The island made me feel small. That changed everything.
My first trip to Iceland was a solo journey. I needed to find myself — or at least, that was how I thought about it at the time. What I didn’t expect was how quickly the landscape would put things into perspective.
Standing in front of scenery that existed long before humans arrived and will exist long after we are gone, you realise how little space we actually occupy. You feel genuinely small. Genuinely grounded. And somewhere in that feeling is a quiet obligation: this doesn’t belong to us. We are guests here.
That first trip shaped everything that follows on this site.
Who I Am
My name is Marcel Strobel. I’m a landscape photographer based in Neuburg an der Donau, Germany. My Iceland work has been exhibited locally — the response confirmed what I had already felt: these landscapes do something to people, even when experienced through a print on a wall. I have returned to Iceland six times — across seasons, across years, across different reasons for going.
One trip stands out in a particular way. In the summer of 2020, in the middle of the pandemic, we were among the last visitors allowed to enter Iceland before the borders effectively closed to most nationalities. What followed was something most Iceland travellers never experience: a summer island with almost no one else on it. The usual crowds at the popular locations — gone. The roads, the viewpoints, the coastlines — ours.
It was a reminder of what Iceland looks like when human presence is kept in proportion.
My photography work spans landscape and corporate projects. You can find my portfolio at marcelstrobel.de.
Why This Site Exists
I keep seeing the same thing in videos online: someone walks past a barrier, steps onto protected ground, crosses a rope — all for a photograph. I understand the pull. I’m a photographer too. But the image doesn’t justify it, and the cumulative effect of thousands of people making that same decision is visible in Iceland’s landscape.
Lava moss that takes centuries to grow. Nesting grounds disturbed during breeding season. Paths widened by people who decided the marked route wasn’t quite the right angle.
Most Iceland photography resources tell you where to go. This site also tells you how — and sometimes, deliberately, it won’t tell you where at all. Some locations I know personally will not be published here. If a place is under pressure or genuinely fragile, I won’t add to that pressure.
What You’ll Find Here
Every article on this site is built around four commitments:
- Lesser-known locations over overrun hotspots — or, when a well-known spot is covered, a responsible approach and a quieter alternative alongside it
- Leave No Trace in every location guide, without exception
- Off-season travel — not just as an ethical position, but as a photographic one. The light in February is worth the cold.
- Official Icelandic sources — regulations and environmental data cited from Umhverfisstofnun, Ferðamálastofa, and Iceland’s national park authorities
A Note on How Content Is Created
Articles on this site are drafted with AI assistance and reviewed, fact-checked, and edited by me — informed by six trips and a genuine investment in getting the details right. I consider transparency about this process a trust signal, not a liability. Full details are on the Editorial Policy page.
Writing has never been my strength — photography is. This site exists because AI allows me to translate six trips worth of experience, personal knowledge, and genuine passion for Iceland’s landscape into articles I could never have written alone. Every piece starts with what I know and have seen. The words that carry it are a collaboration.
I consider that worth being open about.
How to Contact Me
The best way to reach me is by email: marcel@shooticeland.com. Whether you have a question about a specific location, want to suggest a topic, or simply want to share a photograph from your own Iceland trip — I read every message and will get back to you.