It was raining in Reykjavik when we landed, and in June, spring notwithstanding, it was cold. We had been up at 4am to catch the morning flight to Reykyjavik, and quickly past customs (we were the only non-EU passport holders) our priority was to get a hot meal and drink. A large, brightly lit signboard read &lsquoJoe and the Juice&rsquo and I went out to the counter to inspect what was on offer. I was greeted by mounds of fruits and vegetables&mdashapples, bananas, pineapples, of course, but also carrots, tomatoes, peas, avocado, celery, kale, mint, broccoli, spinach, ginger and turmeric&mdashnext to a giant mixer, waiting to be turned into smoothies. And half a dozen people queuing up indicated there was no dearth of takers.

I ordered a Joe&rsquos Special Club sandwich (a little unsure of the ingredients written in Icelandic) but sure it would be just the thing for my slightly cold, bleary-eyed, bemused-by-the-Icelandic-signs-everywhere mood. And when I saw it&mdashrye crackers with pieces of boiled chicken, tomato and avocado&mdashmy first thought was &lsquomy god, that&rsquos a healthy snack&rsquo And the accompanying choco drink also had some surprising ingredients&mdashalmond milk, vanilla milk, cacao and bananas. It was my introduction to the &lsquoeat healthy&rsquo vibe that runs through Iceland. Clean, unpolluted air and pristine waters in and around the island have given the people a penchant for simple and wholesome meals, uncluttered by overuse of seasonings and spices.

On our seven-day trip around Iceland, our first stop was a small town in the south&mdashthe fruit and vegetable garden of the country&mdashHverager&ethi. Iceland&rsquos terrain and climate do not encourage cultivation&mdashgrain, fruit or vegetables&mdash and the greenhouses here are a crucial source of flowers and greens, though much of the basics are still imported. By now the sun had appeared and driving through the countryside I was struck by the flat, windswept, treeless terrain. A single road (empty of any other vehicle) through a dark, lava-covered landscape with patches of rich, green grass, where wild horses grazed, rivulets flowed free, and wildflowers bloomed mauve, pink and purple. There is a quality about the light in Iceland&mdashas if the heavens have suddenly been lit by an ethereal incandescence that is magically reflected by the sky, the land and the waters.

Our next stop was Vik&mdashpopulation under 300. That evening I tried one of the traditional Icelandic meals&mdashplokkfiskur. It was with some trepidation because I&rsquod recently seen a seven-minute home video by an Icelandic housewife on how to make this dish. I was taken aback as much by the simple, single camera demo as by the bland simplicity of the recipe boiled fish mashed unrecognisable, to which butter, flour, fish stock, raw onions and whole boiled potatoes had been added. Every culinary nerve in my body yearned to dress it with spices but a meagre salt-and-pepper seasoning was all it got. My restaurant described plokkfiskur as &lsquoflaked fish, potatoes and onions baked in a b&eacutechamel sauce&rsquo. I reassured myself with the knowledge that there was a skyr yogurt also on the menu, which I knew from past experience to be delicious and creamy. The plokkfiskur was all right, but I really did enjoy the yoghurt afterwards. Still healthy, but far more familiar to my palate.

One of the things that struck me in Iceland was the emptiness and surreal beauty of the landscape. Here sheep numbered twice the human population, and they wandered in small groups, basking in the sun or huddled in the rain-drenched undergrowth. I wondered who they belonged to because there had not been a house or dwelling for miles. How did the farmers ever gather their animals I had read that in the event of a roadkill, the driver was duty bound to find and report it to the owner&mdashwho, how, where, the imagination boggled.

Our stay the next day near Egilssta&ethir was on a working farm set amid snow-topped rolling hills and lush meadows. It was a sunny day and night, and the midnight sun shone brightly at 3am.

After breakfast, we set off to the coastal seabirds&rsquo colony at Hafnarh&oacutelmi. Apart from seagulls, kittiwakes and fulmars, the star performers were the puffins. It was nearly a two-hour drive, made longer by Iceland&rsquos inexplicable determination to leave large portions of the single road non-tarred. Admittedly, the scenery was spectacular, but a gravel track

Among the many unusual Icelandic foods&mdashfermented shark meat, whale, moss and boiled sheep&rsquos head served whole and complete with eyeballs&mdashis puffin meat. Described as a dark &lsquogamey&rsquo meat, I must admit I found it hard to reconcile that image with my favourite puffin performer&mdashwho sat at the entrance of its burrow looking at the world like a perfect host waiting for guests to arrive.

Afterwards, we stopped at the Alfa café in the village of Borgarfj&oumlr&ethur for tea. The café scored high on both ambience and food. Large framed pictures of simple fishing villages gave a glimpse of life in Iceland a few decades ago old fishing gear hung on the wall and, the piece de resistance, a collection of drying fish and sheep&rsquos heads. Our snacks arrived&mdashthin slices of salmon served on delicious rye bread, and cheese on the traditional Iceland bread, dense, rich brown needless to say, neither suffered from an excess of seasoning, but were delicious nonetheless. The hot, creamy chocolate was very welcome too.

As we continued our journey around the island, we drove to Dettifoss&mdashthe largest waterfall in Europe. A rough, boulder-strewn path led down to the truly stunning falls. It had been a grey day to begin with, but when it cleared, the sun and the water spray created not one but two magnificent rainbows. En route to our night halt near Akureyri, the second largest city of Iceland, we took a detour to the beautiful Lake M&yacutevatn. A little off the lake was the Milk Shed Café and we decided to have our lunch-cum-early-tea there. The USP of the café was its cowshed, separated from the main restaurant by a glass partition. Visitors could enjoy their meals watching the cows being milked and even try some of the milk. In front of the café, in the warm afternoon sunshine, were half a dozen cows munching contentedly on the rich, lush grass.

The café&rsquos Vogar Sandwich was a generous serving of homemade bread and mozzarella, ham and salad, and for our dessert, chocolate caramel and pecan cake arrived with two giant dollops of rich, dense cream.

On our last day in Iceland, after a day&rsquos sightseeing in Reykjavik, we made our way to the harbour for dinner. Many of the best seafood restaurants were located here, among them Saegreifinn. The restaurant served only seafood and its speciality was the lobster soup. A smiling waitress brought our order&mdashlarge bowls of lobster soup with thick slices of freshly baked bread and a side order of shrimps. Both were delicious. I went into the kitchen to ask about the recipe of their soup and to find out what had gone into their giant soup tureen stock made from a variety of fish, fish bones and heads, spices, cream and some rather surprising ingredients&mdashcoconut milk and whey.

Before I came to Iceland, some people had raised the bogey of limited food choices in the country. It is true that Icelanders are not partial to frying, grilling, baking, overcooking or excessive use of seasoning in their food. Their ancestors had got by with smoking, fermenting, steaming and salting fish, and they are in no hurry to change. Today, there is excellent lamb, fish, cream, yoghurt, butter, rye and Flautbrauo, (flat bread often baked in hot lava soil) to be washed down with extremely healthy smoothies. For the diehards, there are pizzas and noodles, and even an Indian restaurant in town. But a growing number of enthusiastic tourists have given their thumbs up to the traditional Icelandic food adventure.

This is a land of startling contrasts&mdash ice and fire, murky, mysterious mud pools and pristine geothermal steam baths, black beaches and lush pastures, thundering waterfalls and silent expanses, rain-drenched vistas and glorious rainbows. A country with a 99 per cent literacy rate where a large number of people believe in the reality of elves and trolls. Here, the people have stoically made peace with the harsh, near-Arctic climate and challenging terrain, and so perhaps a quote from the wisdom of the Icelandic elves seems appropriate, &ldquoLife is not about waiting for the storm to pass, it is about learning to dance in the rain.&rdquo