warm as toast.
Fuel is potentially tricky: when filling your vehcicle do not push “FILL”. This will empty your bank account for a few days until its refunded less the actual fuel amount. Instead put in the ISK amount you wish to put into the car.
Fuel stations were reasonably plentiful and most were on prepay pumps.
The currency is ISK and cash is accepted, however card is best.
Food is expensive. Take your own snacks with you to save on money. I also took an aeropress.
Spikes or micro spikes are a great idea if visiting outside July/August.
The R1 ring road is frequently closed in places due to weather. Use the road app to check before driving anywhere.
Parking is often not free in many of the main tourist sites and also in Reykjavik down town area. Download the Parka app before you go.
If travelling during outside the summer months, the interior roads will be closed.
Travel on the roads during spring, autumn and winter can be treacherous. High winds coupled with snow and ice make for nerve-wracking conditions. If you are NOT a confident driver in these conditions, re-think your plans.

Some extra images just to make you want to go!

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