Things to Do in Reykjavik in March

This two-day private expedition drives southeast from Reykjavik along the Ring Road to Jökulsárlón, where house-sized chunks of glacial ice calve from the tongue of Breiðamerkurjökull and drift across a lagoon so still you can hear each creak and groan as the ice shifts. The journey crosses black-sand outwash plains where wind-scoured basalt crunches beneath your boots. It passes waterfalls frozen into translucent blue curtains. The trip ends with a guided glacier hike where crampons bite into centuries-old ice that smells faintly of minerals and cold stone. Overnight accommodation along the south coast gives you a second day to walk the Diamond Beach, where ice fragments wash ashore and catch whatever pale March light the sky offers, each piece glowing like clouded glass against the charcoal sand.

This private two-day itinerary pairs the glacier lagoon with an ice-cave exploration and a dedicated northern lights search, compressing three of Iceland's most sought-after experiences into a single overnighter. Inside the ice caves beneath Vatnajökull, the light filtering through compressed glacial ice turns everything an electric cobalt blue. The walls are striated with dark volcanic ash layers that record eruptions centuries old. You can run your gloved hand along ridges of ice as smooth as polished marble while your guide explains the geology underfoot. The second night, away from Reykjavik's modest light pollution, your guide chases clear skies to find the aurora. When it appears it moves in silence, a slow ripple of green and white that reflects off snowfields and makes the horizon feel impossibly wide.

This walking food tour threads through central Reykjavik on foot, stopping at local restaurants, bakeries, and market counters where guides who live in the city introduce you to fermented shark that hits the back of your throat with a sharp ammonia bite, smoked Arctic char with its delicate, oily sweetness, and lamb that has spent the summer grazing on wild thyme and mountain grass before arriving on your plate as a tender, almost gamey stew. Tastings are paired with Icelandic craft beer and brennivín, the caraway-scented spirit that burns clean and warm. Between stops the tour passes through streets where the smell of fresh kleinur, deep-fried twisted doughnuts glazed with cardamom sugar, drifts from bakery doorways even in the cold.

This half-day private tour drives south from Reykjavik into the volcanic landscapes of the Reykjanes Peninsula, where the earth is split open along the Mid-Atlantic Ridge and the ground steams with sulphurous vents that stain the rock yellow and fill the air with a rotten-egg sharpness you taste as much as smell. Depending on recent activity, guides bring you within safe viewing distance of lava fields that may still radiate heat through your boot soles. The terrain is a moonscape of ropy pāhoehoe flows, jagged scoria, and moss-covered older eruptions where the green is so vivid against the black basalt it looks painted on. The drive from central Reykjavik takes under an hour. This is one of the most accessible geological excursions from the capital.

This private evening tour takes you out of Reykjavik in a vehicle driven by a professional photographer who reads cloud cover, solar wind data, and light-pollution maps to find the clearest, darkest patch of sky within driving range of the capital. When the aurora appears, your guide sets up a tripod and coaches you through long-exposure shots where you stand silhouetted against ribbons of green and violet light that pulse and fold like slow-motion silk. Between bursts of activity, the silence is total. You hear only the crunch of snow under your feet and, occasionally, the low hum of wind across an empty lava field. Hot chocolate or coffee is served from a thermos while you wait. The steam rising from your cup catches the faint glow overhead.

The Golden Circle is the most travelled day-trip route from Reykjavik, and for good reason: it packs three geological landmarks into a single loop that starts and ends in the capital. At Þingvellir, you walk through a rift valley where the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates pull apart at roughly two centimetres per year, the moss-covered rock walls rising on either side like the pages of an open book. In March the path may be icy underfoot, demanding careful steps as your breath clouds in the cold air. Geysir, the original geyser that gave the word to every language, sits quietly beside its younger neighbour Strokkur, which erupts every six to ten minutes, launching a column of boiling water and steam that you feel on your face as a sudden blast of damp heat even from twenty metres back. Gullfoss, the two-tiered waterfall, roars into a canyon with such force that the mist freezes on the railing and on your eyelashes. In March the surrounding plateau is covered in snow that muffles every sound except the water.