When I told people I was going to Jeju Island, several asked if my wife and I were having a second honeymoon.
Jeju has an image of picturesque beaches, romantic resorts, and a far-removed feel from the rest of South Korea, making it the perfect amorous escape. All of this may be true, but we were headed to Jeju for a different kind of passion play: a walking pilgrimage.
Slow travel has become a top buzzword in the travel industry in the years following the coronavirus pandemic. In its wake, people are taking to trails and nature, looking for exercise and solitude. Trail running has become one of the world’s most popular activities, alongside long-distance hiking as a unique way to see a place from the ground up.
Suh Myung-sook, a retired Korean journalist from Jeju, once walked the Camino Francés—the most famed Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route—spanning 800 kilometers across France and Spain.
She thought about how positive it would be to have a similar trail in Jeju, showcasing the nature, culture, and less-embellished sides of the island. Aided by her brother, an adventurer who knew every inch of Jeju, the pair and some friends established the Jeju Olle Foundation. Together, they linked up 27 trail routes spanning 437 kilometers, circumnavigating the island and including several small offshore islets.
As with the Camino de Santiago, hikers carry stamp booklets to mark and certify their progress after each segment, stopping at stamp stations set at every trailhead as well as at each route’s midpoint.
The Jeju Olle offers a fantastic way to embrace slow travel and experience what real life in Jeju is all about, far from the honeymoon packages.
Among locals, Jeju is famed for three things: it’s one of the windiest places in the world, its volcanic soil is ideal for growing Hallabong oranges—a prized hybrid sold by the crate-load across South Korea—and its unique haenyeo, or women divers. We would encounter all the above regularly during our three-week jaunt around the island.
We set off right from the airport, as one of the Olle trails conveniently begins almost right outside the terminal. Climbing over Sarabong Peak, we were greeted by enthusiastic groups of locals completing this section of the trail in reverse.
Since the Jeju Olle is now a sister trail to the Camino de Santiago—and one can earn dual certificates for completing the pair, as well as another for Japan’s Kumano Kodo—it’s become a major source of pride among Jeju residents. The trail has also played a significant role in reviving rural tourism, with locals opening cafes and bed-and-breakfast inns along the routes.
While not far from the main roads with their modern amenities, the Olle trails offer glimpses of the island’s essence. The landscape is marked by dark volcanic rock, which is used for everything from building homes to carving the auspicious dol hareubang (grandfather stone statues) seen everywhere. Most importantly, volcanic rock forms the protective walls that shield inhabitants from the sea and constant winds. Some villages feel quaint, with brightly painted murals depicting island life. Others appear more forlorn, as though turning into ghost towns.
This might not be surprising, given the changing fortunes of the haenyeo. These divers—recognized by UNESCO as intangible cultural heritage—risk their lives in cold, choppy seas to harvest conch shells, urchins, and seaweed for survival. Many now run famous Jeju restaurants, serving steaming bowls of jeonbok juk (abalone rice porridge), a local staple made with the morning’s fresh catch. Despite their celebrity status, the haenyeo culture is dying out. Diving is dangerous and arduous, and few young women aspire to this profession. With most divers now in their 70s and 80s, the tradition will likely disappear soon.
While the Jeju Olle trails mostly stick to the coast—circumnavigating the island and avoiding Hallasan, the 1,947-meter shield volcano that is Jeju’s highest peak—the routes aren’t solely about sea village life. We often dipped inland, climbing to oreum, small extinct volcanic cones. There are 360 oreum in Jeju, most offering stunning views of Hallasan, the ocean, and the verdant island surroundings.
Our favorite was Jimibong, reached via a long forest climb that opened up to magnificent views of neighboring Udo Island, the fertile carrot fields below, and the iconic Seongsan Ilchulbong, better known as Sunrise Peak.
The more we walked, the more we wondered why Jeju has the romantic “tropical paradise” label. Yes, some beaches are stunning, such as the perfect turquoise bay at Geumneung.
But much of the coastline is wild—rocky, windy, and foreboding, with crashing surf and black volcanic rock. It feels more like northern Scotland’s coast than East Asia’s tropical edge.
What’s also striking when walking the island is its agricultural bounty. With constant winds, scarce groundwater, and erosion-prone soil, farming here seems improbable. Yet inhabitants built 22,000 kilometers of black stone fences, known as batdam, to protect their fields. Combined with fertile volcanic soil and a mild climate, the island now yields abundant crops: carrots, cabbages, potatoes, and various radishes.
Then, of course, there are the oranges. Hallabongs—akin to tangerines—are a cross between Kiyomi oranges and ponkan citrus. One afternoon, we met a young trail runner who was also a Hallabong farmer. He explained that most of the harvest goes to middlemen at massive auctions in Seoul. At local markets, premium varieties can fetch upwards of $40 per box. As thru-hikers, we rarely had to buy any—friendly farmers we passed often loaded us up with their best samples.
By the time we marked our third week of walking and passed the 400-kilometer milestone in the hamlet of Wollyeong-ri, we encountered an odd sight: thousands of prickly pear cacti clinging to rocky shores, set against the azure sea and a towering windmill.
These Mexican cacti are said to have been carried by Kuroshio currents across the ocean and stubbornly survived here. Locals now plant them in house walls to repel snakes and mice.
I marveled at the vista, snapped a few photos, and chuckled at how Jeju—the so-called “honeymoon island”—defied every preconceived notion and yet gave us so much more on our island ramble.