The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
Why Iceland in summer is the hot ticket
Who says winter and spring are the best times to explore this Nordic country? June offers clearer skies, warmer temperatures and the chance to experience the wonder of the midnight sun. Emma Featherstone warms to the idea of a cruise that is very much in
Astopover to catch the Northern Lights in winter or a road trip in spring are the most typical ways to explore Iceland, but circumnavigating the country’s 3,088-mile coastline on a cruise ship in summer – flitting from city to archipelago to fjord – is an increasingly popular option. The season brings clearer conditions in which to view the huge glacier fingers that stretch over the mountain tops; temperatures are more comfortable for horse riding, outdoor bathing and tours in all-terrain vehicles; and the midnight sun is a must-see wonder. Indeed, the Iceland’s Natural Beauty itinerary offered by Viking Cruises – the line’s only trip focused solely on Europe’s second largest island – were snapped up by UK passengers in summer 2021 and are selling fast for 2023.
It was on the third day, in the Westfjords town of Isafjordur, that I knew I was smitten with this country of extremes. As I sat astride a RIB, with a father and daughter team guiding me through the fjord, the anticipation began to build. We had sailed far from shore and come to a stop, the grey water calm all around us. Then my fellow passengers began pointing towards a spot in the near distance.
The RIB’s captain, Sigurour Gunnar Aoalsteinsson, was on familiar terms with a pod of humpback whales; he knew exactly where they would appear. Tentative at first, their slick black curves rose from the surface a few yards away, followed by spurts of water as each animal exhaled before submerging once again. They grew bolder, inching nearer, then rushing in all of a sudden; the air-filled tube of the RIB suddenly felt very fragile.
Helped by the rhythm of their splashes and the swooping gulls overhead, a meditative state engulfed the boat. My immediate fate was in the control of these subterranean giants: could a careless flick of a forked tail throw me overboard? Fortunately, this cetacean performance was finished with precision and we were left craving an encore as the waves returned to their former equilibrium.
A few hours before, I had learnt about the migration of puffins to Vigur island, which provides a habitat free of the predators found on the mainland, such as mink. This 50-hectare outcrop, a 30-minute speedboat ride from Isafjordur’s harbour, is owned by polar explorer Felicity Aston and her husband Gisli. It is primarily known for eiderdown – some 3,000 eider duck nests appear here in May, when the colony settles on the island to breed. We disembarked to find ducks flanked by cooing chicks as a flock of very vocal seabirds flapped overhead. I was handed a pole with a small flag attached to the top before wandering further.
The idea is that dive-bombing birds will target the flag, instead of your scalp. “It feels as though a biblical plague has descended on you,” said Gisli of the annual springtime arrival of puffins in May, the beginning of a stay that lasts until late August. The charm of puffins – and particularly their pufflings – is undeniable, but Iceland holds plenty of other wonders to see in summer.
On one day of my week-long cruise, I imagined myself on the set of a sci-fi film in the form of the Namafjall Geothermal Area. Space ships would seem perfectly congruous with this bubbling, smoking tract of land covered in a tiedye-like pattern of oranges, greys and greens, with fumaroles and mud pots spouting hydrogen sulphide (indeed, Nasa used Iceland’s black volcanic landscape as a stand-in for the moon when training astronauts).
On another afternoon, I boarded a Zodiac in the Fjallsarlon ice lagoon and found myself looking up at the outstretched fingers of Vatnajokull glacier as we passed blue-black icebergs. On several occasions I was transfixed by the power of a waterfall, not least the two-tiered, 105ft Gullfoss.
“If Iceland were a person, I wouldn’t be able to look at it for fear of staring,” said a fellow passenger on returning from one of our excursions. It is the contrasts that lend the country its beauty.
Viking’s onboard lecture series helped to explain how Iceland’s geographical qualities shaped its sagas – and its modern day inhabitants. Between the excursions and onboard experiences, there were treats of the culinary kind. One highlight was the morning waffle at Mamsen’s. Perfectly warm and topped with berries and caramel-like Brunost (Norwegian brown cheese), it made a sumptuous start to a day off the ship. Nights were spent at Manfredi’s, hoovering up delicate, smoky Dover sole sautéed in lemon, parsley and garlic butter – or overindulging in crabs’ legs and sushi at the World Café’s seafood buffet.
While I could have gone to bed content, the post-dinner atmosphere of a band night at the onboard club, Torshavn, kept me up until the final song.
The after-effects of a few Singapore Slings, as I discovered after my first evening in the Explorers’ Lounge, were best eased with a turn in the sauna at the Spa (the use of which is complimentary). I’d also recommend finishing with quick sessions in the sauna and the snow grotto – a small room filled with man-made snow that forms part of the Scandinavian bathing ritual of alternating hot and cold.
I had become well attuned to temperature changes during my time in Iceland, but the voyage also offered a strong sense of the country’s landscapes and culture. Local guides conveyed to passengers how the excesses of the topography and weather have had a far-reaching impact on life in Iceland – from a 2020 mudslide in the port town of Seydisfjordur, a haven for artists, to the volcanic eruption of the island of Heimaey in 1973, from which all the residents were rescued. It seems that resilience and eccentricity thrive against such a backdrop.
There are many reasons why I will be returning to this bewitching Atlantic island, but purchasing a lopapeysa (an Icelandic wool jumper) is high on the list: a reminder to take on life with a little of an Icelander’s hardiness.