Review: Laugarás Lagoon in Iceland

Steam rises from the water, billowing white in the clear, cold air. Figures move slowly through the mist, past frosty grassy atolls, gathering at the pool’s infinity edge to watch burnished light turn the larch trees ahead into silhouettes. From a distance, the ritual might seem mysterious—an impressionistic scene of fleshy, wading creatures at a watering hole. 

I’m in southern Iceland at Laugarás Lagoon, which opened in October on the banks of the Hvítá River, about an 80-minute drive from Reykjavik, just beyond the edge of the ever-popular Golden Circle. That well-trodden route takes in Iceland’s natural big-hitters—Þingvellir National Park, the erupting springs of Geysir, and Gullfoss waterfall—but getting here has meant passing through a barren yet mesmerising landscape, where puffs of steam rise like smoke signals on the horizon and brown-and-white horses canter and graze. I’m far from alone. In a country in thrall to warm water, where geothermal heat fuels countless pools and lagoons, any new opening is greeted with avid curiosity.

While the Blue Lagoon—its waters milky with mineral-rich silica—remains the most famous, drawing up to a million visitors a year, smaller, less touristy lagoons have been appearing across the country, from Sky Lagoon on Kársnes Harbour near Reykjavik to Forest Lagoon in Iceland’s far north. Laugarás is similarly boutique in scale. It is centred around a striking building topped with turf, a nod to Iceland’s traditional architecture, with aqueduct-like arches and an angular timber roof inside—a little Hobbit-like, a little sci-fi rustic.  

“Iceland’s a cold country, so we need the contrast,” laughs one of many visitors from Reykjavik. “And it’s a very social thing–warm water gets us outside in the thick of winter.” As I wade through the lagoon, I pass families chatting in small clusters, while young Icelandic couples slip off to the Grotto, a secluded pool reached via a narrow channel between boulders, for hushed moments overlooking the river and its suspension bridge.

The lagoon is set across two levels, linked by a waterfall cascading between them. Steps lead down behind the curtain of water, allowing me to walk through it for a warm, pounding shower. It’s not quite as epic as Seljalandsfoss—the 196-foot natural waterfall on the south coast that you can walk behind—but it’s fun and I circle around for another go. 

Aside from this, Laugarás is deliberately light on water features. Like Iceland’s other lagoons, it may be artificial, but it has been carefully designed to melt into the landscape—an immersive experience in the most literal sense, using geothermal water that flows in at a toasty 37–39C. There are two swim-up bars (more bob-up, really), and at one I order a rhubarb vodka cocktail, paying by tapping a high-tech wristband that also opens my locker. Propped against the bar is a 40-something couple from New York, visiting with their teenage children, who swap notes with me on their week-long Icelandic adventure.

Overlooking the lagoon is a mixed sauna, crafted from locally sourced spruce and pine. Behind a stand of trees, a small forest pool offers extra seclusion. After plunging into the icy cold bath outside, skin smarting, I return to the sauna and ask my companions what they make of the new lagoon. “It’s well done,” a middle-aged Estonian man living in Reykjavik tells me, “but I prefer the Blue Lagoon–it’s got a bigger range of saunas and steam rooms.” A young couple from the capital are more taken with it. “It’s really opened up this part of Iceland. There wasn’t a reason to come here before and, of course,” they say, nodding up towards the lagoon’s main building, “it does have the best chef in Iceland.”  

By “the best chef in Iceland,” they mean Gísli Matt, who made his name at Slippurinn on the puffin-flecked island of Heimaey, where he foraged mountains and shores to create a hyper-seasonal New Nordic cuisine. He smoked trout with sheep’s dung, made seaweed infusions, and took a fin-to-tail approach with dishes such as cod wings in spruce sauce. Matt closed Slippurinn last year to focus on his new project at Laugarás, Ylja—a name that translates loosely as a cozy, Icelandic take on hygge.

“Laugarás is one of the most productive farming areas in Iceland,” Matt told Travel + Leisure. “But there’s never been a restaurant here focusing solely on the produce. Almost all the farms are family run, using geothermal energy to heat greenhouses year-round—we get incredible tomatoes from Frioheimar, while a couple called Oli and Linda supply us with peppers. And I’m using lots of Icelandic cheese, skyr, which is clean and gentle and pairs really well with vegetables and grains. The whey is also beautiful, giving acidity and depth in a different way to vinegar or citrus.”

That whey appears repeatedly in the dishes that follow, from the broth pooling around slices of Arctic char topped with creamed horseradish, to a trifle-like strawberry dessert. More cheese arrives alongside a tender slab of flame-grilled lamb, while skyr is crumbled over a tomato carpaccio, fresh tomatoes mingling with fermented ones for a burst of savoury intensity. It’s a compelling showcase of both the region’s ingredients and Matt’s zero-waste philosophy, echoed in a cocktail list that includes a twist on the Espresso Martini, made with coffee liqueur from spent grounds and butter-washed local rye.

After my feast, I’m tempted to return to the lagoon waters to drift around some more but  need to make the return journey to Reykjavik. The sky has darkened to a deep, clear blue, although that slow, slow sunset still burns orange on the horizon, and lamps are now glowing around the lagoon, as if set for a candlelit dinner. The night looks set for an epic appearance by the northern lights – some guests have already seen them multiple times, floating on their backs while the aurora swirls and cascades above them –  but it’s a show I’ll have to return for another time.  

After the meal, I’m tempted to slip back into the lagoon for one last float, but Reykjavik calls. The sky has deepened to a clear blue, though the famously slow sunset still burns orange on the horizon. Lamps glow around the lagoon as if set for a candlelit dinner. The night feels primed for a northern lights performance—some guests have already seen them several times, floating on their backs as the aurora ripples overhead—but it’s a spectacle I’ll have to return for another time.

Laugarás Lagoon (https://laugaraslagoon.is) from 6,900ISK (about $55). The Ösp deluxe package (available 11am-5pm), for ISK 15,900 (about $125), includes a two-course meal at Ylja alongside full lagoon access. The full five-course tasting menu is served from 5pm, from about $85.