I have never watched Game of Thrones, yet judging by the gawping faces of the assembled crowd, we’ve stumbled upon a place of significance. Below lies the dank entrance to the Grjotagja cave. I clamber down, through the palls of steam, into the eerie darkness.
“This is the actual place Jon Snow lost his virginity,” says a giddy American tourist. It looks like a steamy cave to me.
The virginity thing, I’m told, is a pivotal moment in the beloved television series and the small crowd of Americans on their Game of Thrones tour seem awestruck. (I later learn that the producers didn’t realise how steamy it would be in the cave, so were forced to film much of the scene in a studio).
Thankfully there’s no need to know your wildlings from your Westeros to be awed by the stunning beauty of northern Iceland. And if you’ve ticked off Reykjavik, with its clapboard houses and expensive boutiques, heading north to Akureyri and into the wilderness makes for a great weekend break.
The second city (population 18,000) shares many charms with its big sister down south, but is quieter. There are cosy little restaurants and eye-wateringly expensive shops, but no hoards of tourists. You can drive for miles without seeing another car, let alone a 56-seater coach on a Golden Circle tour.
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It may not be like this for long, though, because it’s now easier than ever to reach the north of the land of fire and ice thanks to direct flights to Akureyri. These negate the need to transfer across Reykjavik from the international to the domestic airport.
We stroll around the shoebox city, poking our heads into the imposing church, and wander along the coast past the pretty harbour before retreating to the futuristic-looking Café Laut in the botanical gardens to defrost. The city is only the start, and to make the most of the area hiring a car is best.
We leave the city for Siglufjordur, an hour’s drive away and one of the country’s northernmost towns, made famous by Trapped, the television mystery series. By the time we arrive darkness has fallen, but it is beautiful: the lights of the buildings twinkle in the harbour’s icy water and huge snowflakes are falling.
We wander along the snow-covered streets to the Herring Era Museum, which sounds fishy, but is actually very good. It charts the history of the industry that was the lifeblood of the town. The halcyon days lasted until 1969, when almost overnight the fish disappeared. Overfishing killed the business, and the thriving port and bustling streets became a ghost town.
Nowadays, tourism is seen as the future — it recently overtook fishing as Iceland’s main industry — and there’s also a booming beer business with microbreweries popping up everywhere. We call into the Segull 67, a brewery in one of the abandoned herring factories. In the small bar we sink a few of their winter beers (they brew by seasons) and ponder how we could easily be in a pop-up bar in east London.
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Our beer tour continues the next day at the Holar brewery, which is southwest of Siglufjordur in the tiny village of Holar i Hjaltadal, about an hour and a half’s drive away. Here, in Iceland’s smallest and cheapest bar, you can sample more than 90 varieties of beer from around the world. Housed in little more than a shack, it’s one of the strangest bars I’ve been in. Old beer signs hang on the wall, pallets of beer are stacked in the corner and there are just five tables.
Our next adventure takes us about two and a half hours east to Lake Myvatn. It might seem like a long drive, but the roads are easy and the scenery stunning. As we motor along, marvelling at the white wilderness, craters and geysers we wonder how such a small country can have such big scenery.
We took a detour to the Godafoss waterfall. On my last trip, I visited the Gullfoss waterfall, a classic on a Golden Circle tour, and was disappointed. There were coach-loads of selfie-stick-wielding tourists and more emphasis on the gift shop. Godafoss (translation: the waterfall of the gods) is jaw-dropping. There are just a handful of spots in the car park, not a single other tourist and no safety fence. Do something stupid and you will die. We stand, gawping at the ferocity of the water as it crashes down the 12m fall and deafened by its thundering.
That night in Myvatn — or Game of Thrones land and home to that cave — we round off the weekend with a visit to the thermal baths. Forget the Blue Lagoon (crammed with yet more selfie sticks), the local baths are to Iceland what pubs are to Britain. Many of the locals have membership and will visit several times a week; for one-off visitors, entry is expensive (about £30), but it’s worth it, despite the somewhat putrid smell of sulphur. We wallow in the steamy water until our skin wrinkles, while sipping on cool local beers.
We think it’s the perfect way to round off a busy weekend, until later that night, when we spy the elusive northern lights, dancing in the night sky. We are gawping once again. And then they are gone.
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The budget hotel
Akureyri Backpackers
You can’t beat the central location of this cool new hostel. There are 16 simple private rooms and 16 dorms that sleep between four and eight people. Downstairs there’s a lively bar and a simple restaurant. Dorm beds cost from £30 a night. Private rooms cost from £70 a night (akureyribackpackers.com)
The luxury hotel
Siglo Hotel, Siglufjordur
The best hotel in Siglufjordur. It is worth the trip to the northern town simply to wallow in the hot tub that overlooks the pretty harbour. The rooms are stylish with muted tones and nautical touches. There is a good restaurant that serves local dishes. B&B doubles cost from £140 a night (siglohotel.is)
Need to know
Ben Clatworthy was a guest of Tourism Iceland (inspiredbyiceland.com)
A four-night Arctic North trip costs from £799pp on B&B, departing Stansted on February 19 (01904 717 362, superbreak.com). Regional departures from 15 airports are available throughout the winter.
Icelandair and Air Iceland Connect fly via Reykjavik from £350 return (icelandair.co.uk)
More information: northiceland.is
