I landed in Reykjavík at exactly 8:42 AM. It was grey, +6°C, and my fingers felt like popsicles. I walked into the airport café and ordered a cappuccino. The barista — an icy Norse goddess with piercings and zero facial expression — looked me dead in the eye and said, “Seven twenty.”

I asked her to repeat it. She did. I smiled politely, while my inner accountant screamed.

Surprisingly, the coffee was excellent. Warm. Comforting. Like a hug from your grandma, if she were made of foam and espresso.

I picked up a 2015 Renault Duster from a rental lot that looked like a parking lot in a zombie movie.

Five days = €112 total.

Yes, really.

The car smelled like grandpa’s attic. In the glovebox I found a stick of fossilized gum and a note that read: “Don’t feed the sheep.” I still don’t know if that was a joke or a legal warning.

But it ran. Mostly.

🏞️ Every Scenic Stop = Coffee Stop

I drove almost 700 kilometers in five days. Waterfalls, lava fields, moss-covered hills that looked straight out of Middle-earth.

But honestly? I wasn’t just chasing views.

I was chasing cafés.

Tiny wooden houses with signs like Kaffi Húsid, where someone hands you a latte in a handmade mug and you sit by the window watching a glacier melt gently into your soul.

Sure, it’s €6.50. But it’s a beautiful €6.50.

💡 What I Learned: I Came for the Glaciers, But Found Coffee Zen

I thought Iceland would change me in some deep, philosophical way. That I’d meditate near a waterfall or get in touch with my inner Viking.

Instead, I discovered how deeply satisfying hot coffee is when you're 51, slightly damp, and sore from sleeping in the back of your rental car.

So here’s my advice:

Travel for the moments, not the milestones.

Even if the moment is a latte with a view of a steaming geyser.