An Iceland road trip in a 4x4: Golden Circle, South Coast, Jökulsárlón and Snæfellsnes in 7 nights

We landed in Keflavík in the afternoon, picked up the 4x4 at the airport itself — a four-wheel-drive SUV, which here isn't a luxury but common sense — and drove the forty-five minutes to Reykjavík in that strange, whitish eleven-o'clock-at-night light that still feels like late afternoon. We dropped the bags at the Downtown Guesthouse Reykjavík, central and right by the bars, and went out to stretch our legs with no watch on.

First stop, Hallgrímskirkja: that grey concrete church that looks like a petrified lava flow or a giant organ pointing at the sky. We went up its tower, which gives the best panorama of the city — the coloured rooftops, the bay, the snowy mountains in the background — and then walked down to the old harbour, the Gamla höfnin, with its fishing boats and the salty air.

We had dinner at Matur og Drykkur, near the harbour: modern, honest Icelandic cooking, lamb, cod and skyr, that thick yoghurt that's in everything here. Dani, who eats little and watches a lot, ended up scraping his plate clean. The first night in Iceland, with a full stomach and the feeling that the trip was really beginning.

The second day was one of the big ones, and on top of that on the way to the South Coast, barely straying from the route. We set off early towards the Golden Circle, the Icelandic classic, and the first stop was Þingvellir: a valley where the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates are literally pulling apart beneath your feet, leaving a rift you walk through with rock walls on either side. It's a World Heritage Site and this is where the Icelandic parliament was born more than a thousand years ago; it has that mix of geology and silence that leaves you speechless.

Then, Geysir, where the Strokkur geyser spits out a column of boiling water every five or ten minutes. You stand staring at the turquoise pool, waiting, and suddenly it bursts upwards through the steam and the "oooh" of the crowd. And to round off the trio, Gullfoss, a brutal double waterfall dropping in two steps into a canyon, the spray throwing up rainbows if the sun catches it. You hear the roar before you see it.

From there, about 230 kilometres skirting the South Coast to Vík, the southernmost little village in Iceland. We settled into the Guesthouse Vellir, simple and with views of Mount Pétursey, and had dinner at Halldórskaffi, the most popular spot in the village: hot soups, a lamb burger and the kind of comforting Icelandic dishes you want after such a long day.

Based in Vík, we gave the whole day to the jewels of the South Coast, all less than eighty kilometres from one another. First Seljalandsfoss, a thin, towering waterfall with the bonus that you can walk right around behind it, between the rock wall and the curtain of water. Take a proper waterproof, because you come out soaked, but seeing it backlit from inside is worth every drop.

A few kilometres on, Skógafoss, a wide, thundering wall of water dropping straight down. We climbed the 527 steps that lead to the upper viewpoint — Dani counting them out loud to liven up the suffering — and from the top the waterfall looks tiny and the horizon opens out towards the sea.

We finished at sunset at Reynisfjara, the black-sand beach of Vík: perfectly hexagonal basalt columns forming a stepped wall, the Reynisdrangar sea stacks rising from the water and, in July, puffins nesting in the cliffs with their cartoonish, colourful beaks. One very serious warning we repeated like a mantra: never turn your back on the sea. There are 'sleeper waves' here, treacherous waves that surge far higher up than they seem and have swept people away; the water looks calm and suddenly it reaches you. Enjoy the beach, but facing the water and at a distance.

The fourth day meant kilometres: about 200 to the east, leaving behind the green South Coast to enter an increasingly lunar landscape of moss-covered lava fields and endless sands. The morning's star stop was the Fjaðrárgljúfur canyon: a winding rift a hundred metres deep and two kilometres long, with a river at the bottom and a path along the rim from which you peer into the abyss. The light falling between the green walls makes it almost unreal.

We carried on towards Jökulsárlón, and here the trip changed gear. We stayed at the Fosshotel Glacier Lagoon, ten minutes from the lagoon, with views of the glacier tongues hanging off the mountains. We dropped the bags and rushed to see the icebergs at sunset — which in July is an endless, unhurried sunset — with the blocks of blue ice drifting slowly out to sea and the silence broken only by some distant crack.

We didn't have dinner at the lagoon; instead we took the chance to head over to Höfn, the Icelandic capital of lobster (humar), to eat at Pakkhús, the most famous restaurant in the area. Freshly caught lobster, simple and spectacular, in an old wooden warehouse on the harbour. The kind of dinner you remember.

The full day in the Jökulsárlón area was the heart of the trip. In the morning, an amphibious boat tour around the lagoon: a vehicle that drives into the water and sails among the icebergs, so close you can see the ice in a thousand shades of blue and, with luck, a seal poking its head out with a long-suffering face. It lasts about forty minutes and, although it isn't cheap, living the ice from inside the lagoon is priceless.

Just across the road is Diamond Beach: the icebergs that escape the lagoon out to sea wash back up onto the black-sand beach, where the surf polishes them until they look like giant diamonds on the jet-black sand. We spent a good while hopping from block to block, photographing the light shining inside them.

In the afternoon we went over to Svínafellsjökull, a glacier tongue you reach on foot near Skaftafell, with free parking. Getting close to the glacier's snout, seeing the dirty, cracked ice up close, feeling the cold air coming off it… it's striking. To actually walk on it you need a guided tour with crampons, but just walking to its base is enough to grasp the scale. The perfect afternoon before the big stage the following day.

The sixth day was the longest behind the wheel: about 350 kilometres skirting the coast, leaving behind the southern glaciers to head up to the Snæfellsnes peninsula, in the west. It's a long one, yes, but the Icelandic road is one of those where the driving itself is part of the plan: lava fields, fjords, Icelandic horses grazing and very few cars. We took turns at the wheel and stopped to stretch our legs.

Before reaching our destination we stopped at Arnarstapi, on the southern coast of the peninsula, with its basalt cliffs bored through with lava arches and the sea breaking below, and at Djúpalónssandur, a beach of polished black pebbles where you can still see the rusted remains of an old shipwreck. Snæfellsnes has a reputation as "Iceland in miniature", and it shows: in a few kilometres you get glacier, lava, beaches and cliffs.

We reached Grundarfjörður and stayed at the Kirkjufell Guesthouse, literally at the foot of the most photographed mountain in the country. Kirkjufell is that mountain shaped like a pointed hat, with two twin waterfalls at its base. In July the sun barely sets, so around eleven at night, with that golden, horizontal light of the white nights, we walked down to photograph it at our leisure. We had dinner at Bjargarsteinn, in the village harbour, with fresh fish from the bay and views of the mountain itself. A perfect finish to the last night outside the capital.

We gave the last full day to Snæfellsjökull National Park, on the tip of the peninsula, dominated by the volcano-glacier that gives the park its name: the very one Jules Verne chose as the entrance to the centre of the Earth in his novel. That alone makes you want to climb it. From June to September you can do a guided three- or four-hour excursion across the glacier with crampons and helmet; you have to book it ahead in summer, as it fills up. We had it in the plan as an option, and it's worth pencilling in early if walking on Verne's volcano ice tempts you.

With our bodies now asking for a city, we set off for Reykjavík, about 200 kilometres back to the capital for the final night. We stayed at the Centric Guesthouse Reykjavík, once again right in the centre, by the bars and restaurants.

We gave the last night to the city: a stroll down Laugavegur street, an Icelandic craft beer and the lingering after-dinner chat of people already taking stock of the trip. The next morning, dropping the 4x4 back at Keflavík and flying home to Madrid. Seven nights doing the loop without repeating a single leg.

A couple of things we were glad to have clear before leaving. The 4x4 isn't a whim for this route: Route 1 (the ring road) is paved, but the turn-offs to glaciers and several stretches of Snæfellsnes are gravel, and if you fancy any F road — the ones that cross rivers through the interior — a normal car's insurance doesn't cover it and, in fact, it isn't allowed. Book the car with fully comprehensive insurance, because gravel and fords are common and a cracked windscreen can ruin your budget.

The golden local rule: check the state of the roads on road.is and the forecast on vedur.is before each stage. The weather in Iceland changes incredibly fast — you can have sun, rain, hurricane-force wind and fog all in the same day — and the wind is the one that surprises most: opening the car door without holding it firmly can rip it off. Drive calmly, respect the limits (90 km/h on tarmac, much less on gravel) and never leave the track to take a photo: Icelandic moss takes decades to recover.

Paperwork and connectivity: Iceland is in the Schengen area, so for a short tourist stay a valid ID card or passport is enough; confirm it anyway on the official country sheet before travelling and carry a document with plenty of validity. But careful, Iceland is NOT in the European Union, so roaming on your Spanish plan can be expensive: an eSIM takes the problem away and works a treat for the maps, the weather (vedur.is) and the state of the roads (road.is). The European health card doesn't apply here as in the EU, and on a trip with glaciers, trails and a lot of driving, good travel insurance brings peace of mind.