Visiting Mr Iceland Farm in South Iceland: What It's Like

There are travel experiences you enjoy, and then there are the ones that change something in you. My day and night at Efri-Úlfsstaðir farmstead, the Mr Iceland farm in the Austur-Landeyjar area, just east of Hvolsvöllur town in South Iceland, landed firmly in the second category. By the time I drove back to Reykjavík the following morning, I’d ridden an Icelandic stallion named Hávar along a salmon river, eaten fermented shark by candlelight while a well-known Icelandic actor recited Viking sagas, and had a long conversation about what it actually means to slow down.

Mr Iceland Farm is about a 1.5-hour drive from Reykjavík, following Route 1 through Selfoss, Hella and Hvolsvöllur towns before turning south into the Landeyjar countryside. On a clear August day, it’s one of the best drives in the country. The sky was wide and blue, the light sharp. My first stop was Selfoss, about 58 km (36 miles) from Reykjavík on Route 1, and I had a specific mission there: the hot dog stand.

I ordered what I’d argue is one of Iceland's most underestimated meals: a deep-fried hot dog served in a bun with French fries tucked inside and a layer of melted cheese on top. On the side, an ice-cold Appelsín, Iceland’s beloved orange soda, in the sugar-free version, which, given the rest of the meal, was arguably a symbolic gesture. None of it disappointed. My cardiologist may disagree with my priorities, but that hot dog was the correct decision.

Past Selfoss, the road passes through Hella and then into Hvolsvöllur. Roadworks have been heavy along this stretch, and peak season and busy construction tend to coincide in Iceland in a way that makes you wonder about planning cycles. It’s worth allowing a little extra time for the drive. The consolation is that once the work is done, the road will be excellent.

A few kilometers past Hvolsvöllur, I turned right down the road toward Bakkaflugvöllur, the small airfield used for flights to the Westman Islands, an archipelago of around 4,000 people, remarkable puffin cliffs, and an active volcano that last erupted in 1973. That turn felt like leaving one Iceland and entering another.

The farm revealed itself in stages. An Icelandic flag waving on a small grass island along the approach path. Then the buildings: barn, stable, and guest accommodation in weathered gray tones, rustic and deliberately so. Everything felt simple, rustic, and very much part of the landscape. On a brilliantly sunny August afternoon, with open South Iceland plains spreading in every direction, the effect was striking.

The views alone justified the drive. Looking south, you could see Vestmannaeyjar and the buildings of the island town sitting on the horizon across the sea. Turn inland and two glaciers came into view: Mýrdalsjökull to the east and Eyjafjallajökull rising behind it. The sense of space, of genuine unobstructed landscape, was immediate.

The farm manager, Alina, met me at the entrance. She was wearing the farm’s signature woolen sweater, a beautifully made garment with traditional Icelandic graphics. She showed me around, offered coffee, and gave me a sense of how the farm works and what the day would look like.

A few minutes later, Hörður Bender walked across the yard. Mr Iceland himself. He’s a large man, tall with long brown hair and an impressive beard, the kind of face that would look entirely at home in the Icelandic sagas written about the land he lives on. His presence is substantial. He’s the sort of person who makes a first impression not by trying to, but simply by being there. He walked the property with me, explaining the concept he’s built.

Hörður talked about the farm not as a business with a product, but as a framework for a certain kind of experience. The horse tours, communal dinners, and storytelling evenings all follow the same idea: give people space to be present. Guests are encouraged to put their phones away during the ride, move through the day without rushing, and simply pay attention to where they are.

He also spoke about the farm’s relationship with the land. The team is planting 50,000 trees to create shelter and restore natural cover, while proceeds from the farm’s activities are reinvested into the land itself. Growth at Mr Iceland is meant to stay deliberate and controlled, allowing more people to take part without changing the character of the experience.

At 50, Hörður decided to leave a career in business and finance and build something he considered meaningful. That choice helps explain why the farm feels the way it does. The hospitality and warmth don’t feel staged or designed for effect. It’s a natural part of the place and the people behind it.

At 1:00 PM, the guests gathered in the stable. The group that afternoon was small: two Belgian women and a family from Vermont, with Canadian connections. Hörður addressed us before anyone went near a horse. 

What followed was unlike any riding briefing I've experienced. He went deep into the history of the Icelandic horse: how the Norse settlers brought the finest animals with them over a thousand years ago, how the species has remained isolated and unmixed since, how what stands in this stable is genetically unchanged from the horses that carried the saga heroes across these same plains. He talked about how to communicate with a horse: eye contact, breathing, the quality of your attention. He described the relationship between horse and rider as a form of leadership: warm, clear, and calm. Not domination. Connection. 

The stable session was part horsemanship, part mindfulness practice, part management seminar. Genuinely. The core message was: relax, be clear, forget you're riding a horse, and become one with the horse. That last part sounds abstract until you're actually on the animal and realize that your tension communicates directly down through the saddle.

Each guest was introduced to their horse individually. Mine was Hávar, a strong, well-built stallion, son of Skýr, the celebrated stallion from multi-generational family horse breeding farm Skálakot. We spent time in the stable simply being present with the horses: petting them, talking to them, letting them get used to us. Then a practice session in a fenced enclosure, where Hörður walked us through basic direction, stopping, and pace. Once everyone was comfortable, we headed out.

The route followed a salmon river, one of the great Atlantic salmon rivers of South Iceland named Affall, through a landscape that made you repeatedly question whether it was real. The mountains behind, the glaciers above them, Vestmannaeyjar out on the horizon ahead. Tinna, Hörður’s dog, ran alongside the entire ride, periodically sprinting into the river and climbing back out again in a state of pure satisfaction, then trotting back to his position beside his master's horse. 

We rode slowly at first, then picked up pace as everyone settled. Crossing the river multiple times, watching the water clear enough to count stones on the bottom. The group was quiet in a good way, the kind of quiet that happens when people are actually paying attention to where they are rather than narrating it. 

We returned to the farm at around 4:00 PM. We walked the horses to their grazing area and said goodbye to them before heading to the accommodation.

My room was Jakob's villa, a standalone space with a full kitchen, a generous dining area, a spacious bathroom, and the kind of considered rusticity that takes real effort to pull off. It looked like what you’d get if a Viking had attended a Scandinavian design school: the feel of a 5-star suite, built from honest materials, with real warmth and no pretension. Walking away from it for dinner was genuinely difficult.

Hörður had set up the outhouse for the evening meal. He cooked himself: a roasted leg of lamb, potatoes, and kale, all locally produced, most of it from the farm. The presentation was generous and unfussy, in the style of an Icelandic Sunday roast: a tradition built around family gathering, long tables, and the kind of conversation that follows a good meal. The red wine, Hörður noted with a smile, was the one element not grown on the farm. 

He told us his story during dinner. The arc from finance and business to standing in this kitchen, cooking lamb, having made the decision at 50 to build a life around meaningful things. The Belgians shared their story. The family from Vermont talked about what had brought them to Iceland. The conversation moved easily between people who had arrived as strangers. 

Dessert was a home-baked cake. The evening closed with a full table and a warm room, then an hour of free time before the night's main event.

At 9:00 PM, I walked back to the stable. The space had been transformed: a table laid beautifully with candles, and on it, spread across plates and boards, a full display of traditional Icelandic þorramat, the preserved, fermented, and smoked foods that sustained Icelanders through long winters for centuries.

Into the stable walked Valdimar Örn Flygenring, a well-known Icelandic actor who lives on the neighboring farm and who was our storyteller that night. He settled at the head of the table and began to talk.

Over the next two hours, he took us from the first Norse settlement of Iceland, through the hardship of the early winters, exploration, the age of the sagas, and forward to modern Iceland. He spoke about Brennu-Njáls saga, much of which takes place on this land and the farm next door. Njáll Þorgeirsson, the chieftain the saga is named for, farmed at Bergþórshvoll in this same district. We were not simply near saga country. We were sitting in it.

As Valdimar talked, he moved us through the traditional foods, a meal called Þorramatur or Þorramat. Smoked lamb. Dried fish. Hákarl, Iceland’s fermented Greenland shark, sharp and challenging, washed down with brennivín. Then, at the end, smoked horse meat. Some of the group hesitated. Valdimar put it into the context he’d just spent two hours building: in the centuries when Icelanders survived on whatever the land provided through months of darkness and cold, every resource mattered. The hesitation didn’t disappear, but it transformed into something closer to respect.

The storytelling was extraordinary. I’ve lived in Iceland my entire life. I’ve heard the sagas. That evening taught me things I hadn’t known about the land I grew up on.

The session ended around 11:00 PM. The sun had not fully set. The light over the farm was amber and still, and I stood outside for a long time before going to bed. Sleep came easily. The shower the next morning was hot and strong. 

Hörður invited me for coffee at the farmhouse the next morning. We talked about how a place built around slow travel, Icelandic horses, and genuine storytelling might connect with the travelers we work with. The conversation was productive and easy. He’s someone worth spending time with.

The drive back to Reykjavík was 90 minutes of South Iceland coast, glaciers, and flat-topped mountains. My only regret was not staying for the black beach ride. The farm has access to one of the black sand beaches of South Iceland, and a ride there would have been something. A good reason to return.

Not many travel experiences earn the word “life-changing.” This one came close. At minimum, I learned something about how to lead: with breathing, with ease, with attention. Hávar taught me that.

An Icelandic horse farm stay in South Iceland is a different kind of trip than a day tour: fewer stops, more time in one place, and more time to connect with the horses and the landscape. To experience Icelandic horse riding for yourself, explore our Icelandic horse riding tours. To visit Mr Iceland Farm and spend an evening with traditional food and saga storytelling, join the Viking Story Night.

A note about my visit: I spent a full day and night at Mr Iceland Farm, so my experience included horse riding, dinner, and an overnight stay. The Viking Story Night is the evening storytelling experience with a stable visit and traditional food tastings. The article describes my wider stay at the farm.

Yes. Beginners are welcome, and the session starts in the stable with the basics of communicating with the horse, including eye contact, breathing, and staying calm and focused. Before heading out, you’ll practice steering, stopping, and changing pace in a fenced enclosure. The ride begins once everyone feels comfortable. Our group included both first-time riders and guests with previous riding experience.

Þorramat is a collection of preserved, fermented, and smoked foods traditionally eaten in Iceland. A full spread can include smoked lamb, dried fish, hákarl, and smoked horse meat, often served with brennivín. These preservation methods helped food last through long winters before modern refrigeration. Tasting the food alongside the stories behind it adds useful context to the experience.

Njáls saga is closely tied to the area around Hvolsvöllur and the Landeyjar district in South Iceland. Njáll Þorgeirsson, one of the saga’s central figures, lived at Bergþórshvoll, near Efri-Úlfsstaðir (Mr Iceland Farm). The events take place mainly in the late 10th and early 11th centuries, although the saga was written down much later. Hearing the story while you’re actually in the area where much of it happened makes it easier to picture the people, places, and events being described.

Hákarl, Icelandic fermented shark, has a strong flavor and a distinctive ammonia-like smell that you often notice before you taste it. The texture is soft and slightly chewy, and it’s traditionally eaten in small pieces and often followed by a sip of brennivín, a traditional Icelandic spirit. For most first-time tasters, trying a small piece is enough to get the full experience.

Icelandic horses have been isolated for more than 1,000 years, ever since the first settlers brought horses to Iceland. The breed is small but strong, and it’s especially known for its smooth extra gaits. Most Icelandic horses can tölt, a four-beat gait that’s very comfortable to ride, while some can also perform skeið, or flying pace. Icelandic law also bans horse imports, and once a horse leaves the country, it can’t return.

Viking Story Night is the bookable evening experience at Mr Iceland Farm, and it gives you a taste of the most memorable part of my stay. It lasts around 90 minutes, starting with a short visit to the stable to meet the Icelandic horses before moving into the old barn. There, everyone sits around one candlelit table, shares small tastings of traditional Icelandic food, and listens to a local storyteller bring Njáls saga and Icelandic folklore to life. It’s all in English, and you don’t need to know anything about the sagas beforehand.