Docking at Skarfabakki terminal and seeing Reykjavik's colorful tin roofs with Hallgrímskirkja church rising like a basalt column is pure magic — Iceland ports have exploded in popularity and average 4.9–5.0. Our ship arrived early, and I was on one of those perfectly-timed 6.5-hour Golden Circle tours designed for cruise passengers. This 190-mile (300-kilometer) loop from Reykjavik connects three natural wonders that feel like they belong on another planet, and I understood why the moment we reached our first stop.

At Thingvellir National Park — a UNESCO World Heritage site since 2004 — I walked the path between two continents, literally placing one hand on the North American plate and the other on the Eurasian plate. The rift valley spreads before you like an open wound in the earth's crust, the plates drifting apart at about two centimeters per year, tearing Iceland slowly in half. Standing in that ancient fissure, I felt the raw geological power beneath my feet — the very bones of the planet shifting, grinding, pulling apart. This is where the earth shows its work, where creation is still unfinished. And here, in this same valley where the ground splits wide, Iceland's Althingi parliament was established in 930 AD, making it the site of the world's oldest functioning parliament. Vikings gathered in this sacred space to settle disputes and forge laws, as if they knew this place where continents divide was also where people must come together. The echoes of a thousand years of debate hang in the crisp air like morning mist.

Then came Gullfoss — a majestic glacial-powered waterfall that drops in two thundering stages into a rugged canyon. I felt the roar of it in my chest before I even saw it, the ground trembling beneath my boots as millions of gallons of ancient ice melt plunged into the abyss. When the mist caught the sun, rainbows arced across the chasm like nature's own benediction, and I stood there transfixed, watching the Hvítá river carve its way deeper into stone with the patient fury of water over time. It felt like standing at the edge of the world — which, in a way, you are.

Just down the road, the Geysir geothermal area delivered on its promise with raw, elemental power. Strokkur geyser erupts every 5 to 10 minutes, sending a column of boiling water 66 feet (20 meters) into the sky with a roar and a dome of scalding steam. I stood there, camera ready, waiting for the telltale bubble at the surface — that moment of held breath before the earth exhales with volcanic force. When it blew, the eruption felt primal, like witnessing the planet's heartbeat made visible. Steam hissed from fissures all around us, the ground hot to the touch, sulfur sharp in the air. This is fire-and-ice made manifest, Iceland's dual nature laid bare: glaciers and lava, geysers and Northern Lights, creation and destruction dancing together in perfect, terrifying balance.

The Blue Lagoon is 45 minutes from Reykjavik, and booking the late afternoon slot meant we arrived as the light turned golden. This isn't just a hot spring — it's a vast geothermal spa fed by the runoff from the nearby Svartsengi power plant, its milky-blue waters rich with silica, algae, and minerals that leave your skin impossibly soft. I floated in 100-degree water under the Iceland sky, sipping a cold drink from the in-pool bar, steam rising around me while volcanic rock pressed cool against my back. Heaven, pure and simple. The silica suspended in the water gives it that otherworldly blue-white glow, and the minerals soothe tired muscles after a day of chasing waterfalls and geysers. If you're visiting during the darker months, keep your eyes on the sky: the Golden Circle and Iceland's remote location far from light pollution make it prime territory for the Northern Lights. Most tour operators check the aurora forecast and will offer free rebooking (valid for 36 months) if the KP index is below 3 or clouds roll in. Clear skies and a KP index of at least 3 are your golden ticket to seeing the Aurora Borealis dance across the Arctic sky in ribbons of green and violet.

Back in town, I walked from the old harbor to Hallgrímskirkja in about ten minutes, stopping at the Sun Voyager sculpture and Harpa concert hall's glass honeycomb facade along the way. The church rises like a frozen geyser, its white concrete spire echoing the basalt columns that frame Iceland's coastline. The view from the tower is worth every króna, and I finished the day with an Icelandic hot dog "with everything" from Bæjarins Beztu. Puffin tours, lava tunnel walks, or a helicopter ride to a glacier are all easy adds if you have more time.

Iceland feels like visiting another planet that happens to have amazing coffee and wool sweaters.