We all know how and why Iceland went into economic freefall this year. It’s a painful, difficult story, whatever your position. But we’ll survive: poorer, wiser, and “corrected.” Still, the place — in one significant, simple way — has a new attraction. Plenty of Europeans are now heading to the land of fire and ice to dine out on its devastated currency. For a Brit, though, it’s not always going to be the most comfortable visit. Prime Minister Gordon Brown, who froze Icelandic assets in the UK this year using anti-terrorism legislation, is public enemy number one there (he’s not exactly Florence Nightingale here, come to think of it).

But a trip is tempting — particularly as one of the many great Icelandic legends, along with eye-popping tales of elves, lake monsters and mouth-of-hell volcanoes — used to be how witheringly expensive the place once was. A look today at the currency and exchange site Xe.com tells me I’ll get 210 krónur for one of my British pounds. In early spring, I would have scored less than 150. Which means the price of lobster, a hotel room, whatever, has crashed like pretty much everything else. So, where to go?

Right up there on the list is the Blue Lagoon, a famed natural wonder the travel site Concierge.com cited recently as one of the world’s “best places to get naked.” I don’t know about that. I think the best place to get naked, in public, is an onsen spa with wrinkly octogenarians somewhere high up in the Japanese “Alps” — a recent experience. It was peaceful. The Lagoon, an approximately 40-minute drive out of Reykjavík — which isn’t as hip as it used to be, but better for it — was kind of discovered by accident. One day in 1981, someone decided to have a dip in the hot, milky-looking overflow from the Suðurnes Regional Heating Corporation geothermal plant. It was nice. It was better than nice. Some people even found it cleared up their psoriasis thanks to a magical combination of minerals, silica and blue-green algae. Thus, a magnificent and extremely civilised spa destination resort was born.

I recommend you keep your kit on.

Yes, times are tough — so don’t open a restaurant. Even in good times it’s a hard game. But hang on, here’s some news from London. A 76-year-old entrepreneur named Dr. Kartar Lalvani has just opened what he boldly asserts is the healthiest Indian restaurant in the world. It’s called the Indali Lounge, on London’s Baker Street about three minute’s walk from Madame Tussauds.

His organic kitchen works with subtle Ayurvedic cooking methods, so they never overcook, go light on sunflower oil, use pro-biotic yogurt and have banned the use of that buttery gloop, ghee. It all makes wonderful things happen, such as the release of the medicinal properties of various spices, and you don’t fall asleep feeling like you swallowed a pillow. Now, think about this: for decades, many British men (particularly) have become bloated beyond recognition thanks to regular curry ingestion.

Entire faces have disappeared. The world is about to change. Success, I think, is a certainty, not least because Dr. Lalvani knows his stuff when it comes to health and nutrition. A Fellow of the Royal Pharmaceutical Society, he’s also chairman of the Vitabiotics Scientific Advisory Board. Vitabiotics is a major supplements and vitamins company. Oh, and reports say he has a fortune of around £100 million, which must help. Good luck to him and his beautifully appointed, elegant restaurant. Have a look at www.indalilounge.com.

Going back to deep water, and disasters, this is something else that might interest you. This time, we’ll head for the Greek island of Kea. In November of 1916, an ocean liner, the HMHS Britannic — sister ship of the Titanic and also built in Belfast — met her end just two years after launch. Just off the coast of the island, an explosion (still unexplained and subject to much theory) ruptured her bow. Less than an hour later, Britannic, at nearly 1,000 feet long, the largest ship in the world, was on her side on the sea bed. The next living person to see her was Jacques Cousteau in 1975. It now transpires, however, that you c ould be following him. That’s because a British historian named Simon Mills owns this important ship and is planning to offer undersea discovery and education tours in three- and four-seater submersibles next summer.

The difference between the Titanic and Britannic, he points out, is that the former is being eaten away into nothing by bacteria. The more benign Greek waters, meanwhile, have kept Britannic in amazingly good shape, which means the mystery of why she sank could soon be revealed. It also makes it all the more important to treat the ship and the area around her with respect — something Mills makes very clear. And, finally, if you’ll indulge me, a note of thanks to a beer company. A little while ago, in France’s postcard-perfect Alsace region near the German border, I was treated to a Kronenbourg Brewery tour in Strasbourg — fine hospitality, a fascinating site with vast copper vats and clearly a real sense of centuries-old craftsmanship and love of the work. And fine lager. But there’s one thing I’ll always remember. Inside one of their massive hop warehouses, the air was thick and heavy with the sweet smell of the dried plants.

It was almost too much and I had to step outside. Funny thing is, I’ll occasionally have a drop, maybe in one of the few bars inside London’s Waterloo Station (there is something strangely compelling about a train station bar, no matter how dingy). Instead of seeing a procession of commuters filing past shouting into their mobile phones, or just growling, the taste and the aroma conjures a total-recall flashback of a barn in Strasbourg followed by fresh Alsace air. It passes soon enough. Does that kind of thing ever happen to you?