As we slid our backpacks off and leaned against the wall to cop a squat on the floor to try Opal, an iconic Icelandic candy, Dagur approached. He noticed our empty water bottle and offered to fill it with pure Icelandic water straight from the tap.
Both in limbo—him waiting to finish his FlyBus shift at 6 a.m., and us waiting until 8 a.m. to be picked up by Happy Campers—our conversation flowed naturally.
Dagur gave us a crash course on all things Iceland: Marvel’s missteps with Thor, tales of Odin’s eight-legged horse stomping through the land, and Hraun—the Icelandic candy that, as he claimed, puts KitKat to shame. His parting words? “Go North.”
I turned the keys in the ignition and set the GPS South. Despite Dagur’s advice, I held on to my meticulously planned itinerary that led us southward.
For the next four days, we explored Iceland, checking off my must-see list. We wandered downtown Reykjavík, completed the seven-step ritual at Sky Lagoon, and braved the chilly night for a glimpse of the northern lights.
We bathed in a natural thermal river and swam in a public pool, embracing the Icelandic custom of changing into swimsuits al fresco. We marveled at waterfalls—standing behind Seljalandsfoss, climbing the steps of Skógafoss, and wading through a chilly stream to reach the hidden Gljúfrabúi.
We pressed on, watching the sunset over a black sand beach, and gazed at icebergs drifting out to sea at Diamond Beach.
Yet on the drive back to Reykjavík, as I asked my teens to reflect on their favorite moments, they surprised me. It wasn’t the famous sights or the stunning landscapes they cherished most. It was the little things: waking up jetlagged together in the early morning, venturing in the middle of the night to the campground bathroom, an impromptu roadside meeting with Icelandic horses, and, yes, stopping at KFC more times than I’d care to admit.
Those seemingly insignificant experiences, the spaces between the checkmarks, were what mattered most to them.
Dagur’s advice to “Go North” lingered in my mind, and I realized it wasn’t about the compass. It was about embracing the unknown, the unexpected, and the unplanned.
While we may have driven south, the journey took us somewhere much deeper. It brought us closer as a family, reminding us that the best adventures aren’t always the ones you plan, but the moments that happen in between.
