When The Road Calls Again

Chasing spring through the winding roads of Hvalfjörður

Oh, that first sunny day after weeks of grey skies and gloom. The one where the sky turns a crisp, cloudless blue, the sun finally breaks through, and the whole world feels just a little lighter. You take a deep breath, and for the first time in what feels like forever, everything seems possible. Spring is here — or, if you live in Iceland, at least you know it’s on its way.

When a day like that lands in the middle of February — and on a weekend, no less — there’s no excuse to stay inside. It’s the kind of day that demands the first proper road trip of the year.

I spend ten minutes looking for my sunglasses. After months of relentless grey, I can’t even remember the last time I wore them — six months ago, maybe? Sunnies finally on, I jump in the car, feeling fresh and ready to conquer the world. But first — no proper conquests happen on an empty stomach.

“When a day like that lands in the middle of February — and on a weekend, no less — there’s no excuse for staying inside.”

A quick stop at the Brauð & Co. drive-through, arguably one of the best things capitalism has brought to Iceland. Unfortunately, it’s after noon, which means all the good stuff is long gone. I hesitate for a moment, debating whether I can really start thе day without a chilli cheese knot, but settle for a muesli caramel bun instead. It doesn’t disappoint. Bun in hand and “Painted Image” by Oyama on full blast, I head towards Route 1, bound for Hvalfjörður.

Winding roads

No matter how many times I’ve driven these roads, Hvalfjörður’s landscape takes my breath away. The snow lies in patches along the mountainsides, and here and there, the grass is starting to push through, finally emerging after months under frost. Much like our faces after a long winter, it seems desperate for a dose of vitamin D.

Every few hundred metres, it feels like the view could be pulled straight from a stilllife painting. How lucky are we to have this beauty right on the doorstep of the capital? Today’s plan is simple: let the road take me as far as it will, then wrap up with a relaxing soak at Hvammsvík.

My excitement over the weather quickly fades as we pull up at Þórufoss and I take my first step outside the car. It’s a classic case of gluggaveður — beautiful to admire from inside, but absolutely brutal the moment you step out. I learn this the hard way when I try to open the car door, only for the wind to slam it shut again. On my second attempt, I push harder, jump out, and quickly throw on my hat and gloves. Deceived by the sunshine, I’m wearing my summer gloves (yes, I own summer gloves — please don’t judge).

The waterfall is pretty, no doubt, but in Iceland, you’re spoiled by the sheer number of pretty sights. Is it pretty enough for me to hike down? Not quite. Is it pretty enough to take a quick photo and enjoy the rest from the warmth of the car instead? Yes.

A group of tourists, lined up as if competing for the perfect waterfall shot, clearly think otherwise. Despite the wind trying to steal their hats and their car, parked nearby, rocking with the gusts, they stand firm, snapping photo after photo of Þórufoss.

Atli Freyr Steinsson for The Reykjavik Grapevine

I’ve got time to spare, so I take a detour, winding along the scenic roads from Kjósarhreppur, past Litlu-Tunga, and down to Hvalfjarðarvegur. The first spring birds pirouette above the fjord, while Hvalfjörður’s infamous whaling station — the country’s last remaining one — looms in the distance. On such a stunning day, the steel towers stand stark and jarring, an eyesore amidst the otherwise peaceful landscape.

Secluded escape

About 40 minutes later, our car bumps onto the gravel road leading to Hvammsvík Hot Springs, tucked away at the foot of the fjord. Iceland boasts countless hot springs, catering to every taste and budget, but none quite compare to the remoteness and breathtaking view offered by this one.

Atli Freyr Steinsson for The Reykjavik Grapevine

“It’s a classic case of gluggaveður — beautiful to admire from inside, but absolutely brutal the moment you step out.”

Hvammsvík is smaller than most local spas, so booking in advance is recommended. Admission starts at 4.900 ISK, depending on the day and time, but it only includes the semi-outdoor Natural Changing Rooms. While I love a good bargain, the temperatures are below freezing, so I opt for the Classic experience. Weighing all the options, I discover that my mobile provider, Nova, offers a 2-for-1 promo code — so instead 19.800 ISK, I pay 9.900 ISK for my travel companion and I.

The person at the register warns me that a large group is about to leave, so the changing room might get crowded — and oh my, it sure does. I push through the crowd to the lockers, then wait in line for the shower. But when I finally make it out and sink into the Lounge Pool, I can finally let go and relax.

For what Hvammsvík offers, it might actually justify its price tag: eight hot pools of varying sizes and temperatures, including a 35°C tidal pool that disappears entirely when the tide is high. It also delivers all the usual suspects of Icelandic spa culture — its own line of hair and shower products, a swim-up bar and a steam room.

The spa’s design, though obviously man-made, manages to blend with the surroundings of the fjord without overpowering the view. And the view is what, for at least two years in a row, adds Hvammsvík bonus points when our sister magazine Best Of Reykjavík convenes its yearly panel to decide on the best spa.

The sun is back

One of the clear signs that winter is coming to a close is the lengthened days. There’s a luxury in still seeing daylight after 16:00, with each passing day gifting us a few more minutes of light. It’s like slowly sobering up from a nasty hangover. For those who think I’m losing my mind — you’ve clearly never lived through a full Icelandic winter.

Though it’s not quite the peak tourist season yet, you can already hear a variety of accents in the pools. Some seem to be here only for their online following to know all about it. A couple, who doesn’t budge from a prime spot for at least forty minutes, posting endless Instagram stories until their followers are surely sick of them, inspires me to set a goal to learn a few curse words in Spanish.

Atli Freyr Steinsson for The Reykjavik Grapevine

The skyline is slowly starting to change. The icy wind bites at my back as I jump from rock to rock along the path between pools, feeling like I’m hopping across hot stones. As I sink into the comfortable 37°C pool, a woman lets out a scream while stepping into the cold plunge. Whatever works for her, I suppose — but the promise of spring’s arrival is enough to wake my senses.