A growing trend for impulsive, traveling hipsters has been to check out Iceland. The once, somewhat off-the-radar, country has become a surprisingly popular destination for young people. Last year, taking a Thursday off, I traveled with two close friends on Wednesday night, to return on Sunday evening with a fresh new experience — one among my Columbia best — under my belt.

Any close reader of geological science blogs or keen connoisseur of Discovery Channel’s nature programs has likely heard references at some point to the gorgeous, and notably alien, natural landscape so characteristic of Iceland. It’s a small country, both in area and population, home to just around 300,000 beautiful individuals. Not many people move in and not many ever move out either. But precisely because of its small size, it retains an intrinsic charm, appealing to everyone from the bright-eyed naturalist to optimistic bros trying to go mad hard on their first night in Reykjavik.

Everything there is fresh (except for the puffin, before spring) and pristine. Around eighty percent of Icelandic energy consumption is from renewable resources, and waterpower is ubiquitously employed. In fact, when you turn on your cold water tap, you can be sure that it is sourced directly from natural cold springs, and when you turn to hot water, you’ll initially be sure to notice the distinctive odor of sulfur and other minerals that are present in the hot springs from which you’re drawing (don’t worry, it's perfectly safe, and the smell goes away once you’ve had the tap running for a few seconds). The earth is colored deep brown from the soil, lush green from the moss and pure white from the snow; it's a pleasing palette, contributing to Iceland’s truly epic beauty. Volcanic mountains are visible on the horizon, looming, but near enough to be approachable; and sparse plains, spotted with deep blue pools of either very cold or very hot water, surround the idyllic cities dripping with Scandinavian charm. Every few miles, a herd of shaggy, longhaired horses — small, but strong and energetic — can be seen roaming and grazing. It really is no wonder at all that rich tales of elves, dwarves, and other magical and hidden people developed here and became embedded deep in the cultural DNA of even the youngest of Icelanders. But make no mistake; young Icelanders are plenty modern, fully capable of a rough and/or classy night out, easily on par with the trendy New York City district of your choice.

Mere hours before nightlife commenced for your three heroes, we wandered the city in search of cultural enlightenment and fine babes. We stumbled upon some fantastic art exhibits, impromptu and otherwise, and enjoyed modern and historical works by native Icelanders. We also came across a fashion show — perhaps the most modest one imaginable, considering the explicitly non-tropical climate — where, in particular, the Farmer’s Market brand was favorably highlighted. Farmer’s Market wool products are rustic and fashionable, and along with 66°North, form an iconic stylistic image unique to Iceland. (As a side note, the tiny flagship Farmer’s Market shop, tucked away behind a secluded industrial sector of Reykjavik, with a beautiful view of a mountain vista, is certainly worth the visit). We attempted to consume as much of the staple cuisine as we could fit into the long weekend and into our stomachs, including the aforementioned puffin and the tough, raw, and controversial Minke Whale meat. Admittedly, most of the traditional dishes were completely unappetizing: only one of us had the balls to try hákarl, a piece of months-old fermented shark meat, and he had to wash it down with a shot of Brennivín, the Icelandic schnapps known as the Black Death. We were lucky to find that most restaurants offered tourists and natives alike a break from these harsh flavors with a more universally appreciated fish selection.

The people we met while exploring the town possessed a subdued kindness, the sort of happy helpfulness that’s fully expressed in the eyes. Extremely approachable and polite, they guided us to the best restaurants, museums and clubs. We were welcomed to our little hotel with a generous free upgrade to an elegant suite with two more beds than the size of our group, simply because it was off-season and no one was going to be using it. Without even being asked, a couple of young retail workers guessed our purpose for the evening, and pulled out a map of the city to point out exactly where we’d be able to find the choicest music and most active dancing. They even noted the places they’d be visiting that night and told us when it would be best to leave our hotel, so we wouldn’t be lonesome bros at the discotheques.

On the weekends, when the sun sets — which, depending on the season, can be never — the party starts, and doesn’t let up until easily six or seven in the morning. All the beautiful young people of Iceland emerge from their pre-gaming around 1 a.m., dressed in the freshest slim-fitting suits and dresses. Having done some vintage shopping earlier in the day, we were certainly on the cutting edge of style, but were sorely underprepared for the formal seriousness that is the Reykjavik nightlife. You could tell which spots were most happening by the length of the line outside and by the number of drunk dudes denied entry, but we made sure to hit up every club we passed. Fortunately, bouncers indulged these off-season, but ultra fly and attractive, tourists. Drinks and late night mind-blowingly delicious food carts, like everything else in Iceland, are expensive, but by then the alcohol and impulsive tourism made it hard to care.

After a completely fulfilling night of very drunken, very awkward hitting on Farmer’s Market models and dancing our hearts out, we woke up the next morning, still tipsy, and ready for a day of exploring the legendary countryside. In the lobby of our hotel, a kind man in his early forties, tall and strong with gray scruff, looked us over knowingly. After being assured that at least one of us had sobered up, the man paternalistically handed me a map of Southwestern Iceland — hand-marked with national parks and, of course, more choice nightlife locations — and keys to a little red, severely underpowered Toyota Yaris. We charted a route and began our journey through the mythic terrain.

We first drove our little rental car to the famous Blue Lagoon, a natural hot spring that has become incredibly commercialized. We soaked in the crystal blue water until our pores were cleansed by the pasty white minerals, and lounged on the rocks until we were fully rejuvenated. As the sun set, we drove east through a thick fog, towards the Thingvellir National Park, where we stopped to breathe in the clean, cool air and take a few cute pictures. After nightfall, it was as though every star, planet, and galaxy in the universe was visible. We continued driving under this black celestial blanket for hours, up and down the rocky slopes, and over unmarked paths that our miniature vehicle most certainly wasn’t designed to handle. I can’t speak for the other two in our party, but it was perhaps the most thrilling and breathtaking experience of my life.

What made our Iceland trip one of my most memorable times while here at Columbia had a lot to do with the place itself. It possesses an intrinsic mystery, a grand and epic scale despite its small size. The people and the landscape were enchanting, the food exotic and fun, but more than all of this, the company was the central aspect of the trip’s value. It’s campy, but friendship is irreplaceable when it comes to being able to make the most of any travel. Being with the sort of people that share your pace and complement your interests optimizes the quantity and quality of the experiences you can have in a new place. Of course, there is something to be said of meeting and interacting with fresh faces, but the right kinds of travel buddies certainly don’t hinder that. Rather, they open up the possibilities of meeting people who you would have otherwise never encountered. Short though it was, the three of us agreed that our impromptu trip to Iceland felt complete. Sure, had we gone another season, we may have caught another great party, or seen the aurora borealis, or gotten a view of actual whales while whale watching instead of just getting violently sea-sick; but though we may not have seen or eaten everything the country has to offer, we spent every moment doing something we genuinely wanted to be doing, and ultimately, it’s refreshing to know that the memories and connections we formed while there will last us a lifetime.