It was at the town of Skagaströnd on the north coast of Iceland where I think I tripped over some elves.

I had hiked along the rocky coast for half an hour, listening to the crashing waves and the aggressive chirps of the Golden Plovers and Arctic Terns, warning me not to get close to their nests. The land is barren, and my boots bounced off the soft spongy vegetation that covers the grounds as I made my way higher and higher.

The wind howled and the air moist with rain that stabbed at my face like icy arrows. I was looking up to the silhouette of the neighbouring mountain with a curtain of cloud covering its tips when my left foot tripped. That’s when it happened.

Out of nowhere, tears streamed down my face like the great Icelandic waterfalls. There was no reason for me to cry. The foot didn’t hurt and I was in a very good mood. The only explanation was that I might have accidentally disturbed some elves that the Icelandic believes live among the rocks.

It’s either that, or I was under the effect of heavy drugs that I have been taking for a chronic cough I developed over the first week of our big trip.

I’d like to believe it was the elves.

Either way, there is no denying that Iceland as a whole, is a magical place. I was travelling with Jen of Travel Bug Within on a self-drive journey around Iceland, tracing parts of the country less travelled, such as the fingers of the Westfjords and the peninsulas of the north and north-west coast.

The icy nation’s unique geography that straddles the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates is the reason why it attracts so many visitors to its volatile land each year, visiting its volcanoes, glaciers and waterfalls.

Taking the chance to tour parts of the country that are harder to get to, we spent each day in awe of Iceland’s amazing natural assets. As we sang along to suitable driving tunes (Bryan Adams, Bon Jovi, Ed Sheeran…) our eyes feasted on the grandeur of the cliffs, the blue icy lakes, the distant snow capped peaks, the steaming mud fields and miles upon miles of empty road ahead of us.

Every turn delivered surprises, every corner provided another opportunity to fall in love with the landscape.

The Icelandic has a saying to describe a pleasant surprise, or the highlight of something. Rúsínan í Pylsuendanum, or in English, “the raisin at the end of the hot dog”. I can’t help but keep thinking of this phrase as we made our way around Iceland.

The south coast may have thrown all its postcard-perfect magnificence at me but I found myself irresistibly attracted to the Westfjords, where the mountains drop drastically into the sea, where we drove hair-pin after hair-pin turns to navigate the coastline.

Not to mention, the place is almost deathly quiet.

Just in front of our guesthouse we had access to one of Iceland’s many natural hot spring pools, which was the perfect place for us to relax after a long day behind the wheels. Smelling of sulphur, the pool bubbled away while we sat and contemplated life.

My eyes naturally drawn to the mountains among the coastline, and I let my mind wander in this serene environment. This is my sort of heaven, and I definitely found the raisin at the end of the hot dog in this little corner of Iceland.