GRINDAVIK — The sky illuminates with slow moving green lights that seem to dance in the night.
They are the Northern Lights, and in Iceland they are not rare, yet each time they feel like a reminder that nature remains the true master here. It is a land of stark contrasts, of ice and fire, where people face forces that rest beyond their control.
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With just over 380,000 inhabitants, Iceland is one of the smallest nations in Europe. Geothermal energy powers homes, schools and greenhouses, and the use of natural resources is part of everyday life. Icelanders have learned to live with the precariousness of their land, knowing that every benefit such as heat, tourism, and research comes from the same unstable soil that can sweep everything away.
Shifting ground
In recent years, the country has experienced intense volcanic activity. On the Reykjanes Peninsula in the southwest, the town of Grindavik has become a symbol of this vulnerability. The eruptions from 2023 to 2025 were the most significant in decades. Today the volcanic area remains active. Hundreds of tremors are recorded every month, and the ground keeps shifting.
“We were forced to leave,” says Pall, who left his home during the 2023 evacuation. “The ground was opening and the tremors were constant. It was no longer possible to stay, I had to sell.”
As we walk through the nearly deserted streets and reach the edge of town, Pall points to what was once his house. “It took me years to finish it and it was hard to move.” Icelandic authorities have repeatedly evacuated residents and closed roads, later offering incentives to sell their homes. Today Grindavik feels half-abandoned, uncertain of its future.
The same forces that threaten the island’s inhabitants are also the ones that drive the country’s wealth: geothermal energy, nature tourism and scientific research. Reykjavik, the capital, lies only a few dozen kilometers from the most active areas, yet remains the island’s economic and cultural center.
The Ring Road begins here, circling the entire island and linking the small coastal towns. Traveling it means moving through constantly shifting landscapes: stretches of lava rock, craters, geysers, glacial plains and cliffs that face the ocean. Vatnajokull, one of the largest glaciers in the world, feeds rivers and waterfalls. Icebergs break off from its tongue and drift into the Jokulsarlon lagoon, where waves carry them to Diamond Beach.
In a country where the climate dictates everything, adaptation is not a choice but a condition of life.
The landscape is spectacular but delicate, and winter changes it completely. Roads close because of snow and wind, and entire villages stay isolated for weeks. In a country where the climate dictates everything, adaptation is not a choice but a condition of life — and observing natural phenomena becomes a way to understand and partly anticipate them. This is the work of Icelandic researchers, who turn the island’s instability into a natural laboratory.
“Iceland is a unique natural laboratory,” says Daniel Hjálmtýsson, an Icelandic biologist who coordinates the Thekkingarsetur Sudurnesja research center in Sandgerdi on the Reykjanes Peninsula. “Many researchers spend long periods on the island to study its particular features.”
They monitor land and marine ecosystems, analyzing soil and water composition. The center’s projects are wide ranging. Halldor Halldórsson, a biologist at the center, has spent years studying Cancer irroratus, an invasive crab that threatens native species and disrupts fisheries. “We study how local populations react and what this means for the coastal economy. Invasive species can seriously undermine the biodiversity of an ecosystem.”
The other face
Iceland attracts researchers from around the world. Lorenzo Cozzolino, an Italian marine biologist working in France and Portugal, also spent several months at the Thekkingarsetur Sudurnesja Center studying the impact of microplastics on marine organisms. “I analyze how they affect the behavior and physiology of crabs and mussels,” he says, showing me a crab specimen in the lab.
“Warmer waters alter the timing of their journeys.”
The sea is the other face of the island. In the northern waters near Husavik and Hauganes, humpback and fin whales follow the Atlantic currents. Whale watching tours, which attract tourists from across the world, are also a way to collect scientific data.
“Every excursion is a chance to document how cetaceans behave. Many tourists want to see whales in their natural environment, and Iceland is one of the places they regularly visit during migration,” explains Christian, a biologist and guide with North Sailing, as he photographs a humpback whale swimming near the boat. “Each humpback whale has a different tail, which allows us to identify it and track its movements. It is like our fingerprint, unique to each person.”
Julia, another guide, adds that their migration routes are changing. “Warmer waters alter the timing of their journeys.” All around us, humpback whales rise and vanish again into the deep.
Nature tourism is one of the island’s main sources of income. The Golden Circle, which includes Thingvellir, Geysir, and the Gulfoss waterfall, is the most visited region, but the government is trying to direct visitors toward lesser known areas. The goal is to limit environmental impact and ensure the safety of local communities. Measures include daily visitor limits at some sites and awareness campaigns teaching tourists to respect the places they visit, which are sometimes hostile and dangerous for those who venture in without understanding the risks.
In Iceland everything seems still, yet nothing ever is. The eruptions that empty villages are the same ones that draw scientists and travelers. The lights of the aurora shift again across the sky, closing the circle in a country where land, ice and sea continually reshape the boundaries of survival. Here, life is never taken for granted. It is an exercise in adaptation, a quiet form of balance within a landscape that changes every day.
