Gljúfrabúi, the hidden falls behind the cleft

Gljúfrabúi is the neighbour almost nobody notices. From the path north of Seljalandsfoss all you see is a narrow cleft in the cliff face and a stream coming out of it. Follow the stream in — stepping on stones, ankle-deep in places — and after fifteen metres the rock opens into a chamber with a waterfall pouring down one wall, moss on every surface, and a single shaft of daylight from the slot far above.

Inside, the light does something no other Icelandic spot does: it comes almost vertically, soft and cool, off green walls. Faces get a flattering top light, the spray hangs in the air as visible beams on bright days, and the boulder in the middle of the chamber is the classic stance for a couple. It is small and intimate — the opposite of the huge open frames the south coast otherwise offers, and the reason it turns up in so many elopement galleries.

What it costs you: wet feet, guaranteed. The stream has no dry route, the chamber is permanently in spray, and the rocks are slippery. Bring boots or accept wet shoes, change afterwards, and keep the camera under cover between frames — the mist inside is fine enough to fog a lens in seconds. In winter the entrance can be iced or the stream high; check before counting on access.

Courtesy matters here more than anywhere nearby, because the chamber fits perhaps a dozen people. Go early or late, work quickly, and let others in and out rather than holding the boulder for twenty minutes. The land belongs to the Hamragarðar farm; park in the proper area rather than on the verge, and check current parking arrangements and fees.