It was literally freezing, the outside temperate 0°C. I grimaced from the cold as I hopped barefoot from the changing room to the outdoor swimming pool in nothing but a pair of Hawaiian trunks. Steam from the geothermally heated pool engulfed me like a warm blanket, and I threw myself with blissful relief into the hot water.
I was in Reykjavik, the capital of continent-spanning Iceland, where geothermal activity is both a blessing and a curse. But this wasn’t the famous Blue Lagoon’s silica-rich waters I’d unceremoniously landed in – one of the country’s most visited attractions was closed due to the nearby volcanic eruptions on the Reykjanes Peninsula when I visited in February. It has been closed intermittently ever since.
With a minimum 9,900 Icelandic króna (ISK) price tag (£56), that was no bad thing for my wallet. Instead, I’d found myself in little-known Laugardalslaug, a public swimming pool where an authentic, local spa experience costs just ISK1,330 (£7).
“It’s shocking how many private spas have opened up in Iceland and how little tourists know about the local, publicly run swimming pools,” said Martienn Briem, founder of local tour company City Walk Reykjavik. “The Blue Lagoon is the best example of an expensive private spa, which locals rarely visit.”
Icelanders have embraced the hot waters beneath them for centuries. Legend has it that Reykjavik – which means “smoky bay” in Old Norse – was named by its 9th-century founder, Ingólfur Arnarson, after the plumes of white smoke seen drifting up from steaming geysers.
That story was passed down in epic sagas written by the likes of Snorri Sturluson, who famously had a hot pot (a sunken tub filled with geothermal water) next to his longhouse in the 13th century. You can still visit Sturluson’s medieval hot pot today in Reykholt, around 90 minutes’ drive north-east of the capital.
In more recent years, Iceland’s multi-billion Krona tourism industry has spawned the likes of the Blue Lagoon and the recently opened Sky Lagoon on the capital’s western shore.
Reykjavik’s public swimming pools are criminally underrated in comparison, despite channeling the very same geothermal energy and glacial waters as their more glamorous counterparts. There are 18 public swimming pools in the capital and its suburbs, and despite being uglier than their glamorous counterparts – Laugardalslaug is effectively a large, grey, sports centre – they’re packed with amenities, including spa pools, hot pots, cold plunge pools, steam rooms and in one case, even a beach.
“I go at least once a week,” says Valur Heiðar Sævarsson, a self-proclaimed Icelandic bathing expert and founder of the tour company, Your Friend in Reykjavik. “One of the benefits of living in Iceland is that we have year-round geothermal volcanic energy and access to a lot of fresh water. Heat plus water equals hot tubs and thermal baths. So this is simply part of our culture.”
I decided to take the plunge and visit as many as I could on a four-day city break in Reykjavik. My first stop, Laugardalslaug, is the largest public swimming pool in the city, home to Olympic-sized pools, a saltwater therapy pool, outdoor hot pots (reaching a max temperature of 42°C), water slides and even a massage parlour.
Jumping into the hot, outdoor pools that had a faint whiff of sulphur about them, the warmth hadn’t been the only relief. I’d also welcomed a quick exit from the changing rooms, where my British prudishness had caused me all sorts of embarrassment when I’d been told in no uncertain terms that I had to be naked in the communal showers. There were even “shower police”, ensuring everyone – especially prudish tourists – followed the rules.
“All the pools are kept extraordinarily clean and hygienic because everyone respects some fundamental rules. First and foremost, you and your bathing suit must be clean before entering the water,” says Sævarsson, who explained why Icelanders shower without a bathing suit. “After showering thoroughly, you change into your swimsuit. You’ve got to strip naked — showering with your swimsuit on is frowned upon (and not allowed), to say the least!”
At Árbæjarlaug, the second public pool I visited, I was more confident. A 30-minute bus ride from the centre, I strode with such purpose to the communal showers that I was greeted in Icelandic by a bearded, half-naked Icelander.
To my horror, though, I was the only naked man in the shower. Had I got it wrong, I wondered with growing dread? Everyone else had trunks on. It transpired that Árbæjarlaug is becoming better known, and the other tourists shamefully removed their trunks when my abrupt entrance made them remember they should all be in the nude too.
The next day I had the etiquette down, and as the sun began to set, I visited Vesturbæjarlaug, which – with a history dating to 1961 – is one of the oldest public pools in Reykjavik. It was Friday evening, though, and with heaving hot pots, I’d wished I’d known beforehand that you could check live visitor numbers at any public pool in Reykjavik on the city website.
Iceland’s famed lagoons are certainly beautiful – and offer private changing rooms and even swim-up bars – but the public baths offer a real sense of authenticity and a rare budget activity in a notoriously expensive country. But for many British visitors, myself included, it’s hard to shake off our national sense of prudishness.
Briem from City Walk Reykjavik has some no-nonsense Icelandic advice for anyone worried about visiting the public pools: “There’s nothing to know, just go. Bring a towel and swimsuit and follow the local in front. When they strip, you strip. When they put on a swimsuit you put yours on!”