The Overthinker’s Scorecard: Reynisfjara, Iceland

If you’ve ever searched for places to visit in Iceland, you’ve probably seen Reynisfjara. It’s the country’s famous black sand beach near Vík, known for its towering basalt columns, dramatic sea stacks and some of the most photogenic scenery you’ll find anywhere on the South Coast.

It’s also one of the few tourist attractions where people die with alarming regularity. Not because they’re unlucky, but because the North Atlantic doesn’t negotiate.

When we arrived on an afternoon in January, the warning lights were flashing red. The signs underneath the lights warned about sneaker waves: powerful waves that surge much further up the beach than you’d expect before dragging everything back into the sea. Every year, visitors underestimate them. Some don’t get a second chance.

I was therefore perfectly happy to admire Reynisfjara from a safe distance. For us, the decision was easy. We stayed off the beach. What surprised me was how many other people didn’t. Despite the flashing warning lights, there were plenty of visitors strolling across the black sand, stopping for photos with the waves creeping ever closer behind them. Perhaps they thought the warnings were exaggerated. Perhaps they assumed they’d react quickly enough if something happened. I wasn’t interested in finding out whether either assumption was correct. Everyone got away with it that day. The warning signs are there because occasionally someone doesn’t.

Fortunately, you don’t have to walk on the beach to enjoy Reynisfjara. The slightly higher, rocky part is easily reached from the car park and offers spectacular views without requiring you to gamble with the Atlantic.

It seemed like the perfect compromise. Until the wind noticed my hat. It was a lovely hat. Bright red. Warm. Excellent for Iceland. For about five minutes. One particularly enthusiastic gust lifted it clean off my head and sent it tumbling across the rocks towards the sea.

Marc immediately gave chase. For a while, it looked promising. The hat was not yet on the beach. Then it continued its determined journey in the direction of the Atlantic. Marc slowed down. He looked at the waves. Then at my hat. Then back at the waves. He then decided that replacing a hat would be considerably easier than explaining to our children that he’d been swept into the ocean while trying to rescue knitwear. I agreed with his assessment. The Atlantic can keep the hat, but not him.

Looking back, that red hat probably taught me the most valuable lesson of the day. Some things simply aren’t worth the risk. Not a photograph. Not a closer look. And certainly not a hat.

Still travelling with me?

Here are a few more adventures that kept my overthinking brain occupied:

• Camel rides in the Moroccan Sahara – graceful in theory, slightly less so in practice.
• My 4-day Iceland itinerary – everything we saw, including the South Coast, glaciers and waterfalls. And Reynisfjara, from a safe distance.

Travel with an overthinker.

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