Iceland in Winter Means Deals and Fewer Crowds It was pitch black at 8:30 a.m. on a frigid Icelandic morning, but at least there was no snow falling. Though cloud cover the night before had scuttled my chance to see the Northern Lights, my plan for a 36-hour road trip from Reykjavik, ending a great four days in Iceland, was in full effect. I had spent the previous day's precious daylight hours (about five at this time of year) seeing the geysers, waterfalls and icy landscapes of the Golden Circle, a popular route that loops northeast from the capital of Reykjavik and back again. When the sun disappeared, at about 3 p.m., I headed southeast to the snow-covered coast, skirting imposing mountains to arrive at a guesthouse called Vellir, on Route 219 off the main highway, where I planned to spend the night. I was to get moving before the sun rose, driving the 10 miles to Vik - supposedly a picturesque village of 300 people, black sand beaches and amazing rock formations. But that morning Vellir's owner, a round redhead named Sigurbjorg, had put out a breakfast spread for her only guest to buffer the bad news: a gusty snowstorm had hit Vik so badly that school had been canceled, a rare occurrence. But we were so close by, and the weather here was fine, I said. "This is so Iceland," she said. There is a line, and all the crazy weather is on one side of it. If you want to make your plane tomorrow, I recommend you don't go. In Iceland, nature rules. The modest population (about 320,000) mostly clings to the coastline. Stories of reckless tourists being pulled from glaciers or car crashes are proffered as warnings. And things get only more challenging in winter, when daylight fades to a few dusky hours. But there's an upside to winter travel here, and it's a big one: Iceland is never cheaper or freer from tourist throngs. That Icelandair advertising campaign you may have seen, offering free stopovers on the way to Europe, is still in effect. There's also a discount carrier, Iceland Express, worth checking. Hotels and guesthouses drop their prices, as do car rental agencies. And you can get last-minute hotel, car rental and restaurant reservations just about anywhere. In addition, I'd always been curious about what it was like to be in a place with so little daylight. It turned out to be disorienting in all the ways I expected, and one I didn't: since the sun barely skirts the horizon, daytime has the feel of constant dusk, as if time were suspended. And then suddenly the sun drops below the horizon, and you've got hours of darkness ahead of you. This means planning your days carefully, and with little help: exploring Iceland in winter is an afterthought in guidebooks, and organized bus excursions from Reykjavik are much less frequent. But for drivers with an intrepid spirit - roads can, of course, get treacherous - the timing is right: rental companies slash prices severely, and most tour companies don't. Budget, for example, cuts rates by almost two-thirds, offering rentals for 6,700 kronur (about $56 at 120 kronur to the dollar) a day, including tax and insurance. By eschewing bus tours for a car, even single travelers like me save money, gas included. Reykjavik is a clean, cozy city of 120,000 that has a reputation as both a creative hot spot and a party town. The creativity distinction seemed right: Iceland has more than its share of writers, poets and musicians, and, in the capital, plenty of Icelandic fashion brands were for sale. But the party talk seemed a little exaggerated, at least in winter - I found weekend madness, but not seven-day-a-week debauchery. After spending an evening at Boston (Laugavegur 28b), a cramped bar with an arty reputation, though, I can verify that Icelanders drink heavily, dance a lot and are friendly to strangers. A pint of Viking lager was 850 kronur - not cheap, but I've seen worse, and there was no cover. Dining was another challenge. Sit-down meals can get pricey, so I shopped at the supermarket, as well as at the Kolaporthid weekend flea market, where I found great breads and strong Icelandic licorice that looked like cellphone cables but tasted much better. Fast food was tolerable - especially the famed lamb hot dogs for 350 kronur - but by far the best deal I found was thanks to the Thai population, one of several East Asian immigrant groups chipping away at Iceland's blonds-only image. At Noodle Station (Skolavorthustigur 21a), friendly women carefully assembled a vegetarian noodle soup (650 kronur) - a perfect dish to banish the winter chill. I did have two moderately expensive meals, a shish kabob of plaice, a locally caught flatfish, at Saegreifinn (Geirsgata 8), a standard tourist seafood spot, for 1,800 kronur; and a real blowout Christmas buffet at A Naestu Grosum (Laugavegur 20b), a place recommended by a friend who had lived in Iceland. When I peeked in, the owner and chef showed me through the buffet of nut loaf, mushroom pâté, semi-savory pumpkin pie and great desserts before revealing the price: 3,600 kronur. By then I couldn't leave, but was glad I didn't: the all-vegetarian food was great. Lodging was easier. The Baldursbra Guesthouse is a guidebook favorite - not usually my thing. But a last-minute reservation for one was only 6,500 kronur, over a third off its summer rates. The owners, Evelyne Nihouarn and Philippe Le Bozec, recommend booking two months in advance for summer stays. The mismatched twin beds and shared (but spotless) bathrooms were minor letdowns, but the breakfast spread of coffee, juice, granola, fruit and toast was great, and the owners, a French couple from Brittany, were incomparable hosts. Ms. Nihouarn helped me make all my plans - attention she said she did not have time to give guests during busy summer months - and Mr. Le Bozec regaled me with stories of being a fisherman back home and prepared two thermoses of hot coffee for my ill-fated trip to Vik. He also rushed into my room when I slept through my alarm the morning of my flight out. I had made the bold move to skip the famed Blue Lagoon, having heard that Icelanders, turned off by its $40 price tag, had largely stopped going. As a consolation, I bathed in Sundhollin, one of Reykjavik's "hot pots," the public pools scattered around the capital and where a small fee (450 kronur) gets you what for Icelanders is a traditional activity: relaxing outdoors in geothermally heated pools. After two days in Reykjavik, I headed to the Golden Circle. My first stop was Thingvellir National Park, which was gorgeous, even in the snow. The Strokkur geyser is a crowd-pleaser, blowing its top every 10 minutes or so. But the real highlight was the sprawling multilayered waterfall called Gullfoss. Spectacular cascades of water roar under a half-cover of ice, which I found terrifyingly ferocious (though perhaps the perfect place to build a lair should I have a second career as a comic book villain). Even my trip to Vik was salvaged, in a way. The morning that Sigurbjorg told me that Mother Nature had ruined that plan, she pulled out a map and showed me all that I had missed on the way back from Reykjavik. Driving back in the daylight allowed me to see for myself what I had missed the night before. Aside from the mountains and the prairies that led to them, spotted with occasional little houses, I was most struck by the adorable Icelandic horses, smallish, with heavy flaxen manes, constantly pawing at the snow, presumably to get at the grass beneath. At Sigurbjorg's suggestion, I made two stops. First was the Seljalandsfoss, one of Iceland's signature waterfalls, which I had all to myself at 10 a.m. The snow-whitened scene looked nothing like its online pictures, and the wind had blown a mist onto the wooden stairs that led to a path that snaked behind the waterfall, draping the rails with icicles. I carefully climbed behind the falls, admiring the riveting reverse view, then headed back to the car. My final stop was in Hveragerthi, a cute little town rumored to have a natural hot tub nestled in the mountains behind it. I drove up to the end of the road, and trudged over a surreal landscape of lukewarm streams and geothermal steam blowing from holes in the earth like a dozen boiling tea kettles. I finally found the little pool, about the size of a bathtub. The air temperature was around 25, degrees and I had no towel. Seeing hypothermia in my future, I decided to simply dunk my hands in until they got toasty and stuck them back in my gloves. The pool revived me enough to crunch through the snow toward a few picturesque rural churches on my way back for a final night in Reykjavik. Once I arrived, I headed to a bar called Kaffibarinn (Bergstadastraeti 1) for two man-made ways to get warm that Iceland also has in excess: pints of beer and friendly company.