In conversation with Katherine Connolly

Katherine Connolly is an international spa and wellness consultant with more than 30 years of experience developing and leading luxury spa, wellness and hospitality concepts around the world. Her work focuses particularly on bathhouses, thermal bathing and the relationship between water, temperature, nature and human wellbeing.

For Reykjaböð Hot Springs in Iceland, she helped shape a place-led wellness concept built around contrast, sensory experience and the character of the surrounding landscape. In this interview, Katherine shares the thinking behind the project, the role of hot and cold experiences in modern wellness, and why snow became an integral part of the guest journey.

From the outset, I wanted Reykjaböð to feel like a sanctuary, but one that could only have been created in Iceland. Not a spa that happens to sit within a beautiful landscape, but an experience that feels shaped by that landscape from the moment you arrive.

There is a remarkable stillness to Iceland, even when the weather is dramatic. The space, the rawness, the geothermal energy rising from the earth — it all has a very particular emotional quality. I wanted guests to feel that. To slow down, to notice where they are, and to become present in the experience rather than simply passing through it.

The bathhouse was designed as a journey, not as a series of separate facilities. Warmth, coolness, steam, snow, scent, sound and rest all have their place, and each transition has been considered. The aim was to create an experience that gently changes your state as you move through it — one that feels restorative, but also quietly awakening.

Temperature gives a bathing journey rhythm. Without contrast, a spa can become very passive; with it, the experience gains movement, choice and a stronger sense of progression.

Heat softens and opens the body. Coolness sharpens attention. Rest allows the guest to absorb the experience. When those stages are thoughtfully sequenced, they create a journey that feels far more engaging than simply moving from one beautiful room to another.

What has changed in recent years is that contrast therapy is no longer only associated with extremes. Guests are increasingly interested in hot and cold experiences, but they want to engage with them in ways that feel intelligent and approachable. Not everyone wants an icy plunge or intense heat, and a well-designed bathhouse should not demand that.

At Reykjaböð, that was a very important principle. The contrast experience has depth, but it also offers choice. Guests can find their own pace and their own level of intensity, which makes the journey more inclusive and, in my view, more sophisticated.

The Snowroom became part of the concept quite early, because it felt so naturally aligned with what Reykjaböð was trying to express.

If the project was going to tell a story of Iceland through water, temperature and sensory experience, then cold needed to be represented in a way that felt authentic to the place. The Snowroom did that beautifully. It was not brought in as a novelty; it completed the thermal narrative.

After warmth, steam or the herbal pool, entering a crisp, snow-filled space creates a complete change in mood. The body notices it immediately, but so does the imagination. There is something quietly extraordinary about encountering snow within a bathing journey, particularly in a project so closely tied to Iceland’s elemental identity.

It also offered something very important from a guest-experience perspective: a form of cold that is immersive and memorable, but less confrontational than some more intense options. That balance felt exactly right for the project.

From my experience of thermal environments, cold has a remarkable ability to bring people fully into the moment. It changes the breath. It sharpens attention. It interrupts the mental chatter that so many of us arrive with.

What I find particularly interesting is that the response is not purely physical. A well-placed cold experience can become an emotional reset within the wider journey. After heat and softness, that moment of cool clarity can feel invigorating, playful, even surprisingly calming.

I think the Snowroom at Reykjaböð will be one of those experiences guests talk about afterwards, not only because it is visually memorable, but because it creates a very distinct feeling. It offers a moment of surprise, but it is also beautifully integrated into the overall flow of the bathhouse. That is when a feature becomes meaningful — when it is not just noticed, but felt.

It is special to me because it brings together so much of what I care about: nature, bathing culture, sensory design, thermal experience and the challenge of creating a large-scale destination that still feels intimate and personal.

I was also fortunate to work with a team who were ambitious in the best sense. They did not want to create just another lagoon; they were open to pushing the experience further and allowing the bathhouse to become a truly distinctive part of the project. That gave us the opportunity to introduce something new to Iceland while still remaining respectful of the landscape and the spirit of the place.

The bathhouse is particularly close to my heart because it adds another layer of discovery. It turns the visit into a more nuanced journey — through heat, cold, stillness, scent, snow, herbs and rest. But alongside that, it also had to work intelligently: the flow, the sequencing, the way guests move through the spaces, and the balance between capacity and calm all mattered greatly.

That combination is the work I find most rewarding — creating places that are emotionally powerful for the guest but carefully resolved behind the scenes. Reykjaböð has that balance. It has ambition, but it also has soul.