I came to Port of Spain for the doubles. I stayed on the sidewalk staring up at the buildings, which is a terrible way to cross a street. The city is a walking architecture museum. Colonial neoclassical, Gothic Revival, French Second Empire, Scottish Baronial, Moorish Mediterranean, and a wing of a Scottish castle all sit within a short drive of each other. Trinidad’s history is built into these walls: the British colonial period, the cocoa and sugar money, and the immigrants who brought their own ideas about what a grand house should look like.
Here’s my tour, with the photos I took along the way.
Start Downtown: The Red House
The Red House is the seat of Trinidad and Tobago’s Parliament. It’s red and hard to miss. The government offices were painted red in 1897 to mark Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, and the name stuck. The original building burned down in 1903 during the Water Riots. Architect Daniel Hahn rebuilt it, adding neoclassical ornamentation and reusing most of the exterior walls, and it reopened in 1907. Restoration work has also uncovered a First Peoples burial ground at the site, with remains and artifacts dating from about 430 to 1400 AD.
Holy Ground: The Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception
Those twin towers and swirling wrought-iron gates belong to the Roman Catholic Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. Built between 1816 and 1832 under Governor Ralph Woodford, it sits at the eastern end of the Brian Lara Promenade. It’s a minor basilica. Inside, the stained-glass windows depict Trinidad’s history, so step in if you can.
The President’s Front Yard
I took this photo of the President’s House from a rooftop bar at the Brix. The current building replaced the earlier “Cottage” in 1876, when the site was the Governor’s residence. It became the President’s House after Trinidad and Tobago became a republic in 1976.
The Main Event: The Magnificent Seven
Along the northwestern edge of the Queen’s Park Savannah, on Maraval Road, stand seven colonial-era buildings, most of them built around 1904. People call them the Magnificent Seven. Cocoa merchants, planters, and the church built them, and each has its own personality. The article I read lists them in the order you approach from the southwest end of Maraval Road, so here they are in that order.
1. Queen’s Royal College (1904)
My favorite. Its red-and-grey clock tower, framed by royal palms, looks like something from a storybook, and the “1904” is carved right into the tower. The design is German Renaissance, by Daniel Hahn, an old boy who trained in Germany. He also designed the Red House and the building that now houses the National Museum. The school’s alumni include Dr Eric Williams, the country’s first Prime Minister, and Nobel Prize winner V.S. Naipaul. The building has been carefully restored, with its original colors back in place.
2. Hayes Court (1910)
This was purpose-built as the residence of the Anglican Bishop and named after Bishop Thomas Hayes. It has been Anglican Church property since it was built, though it has not been fit for habitation for some time, and a fundraising effort for restoration is under way. The style combines French colonial design with Scottish cast iron, and it has traditional Demerara windows.
3. Mille Fleurs (1904)
Mille Fleurs was built as a gift from Mrs. Prada to her Venezuelan-born husband Enrique, in a French Provincial style. Its staircase has intricately carved balusters and marble treads. The house fell into serious disrepair before a restoration project brought it back. It reopened and now serves as the National Trust’s headquarters. I love that a house built as a gift is now looked after by the organization that protects heritage buildings.
4. Roomor (1904)
Roomor is the shy one of the group, half hidden behind trees and vines, with lacy ironwork still showing through the leaves. It was built as Ambard’s House for a cocoa merchant, in the French Second Empire style, using Italian marble, French tiles, and Scottish cast iron. It’s the only one of the seven still used as a private residence. The name Roomor combines the names of the Roodal and Morgan families, who owned it from 1940.
5. Archbishop’s House (1904)
This is the residence of the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Port of Spain, and the date “AD 1903” is visible on the crenelated tower. An Irish architect designed it, and it shows Indian Empire influence. The orange trim against the white walls is hard to miss. It is the one most altered over time, with the ground floor remodeled in the late 1960s, but it is still used by the Church.
6. Whitehall (1907)
Whitehall is a brilliant white building with Moorish-influenced arches, balconies of curling ironwork, and a stately front entrance. Cocoa planter Joseph Leon Agostini, with Corsican family roots, built it as a private residence. Robert Henderson bought it and named it Whitehall. The government acquired it in 1954, and it served as the Prime Minister’s office after independence until 2009. The sign on the wall in my photo still reads “White Hall, Office of the Prime Minister.”
7. Killarney, or Stollmeyer’s Castle (1904)
Of the seven, this one wins for pure drama. The Scottish architect Robert Gillies modeled it on a wing of Balmoral Castle in the Scottish Baronial style, with turrets, battlements, and a pointed spire. The Stollmeyer family commissioned it, and Mrs Stollmeyer reportedly found it too ostentatious once it was finished. They gave it to their son Conrad, whose wife named it Killarney after the Irish town she had wanted to visit on her honeymoon. During World War II, US forces occupied both Killarney and Whitehall, and that is when people began calling it “the castle.”
Beyond the Seven
The Savannah area has more to see, including Knowsley House and the National Museum & Art Gallery, which I didn’t photograph. Look for the gingerbread houses too. Scottish architect George Brown created the style after arriving in Trinidad in 1880. It features wooden filigree, jalousie windows, and peaked roofs, and you can see it in Woodbrook and Belmont.
Travel Tips
Walk or drive slowly along Maraval Road. You can see most of the Magnificent Seven from the street.
Remember that most are not open to the public. Some are working government or church properties, and Roomor is a private home, so admire them from outside.
Go early or late. The light on QRC and the castle was golden in the morning and evening.
Hire a local guide or tour. I did, and having someone explain the history made the buildings come alive.
Bring a good camera. Sometimes the best shots of a building are of the palms in front of it.
If you only have one day in Trinidad and want to eat well and understand the island, book a food tour. I spent five hours with Anthony on the Taste of Trinidad Food Tour, and it was easily the best day of my trip. I was the only guest that day, so it felt less like a tour and more like a friend driving me around the island, talking history, food, and life in Trinidad.
Here is exactly what we did, what we ate, and whether this Port of Spain food tour is worth your time (spoiler: yes).
Quick facts
Tour: Taste of Trinidad Food Tour
Guide: Anthony
Length: About 5 hours
Start time: 8:30 AM, with pickup at your Port of Spain hotel, Airbnb or the cruise terminal
Stop 1: Morning Pickup and Port of Spain Heritage Drive
Anthony picked me up at 8:30 AM. We drove through the capital to see its 19th-century landmarks, including the Red House and the Magnificent Seven, the grand mansions around Queen’s Park Savannah. With their gingerbread details and wraparound verandas, these buildings are great for photos, and Anthony told me the history behind them. I planned to return the next morning to take more pictures of the places we visited.
Stop 2: Cassava Pone from a Local Bakery
Before any savory food, we stopped at a local bakery (Bread Basket) for cassava pone, a dense, sweet, spiced baked treat made with grated cassava, pumpkin and coconut. The caramelized top is chewy, and the inside is rich and sticky. It also links directly to the island’s Indigenous roots, and Anthony explained its history as I ate a piece in the car on the way to the Royal Botanic Gardens.
Anthony also gave me a sample of Tolum, which became my favorite treat from the island. I even got some home so that my family could try this delicious snack. Anthony also explained how Tolum became a snack. Tolum is a peasant food from sugar plantations, made with leftover molasses and grated coconut. It is sweet, sticky, with caramel notes.
Stop 3: Fine-Flavour Cocoa at a Local Chocolate Shop
Trinidad is world-famous for fine-flavor cocoa, and this stop shows why. The shop works directly with local estates, and the wall of handmade bars was almost overwhelming: ginger, sorrel, orange, coconut, matcha, five spices, salty, spicy, minty, and more. We tasted several, and I learned how Trinidad’s soil and climate create flavors you will not find anywhere else. Bring cash and an empty spot in your suitcase, because these make perfect souvenirs. I bought one of each kind to bring home.
Stop 4: Panoramic Views from Lady Young Lookout
Next we wound up the hill to Lady Young Lookout for a sweeping view over the Port of Spain skyline, the harbor cranes, and the Gulf of Paria. On a clear day, you can even see Venezuela. It is the best place to understand how the capital is laid out, and a welcome break between stops.
Stop 5: Heritage and Tradition in St. Joseph
We then headed east to St. Joseph, Trinidad’s first colonial capital. A plaque on the old church marks the founding of San José de Oruña in 1592 by Domingo de Vera, acting for Don Antonio de Berrio, Trinidad’s first Spanish governor. The town stayed the capital until 1757. The church front is dated A.D. 1815. We also visited a historic cemetery with a skull-and-crossbones marking, which came with a bit of philosophy from Anthony. This is the history you will not get on a standard sightseeing bus.
Stop 6: Roadside Doubles, Trinidad’s National Street Food
No Trinidad trip is complete without doubles: two soft fried flatbreads (bara) filled with curried chickpeas (channa). Anthony took me to a trusted, clean roadside vendor and showed me how to order like a local, from a touch of sweet tamarind to a dash of pepper sauce. Pro tip: if a local says “slight pepper,” believe them.
Roadside doubles and pies vendor in TrinidadRoadside doubles and pies vendor in Trinidad
In Waterloo we visited two deeply meaningful landmarks: the towering 85-foot Hanuman Murti statue and the Temple in the Sea, a monument built through decades of individual perseverance. The Hanuman Murti is even more impressive in person, especially against the Trinidad sky.
Dress code reminder: These are active sacred sites, so cover your shoulders and knees. Wear modest clothing or bring a shawl, jacket, or wrap.
Stop 8: Traditional Wrapped Roti Lunch
We finished with a hearty lunch at a local roti shop. The board outside read like a love letter to Trini food: dhal, bhagi, carille, curry chicken, stew chicken, duck, goat, dhalpuri, bus-up-shut and butter cassava. A classic wrapped roti is a soft flatbread packed with curried chicken, goat or rich vegetarian fillings, seasoned with fresh herbs like culantro (chadon beni). It was the perfect ending.
Is the Taste of Trinidad Food Tour Worth It?
Absolutely. In five hours, I got Port of Spain architecture, Indigenous and colonial history, artisan chocolate, a skyline viewpoint, sacred landmarks, and the island’s most iconic dishes, all with a guide who clearly loves his country. Being the only guest made it feel personal, but I would expect the same warmth in a group. If you are a foodie who wants an authentic experience instead of a tourist script, this tour is a must-do.
When I stepped out of the airport in Port of Spain, the first thing I saw was a neon red sign: “HOT DOUBLES.”
If you don’t know Trinidad, that sign could be alarming. It sounds like a dating service, a casino promotion, or a very specific kind of trouble.
It’s none of those. It’s breakfast. It’s also lunch, dinner, and the 1 a.m. cure for whatever the bar did to you.
I wasn’t completely in the dark. Friends in Barbados had told me about doubles, and every list of Trinidadian food I read put it at the top as a must-try. So I walked past the sign knowing exactly what I was in for.
So, What Exactly Is a Double?
A double is two soft, fried flatbreads called bara, stacked around a filling of spiced chickpea curry called channa. Then come the toppings. You can add pepper sauce, tamarind chutney, cucumber, or kuchela, a pickled green mango. It’s soft, saucy, and a little messy. It also costs very little, which becomes important later in this story.
The Story Behind the Name
The history is my favorite part. Doubles comes from the Indo-Trinidadian community, whose roots go back to the indentured laborers brought from India to work the sugar plantations after slavery was abolished in 1838. They brought their breads and curries, and those foods slowly became part of Trinidad’s evolving food culture.
Doubles itself is generally traced to the 1930s and to a couple in Princes Town, Emamool Deen and his wife Rasulan. They sold chickpea curry wrapped in a single bara, a snack they called “channa and bara.”
Then the customers took over. People started asking for an extra piece of bara to sandwich the channa, and the “double” was born. It was easier to hold, more filling, and tastier. Other vendors copied it, and each added a personal twist. Some made the bara thinner or fluffier. Others changed the spicing or the toppings. By the 1970s, doubles had become part of the national food identity. It began in the Indo-Trinidadian community, but now Trinidadians of every background eat it. Trinidadians who moved abroad took it with them, and you can now find doubles in New York, Toronto, and London.
In short, a customer asked for a little more bread and ended up changing a country’s breakfast.
Double #1: The Road to Waterloo
My first doubles came from a roadside stand on the way to Waterloo during The Taste of Trinidad tour. This is how doubles should be eaten: standing up, leaning slightly forward so the channa doesn’t run down your wrist, and not caring much about the napkin situation. I wasn’t quite sure how to hold it. By the last bite, I was an expert.
Double #2 (and Corn Soup!): A Business Dinner at the Savannah
Our guide, Anthony, didn’t just show me where to eat doubles. He also told me to try the corn soup.
So the next evening, I took my co-workers to Queen’s Park Savannah for dinner, and I’d call it the most affordable business dinner of my career. There were no reservations or fancy tablecloths, just tasty street food. We enjoyed doubles and hot corn soup from different stands. We even went back for more doubles because one is never enough. My co-workers, who had never tried doubles despite visiting Trinidad before, told me later that now, every time they’re in Trinidad for business, they make sure to eat doubles.
A Meal for Every Hour
Doubles is a passion in Trinidad, and nobody treats it as a “meal” with a set time. Trinidadians eat it:
In the morning, before work, as breakfast
After a night at the bar, as the wise and traditional way to end it
In the evening, as dinner (my co-workers can confirm)
Any time in between, because it’s always a good time for doubles
If you visit, don’t bother planning your doubles. Just eat them.
Tips for First-Timers
Ask your local guide where to go. Anthony’s recommendations were spot on.
Be careful with the pepper sauce. Ask for a little and work your way up, because the heat is real.
Don’t skip the corn soup if you see a stand selling it.
Eat it right away, standing up and wrapped in paper, as intended.
Order two. The name is a hint.
So when you land in Port of Spain and see that neon red sign, relax. “Hot doubles” is the best news you’ll get all day.
When I learned my work was sending me to Trinidad, I assumed the trip would be all conference rooms and airport transfers. Then I did what I always do before travel and went down a research rabbit hole. Within an hour, I learned that Trinidad is one of the best birding destinations in the Caribbean, and one name kept coming up: Asa Wright Nature Centre. Trinidad overall surprised me in a good way. It had never been on my travel list, but now I think it deserves more than 3 days to explore the rest of the island.
Why I Chose Asa Wright
Trinidad sits just off the coast of Venezuela, so its birdlife is far richer than you’d expect from such a small island. It has South American species alongside Caribbean ones, packed into a compact space. I wanted a base where the birds came to me, and Asa Wright looked like exactly that.
What sealed it was the history. The centre grew out of a former cocoa, coffee and citrus estate in the Arima Valley, where a woman named Asa Wright made her home and welcomed visiting naturalists. It later became a nature centre and sanctuary, protecting a large stretch of rainforest. I love places with a story, and this one began with hospitality and a love of nature. That felt right for a place I’d be sleeping.
I reached out to the team, and they were wonderful. They helped organize my whole stay, including pickup from Port of Spain’s Piarco airport and a drop-off at my Port of Spain business hotel at the end. For a solo traveler juggling work, that kind of help was a huge relief.
I chose three days for one big reason: the oilbirds. They were at the top of my wish list, and I wanted enough time to see them without rushing.
The Drive: Winding Roads and a Sudden Silence
The drive was half the fun. We left the airport and soon began climbing winding mountain roads through thick green hills. I couldn’t believe it: no more than 45 to 60 minutes from the airport, and the world had gone quiet. Traffic and noise were replaced by birdsong, cool air, and a sense of being tucked away in the forest.
Arrival: Rum Punch and 15 Hummingbird Feeders
I was welcomed with a rum punch and led to the famous veranda. I sat down, looked out, and that was it. I was sold.
Below the veranda hung 15 hummingbird feeders, and hundreds of birds hummed around them at a time. The air buzzed with tiny wings, iridescent flashes, and endless squabbling over perches. I counted dozens of different kinds of hummingbirds during my stay and took hundreds of photos. My memory card filled up quickly.
I will also admit that I had way too many rum punches. In my defense, the veranda is a very hard place to leave.
The Veranda Is the Show
I’d planned my days around walks and tours, but the best birding often happened without moving at all. If you sit on that veranda with coffee, a camera, and a little patience, the forest puts on a full performance.
My favorite performer was the crested oropendola. The male makes a dramatic, gurgling call and swings forward on its perch like a pendulum. I could have watched it all day.
Other visitors included bay-headed tanagers, toucans, parrots, and many more. Even a non-birder would get hooked here.
Bellbirds and Manakins: Two Very Different Courtships
Two sightings stood out.
The bearded bellbird (the “anvil bird”) has a call that sounds like a hammer striking metal, which is how it got its nickname. It rings through the forest, and it was a thrill to finally put a face to the sound.
The white-bearded manakin was my other highlight. The males gather at display sites and work to impress the females. What I loved most is that the male clears and tidies his display area, like a tiny landscaper trying to win a date. Both species have such unusual ways of attracting a mate, and I found myself rooting for the manakin.
Seeing the Oilbirds
And yes, I saw the oilbirds, the reason for my three-day stay. These nocturnal fruit-eating birds roost in caves and find their way in the dark by echolocation, which is rare among birds. Seeing them in person was worth the trip on its own.
I have written a separate blog post for visiting the oilbirds, and you can read more here
Morning birding walk: I joined a walk with the in-house birding expert. Guides here know the calls, the habits, and exactly where to look. I saw far more with them than I ever would have on my own.
Caroni Swamp day trip: I arranged a day trip to the Caroni Swamp, which offered a nice habitat change from the mountain rainforest and added a completely different set of birds to my list. More about Caroni Swamp visit here
My room was lovely: comfortable, peaceful, and with garden views. After a long day outside, it was a quiet place to rest and listen to the forest. Don’t expect a luxury resort, though. The charm is the setting: a nature lodge in the middle of a rainforest. I stayed in one of their nest accomidation. You can check out other available types of rooms here
The Grounds
The grounds are beautiful. There are a couple of waterfalls and wide varieties of flowers along the trails. Even when I wasn’t looking for birds, it was a joy to wander. You can also swim in the waterfalls and surrounding area.
Food: Four Meals a Day
My stay included breakfast, lunch, dinner, and high tea. After a morning walk, a good meal tastes even better, and the afternoon tea on the veranda became one of my favorite rituals. (Add details about your favorite dishes and any Trinidadian specialties here.)
Tips for Visiting Asa Wright
Book early. Reach out to the team ahead of time, especially if you want transfers and guided activities arranged.
Stay at least three days. That gave me time for the oilbirds, the walks, and a day trip without feeling rushed.
Bring a long lens, but don’t stress if you don’t have one. The feeders put hummingbirds close enough for great photos.
Pack for the tropics. Bring light layers, a rain jacket, comfortable shoes, and insect repellent.
Take it slow. The best birding often comes from sitting still.
Pace the rum punch. Learn from my mistakes.
Final Thoughts
Asa Wright was one of the best birding lodges I have been to, offering a truly immersive experience in nature, where the tranquility of the surrounding rainforest and the melodious calls of exotic birds created a magical atmosphere that captivated my senses; I can’t wait to go back and spend more time exploring the diverse trails, learning more about the vibrant wildlife, and soaking in the breathtaking views that this remarkable location has to offer.
I came to Trinidad for business and ended up with a memory card full of birds. Over three days at Asa Wright Nature Center, I barely had to chase anything. Most of these photos came from the veranda, a coffee or rum punch within reach, and a forest that kept putting on a show.
The Hummingbirds: 15 Feeders, Hundreds of Birds
Below the veranda hang 15 feeders, and the buzzing never stops. Over three days, I photographed dozens of different kinds of hummingbirds. Here are a few of my favorites.
The Lesson I Learned: Be Patient
At first glance, the feeders belong to one species. White-necked Jacobins dominate, swarming the perches and chasing everything else away. If you leave after ten minutes, you’ll think that’s all there is.
Don’t leave. Sit still, keep your camera ready, and wait. Between the jacobin dogfights, the rarer birds slip in: the hermits, the starthroat, the violetear. By day three I could tell most of them apart at a glance, which I couldn’t have done without the center’s naturalist guides. They were incredibly helpful, naming every bird I pointed my lens at.
The White-necked Jacobin: Three Looks at One Species
The jacobin is the face of Asa Wright’s feeders. I took 100s of photos of these and captured three different plumages.
Male White-necked Jacobin. This is my best shot of the trip. He hovers with his tail fanned into a white spread, and his deep blue head, white throat patch, and emerald back glow against the green forest.
Female White-necked Jacobin. She looks nothing like the male. She is greyish-green with a heavily spotted throat, a pale belly, and a tail tipped in white, and she is easy to mistake for a different species at first.
Juvenile White-necked Jacobin. The young male is a patchwork of blue head feathers, buff-orange throat patches, a clean white belly, and scattered green. He is still growing into his adult look.
The Hermits: The Reward for Patience
Hermits are quieter, browner, and harder to photograph than the jacobins, with long curved bills and a habit of darting in and out.
Green Hermit. t. Mine hovered in dim forest light, showing a long, curved bill with a red base, a dark body, and a long, dark tail.
Rufous-breasted Hermit. I caught one in mid-flight at a feeder, bill curved like a sickle and its orange tail flared, while a White-chested Emerald watched from the perch.
Little Hermit. Small and delicate, with a buff throat, a dark mask, and a white-centered tail. It was the hardest of the hermits to photograph because it never held still.
Rufous-tailed Hummingbird. I got a shot of this one from behind at a feeder, wings spread and a rust-colored tail fanned open like a skirt.
The Showstoppers
Ruby-topaz Hummingbird. This was the one that got away, sort of. I never managed a good flight shot with its tail spread. I did photograph it perched on a branch, and it is still unforgettable: a ruby-red crown, a golden-orange throat, and a dark body, like a tiny jewel.
Long-billed Starthroat. A male in flight with a magenta-red throat patch, a bold white stripe behind the eye, and a long, straight bill, hence the name. The throat looks dull until the light catches it, then flashes red.
Black-throated Mango. My photo shows a long curved bill, a blue patch against a black throat, and a purple tail.
Brown Violetear. The quiet one. It is mostly soft brown and mottled, but a violet “ear” patch and a flash of green at the throat catch the light. I photographed it both in flight and perched calmly on a vine.
White-chested Emerald. A small, elegant green hummingbird with a clean white throat and chest. I photographed it perched on a branch.
The Rare One That Never Came to the Feeders: Tufted Coquette
The Tufted Coquette is one of the rarest hummingbirds you can see at Asa Wright, and it never visited the feeders. I found it hovering at the purple flowers growing near them. It is tiny, with an orange face and throat and a rusty tail, and I was lucky to be watching the flowers at the right moment. It’s a good reminder to look beyond the feeders: the garden flowers have visitors too.
The Fruit Feeders: Color on Every Plate
The banana feeders were just as busy:
Green Honeycreeper: the male is turquoise with a black hood and yellow bill. The female is leaf green.
Silver-beaked Tanager: a deep crimson bird with a silvery bill, shown here facing off with a honeycreeper.
Palm Tanager: I caught one perched on a wet log in the rain.
Bananaquit: tiny, yellow-bellied, and bold. It visits the feeders and the purple flowers around the veranda.
Crested Oropendola: it came face to face with my lens, banana on its bill, blue eyes blazing. It was my favorite performer. When the males call, they swing forward on the perch like a pendulum.
Forest Birds from the Veranda and Trails
Bay-headed Tanager: a green body with a rusty-red head, perched in the fruiting trees.
Barred Antshrike: black-and-white stripes and a little crest, hiding in the foliage.
Bearded Bellbird (the “anvil bird”): a brown head, a white body, and a black beard of wattles. Its call sounds like a hammer striking an anvil. Birdingplaces notes the bellbird can often be seen from the veranda.
White-bearded Manakin: a black cap, a white body, and orange legs. I love how the male tidies his display area to impress the female, like a tiny landscaper trying to win a date.
Channel-billed Toucan: perched on a bare branch against the misty hills, with pale blue skin around the eye and an orange-yellow breast.
Orange-winged Parrot: a pair preening each other at dusk, with a flash of orange on the wing.
The Oilbirds
And yes, I saw the oilbirds. They are nocturnal fruit-eaters that navigate in the dark by echolocation, which is rare among birds. Asa Wright is one of the best-known places in the world to see them. The trail to the roost requires a guide, which is a good thing, because guides know how to approach without disturbing them. Seeing one peering out of its rocky roost was worth the trip on its own.
The veranda is the show. You can see more from one chair than on a long trail.
The in-house guides are excellent. The morning walk led to species I would have walked past on my own.
The habitats are varied. The rainforest, garden, feeders, and nearby Caroni Swamp each add different birds to your list.
The setting is remarkable. It’s quiet and tucked away, yet only 45 to 60 minutes from Piarco Airport.
Tips for Photographing Birds at Asa Wright
Use a fast shutter speed for hummingbirds, around 1/2000s or faster, to freeze the wings. If you want a little wing blur, as in the mango shot, slow down a bit.
Expect rain and low light. A fast lens or higher ISO helps.
Bring a long lens, but the feeders put many birds within reach of a standard zoom.
Sit still. The best shots came after I stopped moving.
Ask the guides where the bellbirds and manakins are calling that day.
Final Thoughts
I came to Trinidad for business and left with some of my best travel memories. Asa Wright gave me a quiet, beautiful base, helpful people, great food, and about two dozen species photographed without ever leaving the grounds. If you’re headed to Trinidad, even for work, carve out a few days here
Of all the wildlife I saw in Trinidad, the moment I’d looked forward to most was the one the island is famous for: watching scarlet ibis flying home to roost in Caroni Swamp.
What Is Caroni Swamp?
Caroni Swamp is a sprawling mangrove wetland on Trinidad’s west coast, where the Caroni River meets the Gulf of Paria, just south of the capital, Port of Spain. It not too far awy from Port of Spain and can be visited in an afternoon. It’s a maze of lagoons and narrow channels shaded by mangrove roots, and it’s home to more than 100 bird species, along with snakes, crabs, fish, and mammals. The big draw is the scarlet ibis, Trinidad and Tobago’s national bird. Thousands return to the swamp each evening to spend the night in the mangroves.
More About Caroni Swamp
A Protected Wetland of International Importance
Caroni Swamp covers more than 5,600 hectares of mangrove forest and herbaceous marsh, cut through by countless channels and by brackish and saline lagoons. It’s the second-largest mangrove wetland in Trinidad and Tobago, and it has been a Ramsar site, a wetland recognized as internationally important, since 1971. It’s also an important nursery and shelter for fish, crabs, and oysters, and its mangroves help protect the nearby coast.
The Ibis’s Daily Commute
What fascinated me most is that scarlet ibis don’t actually spend the day in the swamp. They fly across the Gulf of Paria to feed on the Venezuelan mainland, roughly 11 miles away, then return at the end of the day to roost in the mangroves. That’s why the best time to see them is dusk, and why the show takes place every evening instead of all day.
Wildlife Beyond the Ibis
The swamp has more than 100 recorded bird species, and some sources put the number well above that. Besides the ibis, you can see herons, egrets, cormorants and terns, and in recent years American flamingos have been spotted here too, which fits with what I saw. Red, black and white mangroves line the waterways, with tiny oysters clinging to their roots. Cook’s tree boas, spectacled caimans and silky anteaters are regular sightings on tours.
Conservation and Protecting the Ibis
The scarlet ibis is Trinidad and Tobago’s national bird, and swamp tour operators help protect it. Long-established operators talk a lot about conservation and education, and they push for stronger enforcement of laws that protect the ibis from poachers. Pollution and climate change remain ongoing concerns for the swamp, so be a careful visitor: keep your trash with you, stay seated, and keep your voice down around the birds.
When to Go
Dusk is the best time of day, since that’s when the ibis return. Trinidad’s dry season, from January through the end of May, is generally recommended. Tours usually last about two to three hours. Sunscreen and bug spray are a good idea whatever the time of year.
Setting Up the Trip
I was staying at the Asa Wright Nature Center, so I asked the staff to arrange my Caroni Swamp outing. That made it simple: no hunting for operators or working out transport on my own. If you’re based at a lodge, ask them first.
Two companies run boat tours in the swamp. I booked with the one you reach as soon as you enter (Nanan’s Bird Sanctuary Tours). The other is further down the road. I’d been told that scarlet ibis sometimes gather around the second company’s launch area at low tide, and since I arrived early, I drove over to take a look. The people there were very kind and showed me where the ibis might turn up. There were none that day, but I did see flamingos, which I hadn’t expected.
My tip: arrive early. It gives you time to look around, ask questions, and get settled before the boat leaves.
Out on the Water
The boat ride took a couple of hours. Tours like this typically leave in the late afternoon so that you’re on the water in time for sunset, and our guide steered us through the quiet channels, pointing out wildlife I would have missed on my own.
Here’s some of what we saw:
Cook’s tree boas: these swamp snakes were curled up asleep on low-hanging branches.
Spectacled caimans: resting along the muddy banks.
Anteaters: two of them, balled up asleep in a tree.
Herons and egrets: including a juvenile yellow-crowned night heron perched among the mangrove roots.
Crabs: climbing the mangrove trunks.
A few scarlet ibis: perched in the trees well before sunset.
The Main Event: Scarlet Ibis Coming Home
The highlight came when our boat docked, and we waited for the ibis and other birds to come home for the night. The light softened, the swamp quieted down, and a group of flamingos in the shallow water kept us entertained while we watched the sky. I feel like felmigoes added to the whole scene and made it more beatiful. I took tons of photos of Flemingoes (more than the Ibis) .
Then the first ibis appeared. The ibises typically return in waves around sunset, with the exact timing shifting slightly throughout the year. First a handful, then more, flying low over the mangroves in bright red against the evening sky, their vibrant plumage creating a stunning contrast with the deepening hues of twilight. It’s a sight photographs don’t fully capture, as the intricate details of their movement and the delicate interplay of light and shadow are best appreciated in person. They perch on the green trees, their presence enhancing the landscape’s natural beauty, and the whole scene reminded me of Christmas with greens and reds.
Tips for Your Own Caroni Swamp Trip
Ask your lodge to book it. It saves effort and helps you coordinate the timing.
Pick the late-afternoon tour. It’s the one that lines up with the ibis returning at dusk.
Arrive early. You can look around the other launch area, as I did, or just settle in.
Don’t count on seeing ibis at the launch. I was told they gather there at low tide, but none showed up on my visit.
Bring a zoom lens or binoculars. Many of the best moments are at a distance.
Pack insect repellent and a light layer. It’s a swamp, and the evenings can be buggy.
Be patient and quiet. The birds are worth the wait.
Final Thoughts
Watching scarlet ibis return to Caroni Swamp was one of the highlights of my Trinidad trip, and the snakes, caimans, and flamingos along the way made it even better. If you’re visiting Trinidad, make time for a sunset boat tour. It’s easy to arrange and unforgettable.
Planning to see oilbirds in Trinidad? Here’s my first-person guide to the Dunston Cave colony at Asa Wright Nature Center, why you need a multi-day stay, and what to expect.
I’ve seen a lot of birds on my travels, but none quite like the oilbird. Weird, loud, nocturnal, and fruit-eating, it is the kind of creature that makes you wonder why evolution got so creative. Here’s how I got to see the colony at the Asa Wright Nature Center in Trinidad’s Northern Range, and everything I’d tell a friend before they go.
What Is an Oilbird (and Why the Strange Name)?
The oilbird, also called the guacharo or, in Trinidad, the diablotin (“little devil”), is a large brown bird with a wingspan of up to about 42 inches and a body length of around 18 inches. Its scientific name is Steatornis caripensis, and its range stretches across Colombia, Venezuela, Guyana, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia and Trinidad.
The name comes from a grim bit of history. In 1799, the scientist Alexander von Humboldt documented how Venezuelan Indians and monks were collecting the extremely fat young chicks from their nests and boiling them down for cooking oil and torch fuel. At around 70 days old, the chicks can be 50 percent heavier than their parents. Amerindian peoples also used the rendered oil for lamps. Today, Trinidad has at least five oilbird colonies, and every one is protected by law.
Why You Need to Stay at Least 3 Days
Here’s the practical part that surprised me: you can’t just turn up and wander into the cave. The oilbirds are reclusive, and to avoid disturbing them, the caves can only be visited with a guide from the nature centre. Access is built around guests staying at the property, so I planned a stay of at least three days. That gave me time to settle in, join the guided walks, and get a slot for the cave visit without rushing.
My tip: book your stay well ahead and ask about the cave visit when you reserve. Three nights also lets you enjoy the rest of the centre’s rainforest birdlife, which is a bonus you won’t regret.
The Walk to Dunston Cave
After a short orientation from our guide, we set off along the forest trail. Our guide first asked us to change into shoes that could get wet, and the walk that followed was beautiful. The rainforest around Asa Wright is dense and green, dripping with leaves the size of dinner plates, and the air gets cooler and damper as you approach the cave. Our guide explained the rules: stay quiet, keep lights low, and respect the birds. This is a working breeding colony, not a show.
Coming Face to Face with the Colony
Nothing quite prepares you for it. Our guide used a red light to illuminate the birds, and in that dim glow I could see them sitting on ledges in the rock, strange-looking with hooked beaks and big dark eyes. The sign at the centre says the colony has been documented since 1957 and varies from about 123 to 130 birds, though I’ve also seen figures of 150 or more quoted for the cave, so numbers clearly shift over time.
The nests were fascinating. They’re built mostly from regurgitated fruit, shaped into low mounds on cave ledges, and reused year after year. I could see the piles of fruit the birds had collected the night before. Females lay two to four white eggs, and both parents share incubation for about 33 days. The young are slow to develop and may stay in the nest for 110 days or more.
Baby bird sitting in a nest
If the birds get disturbed, they let you know. Oilbirds scream, snarl and chuck in a way that sounds like a nightmare soundtrack, and the screams are truly ear-piercing. If I hadn’t known about the birds and had wandered into that dark cave on my own, I would have been scared to death, and I now understand how the bird earned its nickname, the little devil. It’s easy to see why Amerindians called them guacharos, “the ones that wail and mourn,” and why Trinidadians settled on diablotin. Watch the vidoe I took inside as we entered and you can hear the screams of the birds.
Because the birds are so easily disturbed, we didn’t stay long. I quickly took a couple of photos in the red light, and then we headed back out and left the colony in peace.
Fruit-Eating Birds That Use Echolocation
This is the part that blew my mind. Oilbirds are the only nocturnal fruit-eating birds in the world, and they also use low-frequency echolocation to find their way through the dark, much like bats. They can detect an object about eight inches across in total blackness. They aren’t blind either: their eyes are well adapted for low light, and they use sight whenever there’s enough of it.
At dusk they leave the cave to forage, mainly on palm fruits and the fruits of trees in the laurel family, and they may travel many miles in a night to feed. Then they return to the cave before daylight. It’s a very different life from the daytime birds I’m used to.
Practical Tips for Your Visit
Go with the guide. It’s required, and it protects the birds.
Stay at least three days so you can secure a cave visit around the guided schedule.
Keep noise and light to a minimum. Silence is your best camera accessory.
Bring sturdy shoes and rain gear. The trails are humid and can be slippery.
Be patient. Let your eyes adjust to the dim light and you’ll see far more.
Final Thoughts
Seeing the oilbirds at Asa Wright was one of the most memorable wildlife experiences I’ve had. The birds are odd, noisy, and absolutely unforgettable, and the setting in Trinidad’s Northern Range makes the whole experience feel like a step back in time. If you’re planning a trip to Trinidad and you love nature, put Dunston Cave at the very top of your list.
There’s something fitting about starting a trip to Iceland with a long flight over open water — by the time we touched down from Atlanta on August 7th, the endless grey of the North Atlantic had already primed us for ten days of dramatic coastline, black sand, and glacier-fed fjords.
Reykjavik, On Our Own Terms (8/8–8/10)
We gave ourselves two full days in Reykjavik before the ship, and it was the right call — nothing about Iceland rewards rushing.
8/8 — Blue Lagoon. Steam rising off milky blue-white water against a backdrop of black lava rock, even in August. It’s touristy, sure, but it earns the reputation.
8/9 — South Coast with Arctic Adventures. This was the day Iceland really opened up. We started at Skógafoss, and its sheer power was startling — 60 meters of water thundering down, mist drifting over everything nearby, the roar constant enough to feel in your chest before you even see the falls properly. From there we drove to Sólheimajökull, a glacier tongue reaching down from the massive Vatnajökull ice cap, where the ice ran in striking black-and-white stripes — dark bands of volcanic ash buried under successive snowfalls, each one a frozen record of an old eruption. Standing next to it felt like standing before something still actively reshaping itself.
We rolled through Vík í Mýrdal, a small village balanced between cozy and dramatic, with a church perched on the hill above and a food truck doing brisk business in crepes that we didn’t have time to queue for. Just past it, Reynisfjara black sand beach delivered our first puffins of the trip — dozens of them darting in and out of the basalt columns above the shore, enough that we spent more time chasing puffin shots than admiring the famous Reynisdrangar sea stacks. From the beach we could also make out two glacier-capped volcanoes in the distance — Mýrdalsjökull, hiding the notoriously active Katla underneath, and glimpses of Eyjafjallajökull, whose 2010 eruption grounded flights across Europe. Ice and fire, side by side, right there on the horizon.
We saved Seljalandsfoss for last, on our guide’s advice, since you can walk behind it and expect to get wet. Standing behind that curtain of water with the afternoon sun throwing little rainbows through the mist was one of those moments that’s hard to describe and easy to remember.
8/10 — Whale watching, out of Reykjavik harbor, before boarding the ship that afternoon. We were able to see lots of puffins, pod of dolphins as well as hump back whales
Boarding the Viking Mars
That afternoon we boarded the Viking Mars for the “Natural Treasures of Iceland” itinerary — a full circumnavigation of the island, port to port, counter-clockwise around the coast.
A few first impressions, for anyone considering Viking: it’s an adults-only line (18+), and it shows in the atmosphere — quiet, unhurried, no kids underfoot. The ship itself is clean in a way that borders on clinical, understated Scandinavian design rather than flashy resort styling, and it never once felt crowded despite carrying around 900 passengers.
That number mattered more to us than we expected. This was our first time on a big ocean ship. We’ve cruised before — a 16-passenger yacht through the Galápagos and a roughly 100-passenger boat down the Nile — and the jump in scale changed the whole feel of the experience. Smaller ships put you right up against the destination; you’re inches from wildlife, docking wherever a smaller boat can fit. A 900-passenger ship is a different kind of trip entirely — more like a floating hotel that happens to move overnight, with the destination arriving to you each morning rather than the other way around. Neither is better, but they’re not really comparable experiences, and it’s worth knowing that going in.
Around the Island
8/11 — Westman Islands (Heimaey): Our first scheduled stop was supposed to be Heimaey, and we’d been looking forward to it in part because of the puffins — but the weather had other plans. Conditions were too rough to land safely, so the ship never docked, and we spent the whole day out at sea instead, puffin count for the day: zero. A genuinely disappointing miss, and an early reminder that a circumnavigation runs on the ocean’s schedule, not yours.
8/12 — Djúpivogur: This quiet fishing village turned out to be the launch point for one of the best days of the entire trip — a drive out to Jökulsárlón Glacier Lagoon and Diamond Beach. It started raining before we’d even left port, and I’d basically made peace with a gray, muted day. Then we arrived and it didn’t matter.
The lagoon isn’t one solid ice sheet — it’s hundreds of broken chunks scattered across still, dark water, some nearly clear, some a deep glacial blue, some streaked black and white where volcanic ash had folded into the ice over centuries. Jökulsárlón is actually Iceland’s deepest lake, connected to the Atlantic by a short tidal channel, which is the only reason Diamond Beach exists across the road — smaller bergs drift toward the sea, break apart near the channel mouth, and wash back up on the black sand looking exactly like scattered diamonds. The gray sky, if anything, made it better — flattening the light just enough that the blues in the ice seemed to glow from within instead of glaring under direct sun.
The eclipse we didn’t see: As it happened, we picked possibly the most inconvenient day possible for gray skies — August 12, 2026 was Iceland’s first total solar eclipse since 1954, and the first visible from Reykjavík in nearly 600 years. The path of totality only swept across the western side of the island (the Westfjords, Snæfellsnes, Reykjavík, and the Reykjanes Peninsula), so from our position on the east coast at Djúpivogur we would have only caught a deep partial eclipse at best — the sun more than 95% covered rather than fully blocked. Even that modest show never materialized for us; the same cloud cover that made the glacier lagoon glow so beautifully also kept the sky flat and gray through the eclipse window that afternoon. A strange bit of cosmic bad luck to pair with genuinely great glacier photography.
Trying/ posing for the Solar eclipse that we weren’t able to see
8/13 — Seyðisfjörður: We woke up to the ship easing into the fjord and immediately understood why this town is considered the most photographed in East Iceland. A waterfall — Búðarárfoss — sits practically built into the skyline above town, and after two rainy days in a row, we finally got sun. We took the first tender to beat the crowds and just wandered.
The signature shot here is Norðurgata, the rainbow-painted street leading straight up to a vivid blue church built in Norway in 1894 and shipped over in pieces — which explains the Norwegian timber architecture running through the whole town. Seyðisfjörður has a real creative streak too, anchored by the Skaftfell Art Center and the Tvísöngur sound sculpture, five concrete domes tuned to Iceland’s tradition of five-tone harmony. It’s also the arrival port for the Smyril Line ferry from the Faroe Islands and Denmark — we watched a whole line of RVs roll off a ferry docked nearby, a strange, fun contrast to how small and colorful the town otherwise felt.
From there we booked a day tour inland toward Stuðlagil Canyon, stopping first at Gufufoss (a broad curtain of water over black basalt) and Rjúkandafoss (a multi-tiered cascade where I finally caught an Icelandic sheep posing perfectly on a rock at the edge of the falls). Stuðlagil itself was the real payoff — tightly packed hexagonal basalt columns rising straight out of a glacial river running an almost unreal turquoise. The canyon was hidden under the Jökla River for centuries until a hydropower project in the mid-2000s dropped water levels and exposed it; local shepherds didn’t even find it until 2016. We visited the west-side viewpoint, the quicker option via a short staircase — the east side offers better views but requires a much longer hike, so plan for it on a return trip with more time.
8/14 — Akureyri: Our shore excursion here turned into a full loop through the Mývatn / Diamond Circle region — Dimmuborgir, Námaskarð (Hverir), Lake Mývatn, and the Skútustaðagígar pseudo-craters, all in one day. This is the only tour we booked with Viking (Natural tressures of North Iceland). The rest of the trips were done on our own, booked through Viator.
Dimmuborgir (“Dark Castles”) was easily one of the strangest landscapes of the whole trip — a maze of hollow lava pillars and twisted arches up to 65 feet tall, formed about 2,300 years ago when a lava flow rolled over a lake and trapped steam blasted channels up through the cooling rock. It’s steeped in folklore too, said to be the home of Grýla, the troll of Icelandic Christmas tradition, and fans of a certain fantasy show will recognize it as the Wildling army camp beyond the Wall.
From there we hit Hverir (Námaskarð), a barren, sulfur-stained stretch locals nickname the Devil’s Kitchen — hissing steam vents, bubbling gray mud pots, and ground streaked yellow and orange from mineral deposits, with zero hiking required to be right in the middle of it. Surprisingly, this spot has a genuine military history: sulfur mined here supplied a share of the gunpowder used across medieval and early modern Europe, until the Danish Crown took control of the deposits in the 16th century.
We closed the loop with Lake Mývatn itself — a shallow volcanic lake ringed by pseudocraters and rich birdlife, swans included — under a steady rain that somehow suited the otherworldly terrain. We skipped Dettifoss, admittedly, on the theory that we’d already seen seven or eight waterfalls by that point in the trip and needed a break.
We’d originally booked a tour to Dynjandi Waterfall, but a couple of nights earlier I stumbled on a puffin tour to Vigur Island instead — and since we’d struck out on puffins at Heimaey, that sealed it. A 30-minute boat ride out into Ísafjarðardjúp fjord brought us to a tiny island that’s home to just one family and roughly 100,000 puffins. The current owner, Felicity Aston, is a British polar explorer who in 2012 became the first woman to ski solo and unassisted across Antarctica; she and her husband now run Vigur as a working eider farm, sustainably harvesting the down the ducks naturally shed after nesting season. We walked the “Puffin Path,” a boardwalk built with National Geographic–Lindblad Expeditions that lets you get remarkably close to the burrows, while Arctic terns nesting alongside the trail dive-bombed anyone who got too close for comfort. We finished with a slice of Hjónabandssæla, a traditional rhubarb “marriage cake,” and mailed postcards from what claims to be Europe’s smallest post office.
Back in town, we spent the afternoon wandering Neðstikaupstaður, Ísafjörður’s old harbor district of colorful timber trading houses dating to the 1700s, before heading back to the ship.
8/16 — Back to Reykjavik: With a full day back in port before disembarking, we squeezed in a Golden Circle tour — Iceland’s other classic loop. We started at Kerið, a volcanic crater nicknamed “The Eye of the World,” its blue-green lake ringed by deep red volcanic rock. An unplanned stop to feed Icelandic horses turned into one of the most quietly joyful parts of the day. From there we hit Gullfoss, the two-tiered “Golden Waterfall” plunging 105 feet into its canyon, and Strokkur geyser, erupting every four to ten minutes and giving us plenty of chances to catch it mid-burst. We closed the loop at Þingvellir National Park, walking through the rift valley where the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates are visibly pulling apart — also the site of Iceland’s first parliament, so history and geology share the same ground.
We also carved out time to properly photograph Reykjavik itself, something we hadn’t expected to prioritize. Hallgrímskirkja’s 73-meter tower — its ribbed concrete facade deliberately echoing the hexagonal basalt columns found around the island — dominates the skyline from nearly every angle, and the elevator ride to the top delivers a sweeping view over the city’s candy-colored rooftops down to the harbor. Right at its base, the rainbow-painted Skólavörðustígur leads the eye straight up to the spire. Down by the water, Harpa concert hall was a genuine standout — its honeycomb of individually shaped glass panels, inspired by those same basalt columns, throws shifting color and light across the interior depending on where you stand. We also caught the Sun Voyager sculpture at golden hour, and spent a happy hour just wandering residential streets lined with houses in lime green, bubblegum pink, and deep teal.
We had a couple of rough days at sea — the North Atlantic isn’t the Caribbean — but nothing that ruined the trip; the Mars handled the swells better than we expected for a first-time cruiser on open ocean.
Most of our dinners were at The Restaurant, the ship’s main dining venue, which was consistently good without ever feeling like it was trying too hard. But if there was one unexpected highlight of the whole onboard experience, it was high tea — a proper, unhurried afternoon ritual that became something we looked forward to every sea day.
Disembarking (8/17)
We got off the ship on the 17th having circled an entire country by water, missed one port to weather, and eaten more pastries at high tea than we’d like to admit. Between the glacier lagoon at Djúpivogur, the rainbow street at Seyðisfjörður, the lava fields around Akureyri, and the puffins of Vigur Island, this circumnavigation delivered on its “Natural Treasures” name in a way that consistently surprised us — the misses (Heimaey) stung, but the trip more than made up for it elsewhere. For a first big-ship cruise, the Viking Mars set a high bar — upscale without being stuffy, and well suited to a destination like Iceland, where the scenery does most of the work anyway.
Reykjavik surprised me. I’d come to Iceland chasing waterfalls and glaciers, but the capital turned out to be its own kind of photographic playground — a city of candy-colored rooftops, one unmistakable spire, and a concert hall that behaves less like a building and more like a living kaleidoscope. If you only have a day to wander with a camera, here’s where I’d send you.
Hallgrímskirkja: The Church You Can’t Miss (And Shouldn’t Try To)
No matter where you are in Reykjavik, Hallgrímskirkja finds you. Its 73-meter tower rises above the rooftops from almost every angle, and honestly, that’s by design. Iceland’s state architect, Guðjón Samúelsson, drew the church in 1937, wanting a building that could only exist here—one that echoed the hexagonal basalt columns found at places like Svartifoss and the black sand beaches along the coast. Look at the facade, and you can see it immediately: the ribbed concrete columns fan outward from the central tower exactly like cooling lava does in nature.
Construction didn’t come easy. Work began in 1945, and the church wasn’t fully consecrated until 1986—a 41-year build that outlived its architect, who died in 1950 before seeing it finished. That patience shows in the details, especially inside, where soaring Gothic-arched ceilings and tall blue-tinted windows funnel light down the nave in a way that feels almost otherworldly. I spent a good chunk of my day just standing in that long, vaulted side corridor, watching how the light shifted along the stone with every step.
Climbing the tower is non-negotiable, in my opinion. The elevator ride up rewards you with a sweeping, rooftop-level view of the entire city — Reykjavik’s colorful houses laid out like a quilt, the harbor and Harpa glinting in the distance, and the sea stretching out beyond it all. It’s the kind of shot that makes you understand the whole city’s layout in a single frame.
Skólavörðustígur: The Rainbow Street
Right at the foot of the church runs Skólavörðustígur, better known to photographers as simply the “rainbow street.” A wide painted rainbow runs down the middle of the road, leading your eye straight up the hill to Hallgrímskirkja’s spire framed perfectly at the end. It’s a genuinely iconic shot, and one of those rare tourist spots that’s just as fun to photograph in golden evening light as it is in the flat gray of an overcast afternoon — the colors practically pop out of the pavement either way. The street itself is lined with shops, cafes, and street art, so it’s worth slowing down here rather than just grabbing the one obligatory photo and moving on.
Harpa: A Building Made of Northern Lights
If Hallgrímskirkja is Reykjavik’s soul, Harpa is its shimmer. This concert hall and conference center sits right on the harbor, and it might be the single most photogenic interior I’ve ever wandered through — I genuinely could have spent an entire day inside just chasing geometric patterns of light and shadow.
Harpa’s story starts in the mid-2000s, when Danish firm Henning Larsen Architects won the commission, teaming up with Icelandic-Danish artist Ólafur Elíasson to design its facade. Construction began in January 2007 — just months before Iceland’s economy collapsed in the global financial crisis — which stalled the project for years before it finally opened in 2011. The name means “harp” in Icelandic, chosen from more than 4,000 public submissions, and it is also the old word for early spring, a fitting symbol of brighter days after the crash.
What makes the building so mesmerizing is its facade: thousands of individually shaped, colored glass panels arranged in a honeycomb-like pattern Elíasson called the “quasi brick,” directly inspired by Iceland’s basalt column formations. No two panels are quite the same, and the whole structure shifts color and mood depending on the light, the weather, or simply where you’re standing. Step inside and the effect multiplies — hexagonal steel framing crisscrosses overhead, throwing blue and gold reflections across the floor, while the wall of windows frames the harbor and the boats bobbing just outside. It’s no surprise Harpa won the EU’s Mies van der Rohe Prize for contemporary architecture in 2013. Every angle inside offers a completely different composition, and I’d genuinely recommend wandering the foyer with your camera and letting the architecture do the work.
The Sun Voyager
Down along the waterfront, not far from Harpa, stands the Sun Voyager — a sleek stainless steel sculpture shaped like a ship’s skeleton, with long, upswept lines that catch the light beautifully at sunrise and sunset. It’s meant to represent a dream boat, an ode to the sun, and it photographs like pure poetry when the sky behind it turns gold or fades into that deep post-sunset blue. If you’re chasing golden hour anywhere in the city, this is the spot.
At sunriseAt sunset
Just Wander: The Colorful Houses of Reykjavik
Honestly, some of my favorite shots of the day weren’t at any “named” landmark at all — they came from simply wandering the residential streets. Reykjavik’s houses are a patchwork of corrugated metal siding painted in candy colors: lime green, bubblegum pink, mustard yellow, fire-engine red, deep teal. Turn down almost any side street, and you’ll find another unexpected combination glowing under the pale Icelandic sky. Cafés like Babalú add their own eccentric charm to the mix, with murals, flags, and rooftop flamingos piled onto an already-colorful building. There’s no itinerary needed here — just good light, comfortable shoes, and a willingness to get a little lost.
Final Thoughts
I went into Reykjavik expecting a stopover between the “real” Icelandic scenery, and left with a full memory card of city photographs I hadn’t planned for at all. Between Hallgrímskirkja’s basalt-inspired spire, Harpa’s ever-shifting glass, the rainbow street tying them together, and the quiet joy of colorful houses around every corner, Reykjavik turned out to be one of the most rewarding places I photographed on the entire trip. If you’re a photographer heading to Iceland, don’t treat the capital as a formality — give it a full day.
If the South Coast had shown us Iceland’s wild, watery side, the Golden Circle promised something different — a day of geology, history, and a few delightful surprises tucked between the big-name stops. We set off from Reykjavik ready to see Iceland’s three most famous attractions: Þingvellir National Park, the Geysir Hot Springs, and Gullfoss Waterfall. But the extra stops—a volcanic crater and a quiet geothermal town—ended up making the day feel like ours.
Kerið Crater: The Eye of the World
We started at Kerið, a volcanic crater so striking it’s earned the nickname “The Eye of the World.” Formed more than 6,500 years ago when a volcanic eruption caused the ground to collapse in on itself, the crater now cradles a beautiful blue-green lake surrounded by deep red volcanic rock — a combination of colors I genuinely wasn’t prepared for. Standing at the rim, with the crater stretching nearly 900 feet wide and its walls dropping almost 180 feet down to the water, I felt tiny in the best possible way. We took the short 20-minute walk around the rim, and every angle offered a slightly different, equally photogenic view — the kind of place where you keep saying “just one more picture” and mean it every time.
A Quick Detour: Meeting the Icelandic Horses
Our second stop wasn’t on the map I’d expected, and it turned out to be one of my favorite parts of the day. We pulled up to a small horse farm to feed some Icelandic horses — sturdy, shaggy, impossibly friendly animals with a gait and personality all their own. There’s something quietly joyful about hand-feeding a horse in the middle of the Icelandic countryside, mountains rolling out in every direction. It wasn’t flashy, but it was the kind of moment that sticks with you.
Gullfoss: The Golden Waterfall
From there, we made our way to Gullfoss, the “Golden Waterfall,” perched right at the edge of the Icelandic Highlands. Fed by the Langjökull glacier and carving through the canyon of the Hvíta River, Gullfoss drops in two dramatic tiers, plunging 105 feet in total. Standing near the edge, watching the water seem to vanish into the canyon below, I understood immediately why this waterfall has captivated visitors for generations. It’s raw, powerful, and endlessly photogenic — the kind of place that looks stunning no matter which direction you point your camera.
Geysir and Strokkur: Where Geysers Get Their Name
Next came the Geysir geothermal field, home to the geyser that literally gave all others their name. The original Geysir is dormant now, though it once held the record for the tallest geyser on Earth, shooting water up to 400 feet into the air. Thankfully, its “little brother” Strokkur was more than happy to perform — erupting every 4 to 10 minutes, which gave us plenty of chances to catch it on camera. There’s a strange kind of anticipation that builds as you watch the pool bulge right before it bursts skyward; I found myself grinning like a kid every single time it went off.
Þingvellir: Standing Between Two Continents
We closed the day at Þingvellir National Park, and it felt like the perfect place to end things — equal parts natural wonder and living history. Walking into the rift valley here means literally standing in the space where the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates are pulling apart, a slow-motion process millions of years in the making. But Þingvellir carries just as much human history as geological drama: this is where Althing, Iceland’s first national parliament, was established, and where the Almannagjá rift and the crystal-clear Silfra Fissure cut dramatically through the landscape, all set against the still waters of Þingvallavatn lake. Standing there, I couldn’t decide whether I was more struck by the geology or the history — really, it was the combination of both that made it unforgettable.
Final Thoughts
The drive back to Reykjavik took just 40 minutes, but it felt like we’d traveled through several different worlds in a single day — a volcanic crater, a horse farm, a thundering waterfall, an erupting geyser, and a rift between continents. The Golden Circle earns its reputation, but it was those unplanned little stops — feeding horses in a quiet field, lingering an extra few minutes at Kerið — that reminded me why I love traveling slowly and leaving room for surprises.
