So, I just got back from Reykjavik, and let me tell you, there's a strange magic about that place. It's not just about the stunning landscapes or the hot springs—though those are definitely a thing—but the small, serendipitous moments that linger long after you've left. I thought I'd share some of the best things to do in Reykjavik that really stuck with me.
This Spot? Total Surprise.
On my first evening, I wandered into a little café called Café Babalu, not because I was particularly hungry but because it looked cozy and had this charming independence. It was one of those places where the décor felt like a delightful jumble of kitsch and art—like someone's quirky living room that was welcoming rather than off-putting. Honestly, I wasn't expecting much, and maybe that's why it blew my mind.
I ordered a hot chocolate, which came topped with a mound of whipped cream and—the best part—little shavings of chocolate nestled on top. I remember taking that first sip and thinking, “This is happiness in a cup.” My doubts about whether I'd enjoy Reykjavik were melting away, quite literally. I had this feeling like I had stumbled into a secret menu item, something only the locals knew about.
Then, as I sat there, the owner—a spirited Icelandic woman with wild curly hair—struck up a conversation. She told me about her travels and how she collected art pieces for the café from local artists. It was one of those magical encounters that reminds you why travel is worth every hassle. We chatted about everything from the quirky Icelandic weather to the magical folklore like it was the most normal thing in the world. When I left, I was not just full; I felt uplifted, and it wasn't just the sugar rush.
The Afternoon That Changed My Whole Mood
One rainy afternoon—because let's be real, it's Iceland and that weather can be unpredictable—I found myself pacing around the Harpa Concert Hall. I had read about its stunning glass architecture and thought I should check it out, but I was feeling a bit moody. It was raining so heavily outside that my trusty umbrella had given up.
I wandered inside, where the vibrant colors of the glass reflected a kaleidoscope of light. The whole place felt like it was alive, cradling a symphony of sounds and whispers. I didn't plan on attending any performance, honestly. I was just sheltering from the rain, but on a whim, I asked about any upcoming shows. They were setting up for a rehearsal of an experimental music piece. They invited me in—and yeah, I really didn't want to impose—but curiosity got the best of me.
I sat in the back, feeling like a kid sneaking into a secret club, and just soaked in the harmonious strangeness of it all. There's something about music when performed live that can shake you to your core; it's raw and genuine. It was this immersive experience that altered my mood entirely. I walked out fueled by creativity, as if I had dived headfirst into a pool of inspiration. I had no idea that a rainy day could blossom into a highlight of my trip.
I Almost Missed This, No Thanks to My Bad Sense of Direction
You know how everyone seems to have a “bad sense of direction”? I thought mine was pretty terrible until I ventured to a place called Kex Hostel. Ignoring my instincts led me on a wild goose chase through back alleys and detours that felt like they could be their own little adventure. I ended up in this small antique shop that I couldn't remember the name of. I had no business being in there—you know, just browsing—but it smelled of old books and workbenches that had seen better days.
In the end, I found it so charming. The owner was an older man who told me about the town's history while I absently flipped through records and random trinkets. I even found an old Icelandic poem on a weathered postcard, which felt like fate. I wish I could say I planned to find such a treasure, but let's be real: it was happy accident after happy accident.
Then, after leaving the shop, I finally stumbled upon Kex—sort of. It was this completely restored old biscuit factory turned hostel and bar, buzzing with life and eclectic vibes. I sat down for a burger there that I still have dreams about—a little smoky, just the right amount of crispy. As I bit into it, I thought about how oftentimes, the pieces of a trip that leave you feeling fullest aren't the ones that are mapped out for you.
Food that Left a Strong Impression
You can't talk about Reykjavik without mentioning food, right? Towards the end of my trip, I decided to indulge and check out a place called Matur og Drykkur. This was supposed to be the place for traditional Icelandic dishes with a modern twist. I walked in, feeling both curious and slightly apprehensive; fancy restaurants can sometimes feel like they take themselves too seriously. But this was far from pretentious.
I ended up ordering the fermented shark. Yeah, you read that right. Time to try something truly Icelandic. It came out with a definitive aroma that made me rethink my life choices for a split second. But hey, I was there. I had to go through with it, right? It turned out to be surprisingly tasty—though I nodded a lot to convince myself. The accompanying shots of Brennivín—a distinctive caraway schnapps—was a good help. I laughed with the waiter and toasting my happy bravado. It felt like part of the experience, like I was crossing an awkward threshold into the realm of culinary bravery.
A Place I’ll Always Remember
As I sit here sipping my coffee and thinking about that trip, it's not just the scenic views that come to mind. It's the people I met—the chance encounters, the random detours, and those unexpected moments that transformed ordinary days into something extraordinary. I mean, who would have thought burnt food at Kex and fermented shark would be some of the best things to do in Reykjavik?
I guess that's the thing about travel: sometimes the best plans are the ones you didn't make. Each moment caught me by surprise and left an imprint, reminding me how beautiful and messy adventure can be. Just a few hours of winding paths and deliciously weird food made for a lifetime of memories—and I wouldn't trade them for anything.
So, I guess you could say I'm still processing it all—there's something profoundly bittersweet about leaving a place that feels like it's changed you, even if just a little. How do you even begin to find the words for that? Anyway, I should probably get going soon, but I'll be lingering over this cup for just a bit longer.
