Seeing the Northern Lights wasn’t the only reason we wanted to go to Iceland.

We went to Iceland to see the glaciers retreating from the mountains and volcanoes spewing lava and changing the topography.

We went to Iceland to find out if all the amazing things people said were true.

And yes, we really, really wanted to see the Northern Lights. 

NextTribe takes small groups of women ages 45+ on fun, immersive trips across the country and around the world. We’re going back to Iceland in late August 2026. Learn more here.

When we arrived in Reykjavik in late August, it seemed that seeing the lights was going to be a cinch. While on a downtown walking tour that was more like a moveable feast (we stopped for bites at five different restaurants) with our guide, Addy, we got a text from Addy’s boss:

Tonight’s the night. Dress in warm layers. Meet the mini-bus across the street from your hotel. Conditions look great. Bring your phone.

To be honest, we were skeptical that the Northern Lights would show themselves in August, but we were told by our Iceland experts that the dancing light show happens frequently–-you just have to have darkness (and certain other conditions) to see them. It’s easier to see them in the winter because it gets dark earlier. 

Our First Chance

Even though we were jet-lagged from trying to sleep on an airplane the night before as we flew over the Atlantic from New York City, dressing in warm clothes at 10 pm we followed Jeannie Ralston, our NextTribe Trip Leader, into a mini-bus-–hoping that the man at the wheel was actually Addy’s associate and not some random driver parked on the street. 

It was much colder than we anticipated. During the day, the bright sunshine made us doubt it would get so cold. We drove for 45 minutes back toward the airport where we’d arrived that morning. The driver said we needed to find the darkest spot possible, and next thing we knew we were on an abandoned plot of land that might’ve once been a U.S. military base. For those of us with even a little bit of paranoia, it seemed like the perfect scenario for a serial killer. 

For those of us with even a little bit of paranoia, it seemed like the perfect scenario for a serial killer. 

Cautiously, with assurance from Jeannie, we all piled out and looked up. The sky was pitch black. We saw plenty of stars but nothing else. We were told to look at the sky through our cellphone cameras since the lens was more sensitive to the streaks of green, pink or magenta identified with the Northern Lights. Our driver, who was a specialist in “the Aurora,” as he called the phenomenon, had a camera on a tripod and continually checked a website that reportedly provided real-time updates on cosmic activity. Our excitement was building.

We waited. And waited. We got cold, very cold. Some of us went back into the bus. Some fell asleep. Finally, to our dismay our driver/Aurora specialist called it. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to happen tonight,” he said apologetically. “It’s nature. What can you do?” We all settled back into our seats, trying not to be disappointed–after all we had six other nights to try. 

“Now,” he said, as we pulled on the highway back to Rekjavik, “it’s the drive of shame.” 

Getting to Iceland

Over the decades of our friendship we’ve often traveled together–most recently to a writing retreat in Guatemala. We had talked about Iceland a while back and Nancy’s niece, an editor at a travel magazine, even researched trips for us. But the price seemed too high and Nancy bowed out. “Not for me,” she said. “Not now, anyway.”

Rather than abandoning her dream of going, Ann researched group trips, and looked at photos friends had taken in the past to inspire her. And then there was an email from Jeannie, the founder of NextTribe, a website that originally was an online magazine specializing in essays by and about women 45+, where Nancy and Ann both had published articles.

All of the women looked so happy and friendly, hugging each other.

As NextTribe pivoted more to travel, Ann learned about the Iceland trip the group was offering. There were photos of other trips. All of the women looked so happy and friendly, hugging each other.

Though Ann signed up right away, she was worried if she could fit in. Did everyone know each other? Would she feel left out? Nancy worried for different reasons. She seldom traveled with a group, even if all women. She was also concerned that the leader, Jeannie Ralston, the inspiration of all things NextTribe, was too cheerful for her. But several months later a spot opened up on the Sold Out trip and, stricken with a bad case of FOMO, she signed up.

“After all, this was Iceland, and maybe I’d finally see the Northern Lights,” she said. 

 The lights, the lights. They were top on our list of sights to see in Iceland. Would we really see them?   

Women Power

Our NextTribe group consisted of fifteen women from all over the United States: Oregon, Texas, Washington, DC, California, Colorado, Detroit and New York. They were single, divorced, widowed, with children (grown), no children, grandchildren, and many were retired and Medicare eligible. At first we were strangers but by the end of the trip, we were family.

NextTribe is all about women, and so is Iceland, with four of the main governmental positions held by women today. Jeannie arranged for a women-led tour company, with female guides Helga and Addy, to navigate us around the country. From them we not only received an in-depth description of the geological underpinnings of the country–-the how and why of glaciers, volcanic activity and geothermal springs–-we received a first-hand account of what their lives were like as women in Iceland–-personally, professionally, and politically. And we got to meet other women, artists, craftspeople and knitters, during the trip. So similar to us and yet so different in many ways.

If Weather Allows 

On every day of our itinerary, the last sentence on each day was: “Northern lights in the evening if weather allows.”

We kept our fingers crossed. Now we even crossed our toes. We had to see the lights.

Day Two started too early since we didn’t get to bed until midnight and were still jetlagged. But the sights we were seeing were eye-opening and bracing enough to keep us alert, at least when we were outside the mini-bus on a tour of what’s known as the Golden Circle. We saw a shy geyser, a ferocious waterfall–which had been saved from destruction by a passionate young woman some 100 years ago. 

Do you like tomatoes? Tomato soup? Tomato cocktails? Tomato juice? Tomato salt? Tomato ice-cream? We ate lunch that day at a restaurant within a greenhouse–-where everything on the menu was made from tomatoes picked from the rows of plants growing just a few feet away from our table. The bread, not only here but in other restaurants, was crusty and freshly baked.

Later that day we got to taste bread that had been baked in the ground–a geothermal oven. We brought along some of the geothermal-baked bread to a reception at an art gallery (a massive former dairy) for local women artists. The place was multi-leveled–and the hallways like a maze–which made viewing the artwork a bit chaotic, but meeting the women artists was inspiring. 

I highly recommend going for a stroll around 11 tonight and look north.

Alas, that evening at dinner, we were told that the Northern Lights were a no-go. For good viewing, sun activity, which ranges between zero to six, should be at least a three (as measured on an Iceland Northern Lights app). There can’t be any competing light, including moonlight and lights from boats in the harbor. That night, the weather was not cooperating.

We tried again for the Northern Lights the following day. After meeting an Icelandic woman who was preserving traditional knitting styles and soaking in sparkling hot springs at the edge of an icy fjord, during dinner we got a message from Helga on our phones. “There is a chance for you to see the northern lights tonight. Things are looking promising. Best viewing point near your hotel is at the harbor. I highly recommend going for a stroll around 11 tonight and look north.”

 That night just before 11 pm, we ran out of the hotel wearing our pajamas underneath our warmest jackets, across the street to the pier. A few of our fellow NextTribe travelers were walking toward the water, holding their cell-phones up to the sky in search of the elusive green light. Approaching them we asked, “Did you see it? Did you see it?” No one was sure exactly what we were looking for but in any case, after wandering by the harbor and getting a crick in our neck to no avail, we gave up. It was a letdown, made more so by reports that people in the Northern U.S. where we lived most of our lives were potentially getting to see the lights. The following day there were photos on Facebook from some of our neighbors back home commenting on the beautiful lights they saw. Now this was getting embarrassing.

The Hike

The next day was consequential. Not because of the Northern Lights but for something that happened in daylight hours. For both of us, the hike to Reykjadalur Hot Springs was notable, albeit for different reasons.

When she’d signed up for the trip, Nancy hadnoticed that it was categorized as a level 4 which meant a higher intensity of activity, particularly hiking, and she’d expressed some trepidation. Ann was more confident. “I ran the NYC Marathon ten times, most recently in 2023,” Ann said to Nancy. “You hiked El Camino for days, and both of us take our dogs for very long walks. We can do it.”                

According to our guides we were setting out to walk about three miles, then soak in thermal hot springs before the return for another three miles. (However, at the end, Nancy’s Fitbit said it was more like seven and a half miles.) When we had a moment doing a little bit of research on the internet, it was confirmed that “It‘s important to realize that the hike is longer and more difficult than many expect.” Estimates of peak elevation vary between 2,000 and 3,000 feet. We both remember being told that the ascent was a brief section at the beginning.

To say the ride down on a horse was thrilling would be an understatement

No matter the elevation, the views throughout were spectacular. Still, Ann asked one of the other women on the trip who’d been to Iceland a few years earlier about the hike. “No problem,” she said. “A few steps at the beginning and then it’s flat all the way. At the top there’s a gorgeous hot spring and we’ll all go swimming.” It sounded perfect. 

“I can do that,” Ann said. But as the group hiked up the mountain, she noticed that it was not flat and instead of any steps to help with the incline, there were slippery stones. Two NextTribers hung back to help her up the path–which afforded gorgeous views of the valley (when Ann dared to look up from where she was placing her feet) and strangely, in the middle of nowhere she saw a corral of horses. 

When Ann met Helga at the top of the mountain and finally sat in the incredible hot spring water, they both decided it would make sense for Helga to arrange for Ann to take a horse back down the trail. To say it was thrilling is an understatement. Of course, Ann was afraid–she hadn’t ridden a horse in decades–but she was more afraid of trying to hike down herself. It turned out to be one of the best experiences of the trip.

All Right, Let’s Go

Nancy also wondered when the up was going to end and kept looking for the top, figuring that maybe the next step or the next or the next would make it materialize. Like Ann, she was testing herself and her limits. After a while she lost sight of Ann and sometimes there was no one else around and she’d feel a little uneasy. What if…I took the wrong path? She’d start to think. Then she made her mind stop. Take in this moment, she’d tell herself.

And always around a bend, or off in the distance there’d be the Icelandic sheep, roaming free. On a visit to a sheep farm the previous day, they’d learned that sheep are let out around April or May to roam the countryside, and in October all of the farmers work together to bring the sheep home, which takes around a month. Nancy was fascinated by the sheep. They had such freedom. Seeing them was reassuring.

Arriving at the top, Nancy’s sister hikers greeted her with cheers, which elated her.

There’s an Icelandic saying– “There’s no No in Iceland–that would become a mantra for Nancy and Ann–not just about Iceland. Instead of the word “no,” in Iceland, people say Jæja, which sounds like, Iyeeah and means, “All right, let’s go.” Nancy and Ann decided this should become a life philosophy for them as much as possible. 

Arriving at the top, Nancy’s sister hikers greeted her with cheers, which elated her. Nancy was the oldest in the group and she’d made it. Stretching out on the ground after wading in the warm springs, she smiled, feeling the Jaeja. 

That night we stayed at an inn on the southern coast. The hotel offered a service where they would call your room in the middle of the night if the Northern Lights were visible. We, along with most everyone else in the group, chose to be notified. To be honest, we were so tired from the hike we were relieved not to get the call. But there weren’t too many days left of our trip. We were starting to worry.

Other Natural Wonders

Iceland is born of volcanic eruptions and glaciers, and is unlike anything most of us have ever seen. The day after the hike, we visited a stunningly beautiful beach–where pieces of glaciers bobbed in the waves or glittered on the black sand. Its name “Diamond Beach” makes complete sense. Nearby, was a lagoon, the color of a Caribbean sea, filled with icebergs–pieces of broken off glacier. Then we headed to an unpronounceable national park, a jeep ride that took us through moonlike terrain, glacial rivers, stone-strewn roads and muddy paths as rain–remarkably the only day with rain–made a brief appearance. 

On the aptly named “Diamond Beach,” pieces of glaciers bobbed in the waves or glittered on the black sand.

Although the volcanoes were quiet while we were there, their presence is part of the country’s narrative. The language is incomprehensible for us non-Icelanders, which the natives readily acknowledge. A good example of this is how they speak of the volcano Eyjafjallajökull, which erupted in 2010 causing major air travel disruptions throughout Europe, as well as glacial floods and local damage. Because they are often asked about this legendary eruption, they helpfully translate its name as “Hey-I-Forgot-the-Yogurt.”

Like our guides Helga and Addy, the jeep driver had lived in Iceland all of his life. When we asked him about the Northern Lights, he was optimistic that we would witness them on one of our nights–though at this point we only had two more chances. “I look up in the sky,” he said, “and there they are at least three times a week.”

Running Out of Time

On our second to the last night, we were back in Reykjavik, and Helga arranged for us to catch an Aurora-Borealis-viewing boat that evening. We were told that out on the sea–away from city lights–we’d have an excellent chance of seeing the light display. However, while having dinner in the capital, we got the message that the cloud cover was expected to be too heavy and the boat ride was called off. That meant we had just one more chance. 

Any will-we-or-won’t-we anxiety about seeing the lights was assuaged by an afternoon at the famous Blue Lagoon. You can’t go to Iceland and not visit the Blue Lagoon, which features geothermal sea waters that you can almost float in because of the density of salt and other minerals. It was a perfect way to close out a trip that didn’t have a lot of down time. We spent a few hours basking in the warm waters that are supposed to have skin-nourishing properties, surrounded by volcanic rock, and in the incomparable spa retreat. 

As if the trip couldn’t get any better, Helga had saved the best restaurant for our last night.

As if the trip couldn’t get any better, Helga had saved the best restaurant for our last night. At Sol Restaurant and Greenhouse, just outside Reykjavik city-proper, the plants were growing all around you, literally beneath your feet. Through the glass floor of the dining room you could see herbs, tomatoes, cucumbers, and salad greens; and, through the glass walls of the dining room the view was of a fjord. It was one of the most breathtaking settings for a dinner we can remember. And the food was just as unforgettable.

Unfortunately, there was no time to linger during our dinner. We’d gotten the thumbs up that the Northern Lights boat tour was on. Conditions were looking good. There was no way we could miss that.  And we had a 20 minute drive to get to the harbor. We actually had to run to the dock and were the last to board. But if we actually saw the lights this time, it would be worth it.

We bundled up in quilted red coveralls, we waited, watched and hoped. Jeannie, our indomitable leader, was dancing (her favorite activity, apparently) in the darkness at the bow of the boat. Not a rain dance, but call it a Dance for the Lights. 

We sat at the upper level of the boat, listening to a woman on a loud speaker describing the conditions and observations. Finally we were rewarded with green streaks, wisps of activity that were visible to the naked eye, not only through the lens of the iPhone. This felt real, even if the full-on show of a sky ablaze in color—that you see in photos–was not to be. This was it. It almost was like making it to the top of the mountain again. We hugged each other in gratitude. We made it.

The evening was a perfect way to close out our trip. We were in a shared experience. For some of us it was our first NextTribe. For most of us, it won’t be our last.