By Carol Goddard

After a week of driving ourselves around the South of Ireland, self-touring on the relative cheap, we've arrived at our destination in Iceland, and we go straight downstairs to the bar for our first drink.

And what a stylish bar it is.

It's in the foyer of the Hilton Parliament hotel. Apparently this hotel was only built a year or two ago so it's very new, very plush and very designer oriented, with evocative modern paintings and sculptures gracefully dotted around the typically minimalist Scandinavian furniture.

From a small metallic box dangling from the ceiling, coloured light is exuding, continuously spraying shards of colour onto a feature wall. Very upmarket.

As were the drink prices. But what did we expect, honestly? This is Reykjavik.

It was happy hour - the trendy set had arrived, glasses were tinkling, it was Friday night. And one small beer and a glass of wine was $A22.

I could hardly wait to find out what the drink prices were when happy hour ended, but we'd made it by one minute, so that was fortunate.

Reading the menu, and despite it being Reykjavik, the hotel pricelist for the main restaurant seemed absolutely out of this world. And I don't mean on the low side.

I always look at the wine list first.

Bottle prices started at A$150. Delightful.

So the decision was made: we're going to walk down the street in search of traditional Icelandic food and more amenable, Aussie type prices.

There was a quaint little restaurant strip not far from the hotel so we popped our head into a few of them, and very soon discovered we were not going to have a cheap meal tonight.

Undaunted, we forged ahead. I mean, we had to eat, and the local snack places didn't quite cut it.

Unfortunately, most restaurants had required booking ahead, but we soon came upon a diner-type establishment with a host of traditional dishes portrayed on posters hung on the walls, and an obvious local patronage.

Dining here looked a possibility ,but then I read about the compulsory fermented fish and I remembered Rick Stein’s long weekend in Reykjavik when he nearly threw up after eating some. And besides, no alcoholic beverages were on the menu.

So off we went again, and discovered a cute little cafe specialising in tapas. However, it was Spanish tapas. I felt it wasn't right to be eating anything other than traditional fare on our first night in Iceland, but we ventured in anyway.

The cooking smells on the other side of that door were intoxicating.

The divine wafting of garlic was next level. Yes, we were staying to eat. So while I ventured to the bathroom, hubby ordered from the menu, which appeared quite reasonably priced.

He chose three separate dishes. The first, anchovies in olive oil, the second was garlic prawns and the third was grilled vegetables. And that is what we received.

However, the anchovies were just that - six tiny anchovies smeared in olive oil on a tiny plate. There were four garlic prawns like the ones you find on top of pizzas, and they were relatively tasteless.

Getting bread to dip into our olive oil was akin to getting blood from a stone. We were served three tiny pieces initially. Only three. And asking for more required skill in negotiation, patience and diligence. But the best was yet to come, our veggies.

Out from the kitchen came a saucer-sized plate. On it, draped ceremoniously, were: one strip of eggplant, one of red pepper, and one of onion. Smeared in olive oil. No bread. For two people. Our last course.

I laughed. No wonder the prices were reasonable.

And this leads me to the wine prices. Once again, we wouldn't pay for a bottle so we had a glass each, a very small glass of white wine, $A23. Per glass.

The absurdity of this night didn't escape me - Australians eating Spanish tapas in the capital of Iceland and trying to avoid high prices.

Clearly our strategies needed work. We gave up and went back to our hotel. We were starving - dinner didn't suffice, but the cocktails at our hotel were great and it was still happy hour!

And so we dined again, on an espresso martini, a Margarita and a packet of Pringles!

So much for my aim of eating traditional food, but it turned out to be one of those fun travel experiences that make a great memory.