The Reykjavík Marathon finishes in the capital in late August, on the same weekend as Reykjavík Culture Night, which leaves most runners with a day or two spare before flying home. August on the South Coast means long light, waterfalls still running full on summer glacier melt, and cool, changeable weather that can turn a sunny stop at one waterfall into a windswept one thirty minutes later at the next. It is also, honestly, late in the season for one of the region's better-known draws: puffins nest on the cliffs at Dyrhólaey between May and roughly mid-August, and by the time a runner is standing there in the days after this marathon, most birds have already gone back out to sea for the winter. Worth knowing before building a whole afternoon around finding one.
Vík is 187km from Reykjavik on Route 1, about two and a half to three hours without stopping, though almost nobody drives it without stopping. Runners without a car can take Strætó's Route 51 coach, which runs the length of the South Coast daily through summer and costs around 8,400 ISK one-way (about £50) for the roughly three-hour journey; book ahead through the Klappið app, since seats on this route sell out in August.
Seljalandsfoss appears first, about 120km out, a 60-metre curtain of water with a path that runs behind it in summer (parking around 1,000 ISK, about £6, and yes, the walk-behind route gets everyone wet). Skógafoss follows roughly 25 minutes later, wider and louder, with 500-odd steps up one side to a viewpoint over the plateau above, entirely optional and not recommended on legs that ran a marathon two days ago. Both are free beyond parking.
Night One: Vík
Vík í Mýrdal is Iceland's southernmost village, around 300 people spread along a single stretch of Route 1 beneath the black hump of Reynisfjall, and there is nowhere else to make it to that day without adding another hour of driving. The primary recovery asset here is Víkurfjara, the village's own black sand beach directly below the church hill, a flat, open stretch distinct from Reynisfjara a few kilometres to the west and considerably quieter. A short, level walk, no steps involved, though the sand itself is soft enough that it works the calves more than a paved path would.
Reynisfjara itself, 12 minutes further along Route 1, is worth the detour for the basalt columns stacked like organ pipes and the Reynisdrangar sea stacks offshore, said in folklore to be trolls caught by sunrise. It is also, plainly, dangerous: sneaker waves here have pulled visitors into 4°C water with no warning, and the signage asking people not to turn their backs to the sea means exactly what it says. Dyrhólaey, the arched headland nearby, adds a short but genuine incline if visited, best treated as optional rather than obligatory on tired legs.
Where to stay: Icelandair Hotel Vík sits centrally with ocean-facing rooms and a terrace looking straight out over the black sand and the stacks beyond. Hótel Vík í Mýrdal, a newer 80-room build closer to the church, has its own restaurant, Berg, on site, useful when the idea of walking anywhere further than the lobby for dinner holds no appeal.
Where to eat: Halldórskaffi, in the centre of the village, does pizza and burgers in a relaxed, unfussy room, an easy walk from either hotel and open late enough that a slow post-race evening doesn't need to be rushed.
Getting Home
Vík has no direct scheduled transfer to Keflavík International Airport (KEF); the practical route is back to Reykjavik first, then on to the airport, which adds roughly an hour compared with flying out from the capital directly. Runners with an early flight the next day should build that hour in rather than discover it at check-in. Self-drivers retrace Route 1 west, 2.5 to 3 hours back into Reykjavik; Strætó's Route 51 runs the same corridor in reverse, though seats should be booked before setting out from Vík rather than assumed on the day.