Article - 2026 A neighborhood that belongs.

Many indicators suggest we are developing the built environment in Iceland in the wrong direction. What citizens and specialists have been expressing in the media for years is now reflected in market behaviour and in HMS survey results: apartment types, sizes, aesthetics, and approaches to parking, daylight, and community are misaligned with what people actually want. Meanwhile, prices rise beyond what people can pay for housing that doesn't suit their needs.

It has also become clear that the dense perimeter block typology does not translate well to the Icelandic context. Recent densification developments optimized for the spreadsheet are now struggling to deliver the very profits they were designed to extract. The issue is not urban growth itself, but the increasingly narrow range of housing types being offered.

The Þorlakstún development site, adjacent to Hvaleyrarskól and Tjarnavellir, seen from Lyngbarð

In 2021 my firm was invited by the skipulagsstjóri of Hafnarfjörður to develop a proposal for a site that had long remained a forgotten gap between the Hvaleyrarholt neighborhood and Reykjanesbraut. Located next to Hvaleyrarskóli and connected to the amenities at Tjarnavellir by a pedestrian bridge, it offered a perfect opportunity for a “pocket neighborhood” with genuine character. The development will become one of the first urban moments seen by those driving into the capital area along Reykjanesbraut.

The vision was clear: to replicate the density and character of the old downtown - livable, inviting, human scale. Not the generic box developments that now appear everywhere. Historic Icelandic towns achieved meaningful density without oversized apartment blocks or anonymous urban forms. The rumor that attractive buildings are too expensive to build has always been false - a convenient assumption for those who profit from the current system, or simply never question it.

The Þorlákstún proposal takes its cues from old Hafnarfjörður as guiding principle. The colored roofs, simple volumes, roof pitches, the characteristic Hafnarfjörður kvistur, the way houses received additions as families grew. These are not arbitrary aesthetic choices but accumulated solutions to local conditions - the light, the wind, the social scale - refined over generations until they became the DNA of the place.

Modern planning culture has been efficient at imposing abstract doctrines over the lived preferences of the people who inhabit these places. The drive toward standardization has produced settlements that could be anywhere, and therefore feel like nowhere. Urban morphology shapes social life. The old Icelandic town was a spatial framework that encouraged visibility, familiarity, and informal daily interaction - children moving independently through low-speed environments, neighbors recognizing each other from windows and shared paths. These qualities are difficult to measure on a spreadsheet, but their absence is increasingly felt.

Typical Hafnarfjörður houses and their add-ons

A key aspect of the old town is that most houses started out as simple, timeless, house-shaped houses, and gradually evolved to develop their individual character with the additions and extensions as families grew. This is built into the Þorlákstún concept. The proposal offers houses that can be customized and adapted over time. Starter homes are cheaper to enter; additions come later, forcing equity appreciation that benefits the owner directly. It’s a way to get onto the property ladder earlier, and build value faster than a static apartment ever allows. If the neighborhood chooses to densify further in the future, accessory dwelling units can be added to backyards. Flexibility and futureproofing are written into the code.

The proximity to Reykjanesbraut and the land sloping toward it, which might appear as constraints, create opportunities. A landscaped green belt along the highway provides visual and acoustic shelter, a well-established solution seen in comparable situations across the capital area. The topography creates a natural terracing effect, and the row of houses along Lyngbarð enjoys an unobstructed south-facing view of the neighborhood's own roofscape in the foreground, Helgafell on the horizon.

Along Suðurbraut, the building line completes what is currently an unresolved street edge in front of Hvaleyrarskóli. The paths children already use to reach the school, currently exposed across an open void, become sheltered and village-like. In the southern part of the lot, houses are organized along a vistgata, cocooned between the hillside and the green belt. Quiet, car-cautious, protected from the wind. The street frontage is urban, a contiguous row of houses with gables and pitched roofs creating a coherent götumynd, but every house has a backyard facing greenery.

The result is a neighborhood that is affordable to enter, beautiful to live in, adaptable over time, and financially sensible by design. Places created for long-term civic value tend to outperform those optimized primarily for short-term extraction.

The deiliskipulag is currently in public review, and what happens next will be revealing. The usual Icelandic model has been: one architect develops the deiliskipulag, the City sells the land, the contractor brings their own team, applies for changes, both sides have to compromise. The result is usually a disconnected outcome which is neither the original vision or the optimal profit-driven product. And the reviews cause delays, often on purpose for market and political speculation.

If we are serious about building for the people we must adopt a more sustainable system. And real sustainability is not just about meeting carbon metrics. More importantly it’s about creating healthy neighborhoods and towns that belong where they are, and that people will fight to preserve fifty years from now.