Northern Lights Chase in Iceland

Góðan daginn from the land of fire and ice! Your favorite warm-weather cactus has done something extremely out of character: traveled to Iceland in November to chase the northern lights. It's cold. So cold that my spines have spines from the chill. But I'm standing on a black volcanic beach at midnight, watching the sky ripple with green and purple light, and I can confirm: completely worth it. The aurora borealis is real, it's spectacular, and it makes everything—including frozen extremities—feel insignificant in comparison.

Northern lights hunting requires patience, clear skies, and a willingness to be out at absurd hours in challenging weather. I joined a tour from Reykjavik that chased the aurora based on real-time weather data and solar activity forecasts. Our guide drove for two hours into the countryside, away from city lights, stopping at a glacier lagoon where icebergs drifted in the darkness. Then we waited. And waited. Just as I was losing hope, a faint green glow appeared on the horizon, then intensified, then exploded across the sky in ribbons and curtains and spirals of light. I made embarrassing sounds of wonder. Everyone did. It's that kind of experience.

Iceland by day is equally surreal. The landscape looks like another planet—and actually served as a filming location for several science fiction movies. I walked on black sand beaches where basalt columns rose like pipe organs from the earth. I explored ice caves inside glaciers, the blue walls glowing from trapped air and ancient light. I stood at Þingvellir, where the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates visibly pull apart, creating a rift valley you can walk between. The whole country feels geologically unstable in the most exciting way, like the Earth is still deciding what shape to take.

The geothermal activity that makes Iceland volcanically active also provides its greatest comfort: hot springs. After freezing my spines off chasing auroras, I soaked in naturally heated pools while snow fell around me. The famous Blue Lagoon is stunning but crowded; I preferred the Secret Lagoon, an older, more rustic option where locals gathered to warm up and gossip. The contrast of hot water and cold air, steam rising around you, maybe northern lights visible overhead—this is how Icelanders have survived the dark winters for a thousand years. Smart people.

Icelandic culture surprised me with its warmth. This small nation of 370,000 people is endearingly quirky: they believe in elves (officially—roads have been rerouted to avoid disturbing elf rocks), they eat fermented shark (it's terrible, I tried it, never again), and they have more writers per capita than anywhere on Earth. Everyone I met was friendly, spoke excellent English, and seemed genuinely proud to share their weird, wonderful country. Even the darkness of November—and it's very dark, with sunrise around 10 AM and sunset around 4 PM—felt cozy rather than oppressive.

If you want to see the northern lights, Iceland offers the best combination of accessibility and spectacular scenery. Visit September through March for the darkest skies. Don't rely on Reykjavik alone—the city's light pollution makes viewing difficult; get out into the countryside. Rent a car with four-wheel drive if you're comfortable (the roads are challenging), or book a guided tour if you're not. And layer obsessively—I wore six layers and still felt the cold. But when those lights appear, dancing across the sky like nothing you've ever seen, you'll forget about the temperature. You'll forget about everything except the magic above you. 🌵🌌🇮🇸