Solo Trek in Iceland

What Trekking Across Iceland Alone Taught Me About Fear and Freedom

By Elena Moretti
A deeply introspective story of solitude in dramatic landscapes.

The Spark That Started It All

I didn’t go to Iceland to escape. I went to confront.

For years, I’d been functioning on autopilot—working long hours, checking boxes, saying yes to everything except the voice inside me that said, “You need to pause.” That voice got louder after a painful breakup and a string of decisions I didn’t recognize myself in. So, I booked a one-way ticket to Reykjavik, packed a 60-liter backpack, and planned a solo trek across one of the world’s wildest, most unpredictable terrains.

I chose the Laugavegur Trail—a 55-kilometer path that winds through Iceland’s highlands, from the steaming geothermal valleys of Landmannalaugar to the lush green valley of Thórsmörk. Some call it the most beautiful hike in the world. Others call it unforgiving. I was about to find out it was both.

Day One: Into the Volcanic Unknown

I set off early, mist curling around my boots like ghosts refusing to be named. The landscape was unlike anything I’d ever seen—lava fields, neon-green moss, and steam venting from the earth like the land was breathing.

The silence was unnerving at first. No cars. No city hum. Just the wind and the crunch of boots on volcanic gravel. I walked alone for hours. Every so often, another hiker would pass, but conversations were brief. Iceland demands reverence. You don’t chatter through it—you witness it.

Midway through the day, I realized how exposed I truly was. No phone signal. No warm cafés. No one to lean on. Just me, the map, and the ever-changing sky.

Day Two: Fear Arrives Drenched and Loud

It rained all night. I woke up cold and damp, my tent shaking from wind gusts that sounded like something alive. My first real test came during a river crossing early that morning. The glacial stream looked shallow, but the current was powerful.

With shaking hands, I took off my boots, tied them to my pack, and waded in barefoot. The water was icy—bone-deep. Halfway through, I lost footing and nearly dropped my bag. My heart raced. I panicked. But I made it across, gasping with both cold and awe.

On the other side, I collapsed onto the moss, soaked and trembling. That’s when it hit me: fear is not always a warning—it’s an awakening. I had felt more alive in those three minutes than in the last three years.

Day Three: Into the Heart of Solitude

By the third day, I stopped fighting the silence. It no longer felt like absence. It felt like presence. I stopped checking how far I’d gone. I stopped worrying about what was next. I just moved—step by step, hill by hill.

The terrain turned to obsidian plains and black sand deserts. At one point, a fog rolled in so thick I could barely see the trail markers. I had to pause, wait, and trust the markers would appear. And they did—one after another, just when I needed them.

That night, camping beneath a sky full of low-hanging clouds, I wrote in my journal: “Solitude is a mirror. And right now, it’s showing me a version of myself I haven’t seen in a long time—and she’s brave.”

Day Four: Finding Freedom in Letting Go

By the time I reached Thórsmörk, I wasn’t the same person who started the trail. My legs ached. My shoulders were bruised from the weight of the pack. My body was tired—but my spirit? Lighter than ever.

Somewhere along the way, I had stopped trying to prove anything. I let go of perfection, of fear, of control. I cried when I saw the green valleys opening up below me. Not because I was tired—but because I was grateful. Grateful to know I could rely on myself. Grateful to feel wild again.

What Iceland Taught Me About Fear and Freedom

Fear is not your enemy—it’s a threshold. You don’t conquer it; you cross it.

And freedom? It isn’t found in escape or luxury or even comfort. It’s found in the spaces that challenge you. In the middle of nowhere, soaked and tired, where you realize that you don’t need more than this moment, this breath, this view.

Trekking across Iceland alone didn’t fix my life. But it reminded me that I’m capable of starting over. Of listening. Of being enough, even when everything around me is stripped away.

Walk Into the Wild

If you’re feeling stuck, lost, or unsure—consider walking into the wild. Not to get answers, but to ask better questions.

Because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is be alone with yourself and keep going.

Have you ever taken a solo journey that changed how you see yourself? Share it with us in the comments or tag @AffordableJourney with #IcelandTaughtMe.