The valley of Mosfellsdalur is a 20 kilometre stretch of rolling farmland that sits just beyond the edge of Reykjavík. Many visitors pass through it each day without stopping, bound for more crowded, well-known sites like Þingvellir or the Golden Circle. But for those looking for a low-key day out a little closer to the city, this tranquil valley has plenty of tucked-away stops that make lingering worthwhile.

Turning off Route One onto Þingvallavegur — or Route 36 — the volume of the surrounding nature seems to suddenly increase. The Mosfellsdalur valley runs between imposing mountain ranges to the north and south, their sheer, scraped faces catching the midsummer sun as clouds skim along their flat tops.

Midsummer daydream

The plain between holds several farms, some of which sell fresh produce to passers by. Following a sign for strawberries, we pull over at a large greenhouse that’s open to the public. Stepping inside, I’m hit by a wave of floral scents and humidity. Corridors of colourful flowers extend far into the damp, cool room, which is in the process of being misted. Bright light shines through the space, catching the droplets and casting shifting, watery shadows throughout. The aroma, vivid colours and sounds of pattering rain are sensorily overwhelming. Just a few minutes from the city’s edge, I feel like I’ve awoken into a summery dream.

Still short of strawberries, we continue down the trail. It ends at a car park next to a few nondescript farm buildings. One of them has an open door and there’s a table of produce inside: some slightly wilting carnations, bags of salad leaves and the last few punnets of perfectly ripe strawberries, all grown just a few metres away. We drop some króna in the honesty box and get back on the road, snacks secured.

Hiking crossroads

Just down the road is Gljúfrasteinn, a house-turned-museum dedicated to the Icelandic writer Halldór Laxness, who spent many years living there. But the overcast weather feels clammy, and our mission becomes staying out in the fresh air. We drive on, leaving the museum for another day.

One kilometre further lies the discreet right turn leading toward the tucked away Helgufoss waterfall. The gravel F-road meanders down towards the mountains, terminating at a parking spot with an information sign. It turns out that the Helgufoss walk is part of a wider network of hiking trails that criss-cross the surrounding area, looping up over the mountain of Grímansfell then back down through the valley.

The hike to Helgufoss is short and easy, and after a few minutes of walking we catch sight of the waterfall — a slender, glittering torrent that crashes down over a huge Russian-doll shaped outcrop. A tour group of German hikers are bathing in the clear blue pool at its feet, with some doing tai chi on the rocks and others hollering and hurling themselves under the fall’s flow. A steady trickle of hikers and mountain bikers take the opportunity to rest and sun themselves a little before continuing on their way, while groups of picnickers lounge around the valley on colourful blankets. This tucked away waterfall seems to mark a hiking trail crossroads of sorts, and it’s a peaceful — if unexpectedly social — beauty spot.

Frolic in the spray

The surrounding area holds a couple of other waterfalls within easy driving distance. Tröllafoss is just to the north, but the connecting F-road is closed, making it a several-kilometre hike. Instead, we rejoin Þingvallavegur and head east towards Þórufoss, just over the county line in the Bláskógabyggð municipality.

The onward road climbs slightly, emerging on a wide, high plain where the wind picks up. Even in midsummer, the plains are struggling to burst into green and the breeze takes on a chilly edge. A couple of colourful cottages are the only structures to be seen, with silvery rivers and the shining lake of Þingvallavatn visible in the distance.

Þórufoss is a wide, thundering waterfall by the roadside about half way to Hvafjörður. It’s a rare spot that hasn’t been developed with toilet blocks and gift shops — and it’s all the better for it. A faint footpath leads down into the valley that cradles the falls. As we pick a patch of deep, comfortable grass and wildflowers to lounge by the river, that same German tour group shows up, plodging through the shallows to frolic in the spray. It’s an idyllic moment and as I take in the afternoon sun and gaze at the mountains, I feel happy to have found some lesser-known spots right by the side of the tourist trail.