The Icelanders channel a great mix of efficiency and carefree nonchalance that completely puts you at ease.

Lost your shuttle transfer? Not to worry. Forgotten to book your Golden Circle tour? Hop on board the bus.

Engaging in conversation, whether to ask directions or determine the best cafe is also a total pleasure, thanks to the Icelanders charm.

Icelandic locals believe some of the best skies and scenery are to be found during winter

Having suitably mummified ourselves in the warm capsule of the hotel, we set off to Austurvöllur for our walking tour, the square opposite parliament. Traditionally locals congregated here to bang pots and pans when they were unhappy with government policy.

The tour, conducted by a friendly and knowledgeable local history graduate Marteinn, helped us get acquainted with the major landmarks in the city, as well as lesser known statues, sculptures and curiosities tucked away from prying eyes.

We were lured to Reykjavik by the hope of catching the elusive Northern lights at play in the night skies.

That Saturday evening, we bundled up, ski gloves and flasks of tea at the ready, to board a Reykjavik Excursions bus tour.

As our guide explained, seeing the lights hinges delicately on the weather conditions, which continually flit between rain and cloud, mortal enemies to the so-called ‘electricity in the sky’.

It’s a gamble even boarding the bus, but one which we were excited to take as we headed out of town at 9pm for the otherworldly wilderness, where we could be assured of waiting uninterrupted by town lights.

The skies remained stubbornly black until the greenish patches of lights suddenly emerged up above

For the most part, the skies remained stubbornly pitch black. But the great thing about the tour is that the guides are highly knowledgeable about hunting the lights.We were constantly leaping on and off the bus at the cry of our guide when she caught wind of sightings nearby.

After one impromptu stop-off, the greenish patches of lights suddenly emerged up above. These weren’t brightly coloured, but muted, misty streaks of light that shift before your eyes.

For a few moments on that windswept, volcanic plain, I felt privileged to have been granted a glimpse of the magical lights.

We didn’t return home until 1am. We rose sleepily in the darkness the next morning, breakfasted, and were picked up by our tour guide, Baldwin, for our Golden Circle tour.

We drove towards the mountains where the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates had parted ways, which, as Baldwin informed us, had received a fresh dusting of snow within the last few days.

It was here that Baldwin recalled his very own Icelandic saga. In the winter of 1936, the coldest winter since records began, his great grandfather decided to tow his lakeside cabin across the 75cm frozen ice to the east side of the lake.

We looked out across the fir-tree lined water and imagined an intrepid young man capitalising on the extreme weather conditions for a house-move, and marvelled at the Icelanders pluck.

Gullfoss is Europe’s largest, and arguably prettiest waterfall

Next, to the Gullfoss Waterfall, which literally translates as “Golden Falls”. Located in the River Hvítá, which originates from Hvítárvatn on the southeast side of the glacier of Langjokull, Gullfoss is Europe’s largest, and arguably prettiest waterfall.

Only a handful of fellow travellers were alongside us at the water’s edge that morning, making our descent down the hillside a serene one.

The waterfall is a remarkable sight to behold; jagged basalt cliffs covered by water that froths angrily before falling in silvery sheaths over the precipice.

Onlookers stand like pinpricks next to the thundering waterfall, coated in the white spray that surrounds Gullfoss and falls dewily upon your skin.

The day was drawing on, so we headed to the Haukadalur geothermal region, where the Geysir hot spring and its “younger brother” Strokkur sit 50 metres apart.

For a moment I believed I was walking amid a prehistoric world, so utterly unmarked by human civilisation is the sub-Arctic wilderness.

The Great Geysir very rarely spouts now, but his neighbour Strokkur was enjoying a period of activity when we arrived, erupting roughly every five minutes to project hot water and stream 100 feet into the air.

After four minutes of waiting at the geyser’s edge, Strokkur exploded; a swelling of white foam that pulsed like a giant blister, before shooting skyward to shrieks of delight from onlookers.

Our trip to Iceland wasn’t complete without an evening stroll through Reykjavik. One of my favourite things of our trip was peeping into people’s homes and watching the cosy scenes within: meals being served, windowsills decorated with glass elves, open log fires crackling.

In one shop window, a silversmith worked late into the evening; in a nearby noodle kitchen, the night was young for the trendy twenty-somethings who sat behind steaming bowls of soup.

We looked back at the Hallgrimskirkja Church, which now stood glowing the darkness. That we were the only two inhabitants in the tower that evening felt like a rather special moment; and solidified my belief that although Reykjavik may be experiencing a popularity boost, the city will always reveal magical, pre-tourist moments for those who seek them.