Iceland’s EV reality falls short of its renewable promise
The Golden Circle may promise epic scenery — but in an electric vehicle, the biggest question isn’t what you’ll see. It’s whether you’ll make it back with any battery left.
In September 2024, I set out from Reykjavík in a rented Tesla Model Y — fully electric, with an estimated range of about 330 kilometres on a full charge. I had topped it up the night before and left the city confident that Iceland’s clean energy would carry me smoothly to Þingvellir, Geysir, and Gullfoss. What could go wrong?
By the time I reached Geysir, my range had dropped lower than expected. It was one of the only major Golden Circle attractions with a charger — but only a 22 kW plug. And like most visitors, I didn’t plan to stay long. After 30 minutes at the geyser field, the charge I gained was minimal. Gullfoss, the last major stop on the loop, was just 10 kilometres away. But the dashboard was flashing warnings, and I wasn’t just thinking about getting there—I had to get back. Even if I made it to the falls, there’s no charger at Gullfoss and no guarantee I’d have enough battery left to reach the next available station.
Rather than risk a lonely stranding at the edge of nowhere, I bailed. I rerouted to Flúðir, a nearby village known for geothermal greenhouses — and, thankfully, a hotel with a painfully slow but blessedly functional charger.
With the cable finally engaged, I retreated to the hotel café and ordered baked brie — the kind of comfort food that pairs well with existential dread. For two hours, I watched diesel vans breeze past toward Gullfoss while I refreshed the charging app, did battery maths on napkins, and debated whether soaking in the nearby Secret Lagoon would be a better use of time. Brie beat waterfall. I never made it to Gullfoss; my Golden Circle ended in a parking lot, sipping lukewarm coffee and wondering why driving the “future” felt so stuck in the present.
The irony is hard to miss. Þingvellir, where Iceland’s first parliament met and tectonic plates split the land, now grapples with erosion from mass tourism. While it technically has a charger, it’s inconveniently placed and easy to overlook. And even if you find a station, using it can feel like solving a riddle. Some require specific apps — ON Power, Ísorka, Tesla — with no unified payment system or guidance for tourists.
Geysir, which sits atop literal geothermal power, is the only one of the “big three” with a reliable and reasonably located charger. Ironically, it’s also where most travellers spend the least amount of time. Gullfoss, almost dammed for hydroelectricity a century ago and famously saved by activist Sigríður Tómasdóttir, stands today as a monument to preservation — unless you show up in an electric car hoping for a top-up.
I repeated the route recently, hoping things had improved. They hadn’t. Þingvellir and Gullfoss remain electrically dry. Yet almost every minor stop — the farm cafés, greenhouses, guesthouses, and geothermal spas — had installed chargers.
Fontana Laugarvatn lets you soak while you sip electrons. The dairy farm at Efstidalur offers ice cream with your kilowatts. Friðheimar’s greenhouse restaurant delivers legendary tomato soup beside two brisk 22 kW plugs. The under-the-radar places with real Icelandic character are quietly doing what the country’s most photographed landmarks have not: investing in the infrastructure that makes low-carbon travel possible.
This mismatch reveals an uncomfortable contradiction. Iceland runs almost entirely on geothermal and hydroelectric power, yet the experience of travelling sustainably doesn’t reflect that. Visitors can’t plug into a borehole. They need chargers at the places they’re already visiting.
Until that gap closes, EV drivers will keep recalculating routes, skipping iconic sites — or lingering over melty cheese in Flúðir while hoping the battery climbs past the anxiety line.
If Iceland wants to lead the world in green tourism, it can’t stop at generating renewable energy. It must carry that promise all the way to the traveller’s wheels. Installing accessible, reliable chargers at Þingvellir and Gullfoss would be a start. Add clear signage, fast-charging speeds, and app-free payment options, and the loop just might close — literally.
In the meantime, maybe the Golden Circle could use a little decentralising. Its magic has never been just about ticking off three big names. It’s in the steam rising from hillside hot pots, the unexpected farm lunches, and the friendly shrug when you ask a greenhouse owner if you can borrow a few kilowatt-hours.
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