I wait in line, shivering, my skin beginning to resemble that of a plucked chicken. Glancing left, I see that several open, communal shower stalls lay empty, yet I stubbornly wait to enter a private stall, averting my eyes as several women disrobe and shower naked in front of me.
There is a running joke in Iceland regarding North American tourists and their reluctance to shower naked in the changing room before they partake in the steaming waters of Iceland’s famous hot springs.
I was one of those tourists on my first visit to Iceland. I was the one depicted in the memes that have made their way onto postcards: frantically trying to cover up, only pulling off half a swimsuit at a time, hands over breasts or butt cheek, making a harried escape into a stall with a curtain.
The best way to avoid offending a local in Iceland is to shower completely naked before entering a hot pot, only donning a swimsuit once the shower is over and all orifices have been thoroughly scrubbed clean.
When I enter the changing room at the Myvatn Nature Baths, located on a designated nature reserve in Northeast Iceland, I’m relieved to note that there are two shower stalls, stalls that have clearly been installed for the use of bashful tourists who are unfamiliar, and ultimately uncomfortable, with this expectation.
Native Icelanders are taught from a young age that showering naked before entering a pool is a non-negotiable expectation that revolves around hygiene. According to locals, this is hammered into them from the time they begin swimming lessons and stays with them throughout their lives, as bathing is an entrenched part of Icelandic culture. One man I chatted with told me that there is a common saying: “A town isn’t a real town unless it has a church and a swimming pool.”
He goes on to tell me that Icelanders tend to be introverted, but the pool, sauna, or jacuzzi is one of the few places where it is socially acceptable to talk to a stranger and that bathing is always a shared experience for locals.
All Natural
When I returned to Iceland this past October, my sole purpose was to spend as much time as possible soaking in hot springs, with evening visits planned in order to try and peep the Northern Lights, to see if I could fully immerse myself in Icelandic bathing traditions outside of simply embracing the communal, and naked, shower experience.
The days are short and cold during the country’s stick season, and the steamy water of the newly renovated Sky Lagoon — along with the introduction of “Skjól” (meaning shelter, retreat, or protection), a seven-step ritual honoring the spirit of Icelandic bathing traditions — has an allure that I am simply unable to resist, despite my previous discomfort with the process of bathing here.
Located on the outskirts of Reykjavik, the entirety of the Sky Lagoon blends in seamlessly with its environment, and every aspect of the design mimics the natural features of Iceland, which are found throughout the country. From the design of boulders and the repurposed driftwood to the signage in the Icelandic language, the idea is to have locals feel at home but also to draw tourists fully into the soothing magic of bathing in the country’s hot pools.
Open in the evening too, it is the perfect place to take advantage of the ever-darkening nights, and instead of chasing the Aurora Borealis, I relax and let it come to me instead.
The renovation and reimagined and restorative bathing ritual consists of an overhaul of the turf house — utilizing a historic approach to construction to ensure the building was an exact replica of a traditional turf house — an unassuming grass-covered structure that, upon entering, envelopes me in Icelandic culture, and my once reluctant body is now malleable as I succumb to the cozy charm of “Skjól.”
The nod to traditional tapestries that mark each stage and guide me throughout the experience, tell the story of each step of the ritual: the steaming water of the infinity-edged lagoon spilling effortlessly into the iron-gray ocean beyond, the breath-stealing cold plunge pool, the tang of salt and drying fish in the playful, open-air mist room where bathers embrace and enjoy the elements, and the “kraekiber” (crowberry) elixir that is reminiscent of something your Icelandic grandmother would have made.
Each step is a shared space where acceptance and community can be found, where I can care for and embrace my body for what it is and simply relax and enjoy the experience (but also, for tourists still feeling bashful, private change rooms and showers are available).
In the sauna, as I gaze out at the flickering sky above the vast ocean from behind a pane of glass that makes the warm, wooden room feel open to the wild elements, I let the silence of the space wrap around me. I let my insecurities rest. Even if it’s just for a moment, I feel content.
It brings me back to my first time in Iceland, where, after hours of soaking in the Myvatn Nature baths — unsure if I was emboldened by the dark and frothy Icelandic beer, delivered personally by goose-down layered lifeguards, or the unabashed confidence of Scandinavian women — I strip off my swimsuit and walk fully naked into the communal showers. The longer I shower, the more empowered I begin to feel, as if I am taking back ownership of my body. Each wrinkle, every freckle, each crook of a limb is mine.
At that moment, I feel free. And for the first time in a long time, I’m no longer waiting in line.
The post I Was Terrified to Shower Naked in Iceland — Here’s How I Conquered My Fear first appeared on Travelbinger.