Jeju Olle Trail

I recently discovered that South Korea has its own sister pilgrimage to the Camino de Santiago, the Jeju Olle Trail, a network of coastal and inland paths that circle Jeju Island. Jeju, often called the “Hawaii of South Korea,” is a volcanic island roughly 73 km across and 31 km from north to south, known for its dramatic cliffs, lush forests, and a culture shaped by wind, stone, and sea.

The trail itself was created in 2007 by Suh Myung‑Suk, a Korean journalist inspired by her own Camino journey. She wanted to bring that same spirit of reflection and connection to her home island, and the result is a route that now draws walkers from across Asia and beyond. With more than 85,000 flights arriving each year from Japan, China, and mainland Korea, Jeju is one of the most accessible islands in the region, yet it still feels surprisingly wild once you step onto the trail.

I landed at Jeju Airport and made my way to Seogwipo, a coastal city known for its waterfalls, volcanic cliffs, and lively markets. It’s also the starting point for Route 7 and home to the main Olle Trail Center. The 43‑kilometer bus ride from the airport was my first small lesson in local logistics: the buses only accept the T‑money card, a rechargeable transit card used throughout Korea.

I didn’t have one yet, and for a moment I was stuck, until a fellow passenger quietly tapped their card for me and accepted cash in return. A small gesture, but it set the tone for the days ahead: warm, spontaneous, quietly generous.

At the center, I registered and picked up my Olle passport. I decided to walk clockwise, starting with Route 7 along the southern shore, continuing through Route 21, and eventually looping back to complete Routes 1 through 6.

To complete the trail officially, you collect stamps at the start, midpoint, and end of each route, 81 stamps in total. Miss up to three and you can still scrape by, but the completist in me was already determined to get them all. The stamps are tucked inside small boxes marked with the trail’s pony mascot, a charming detail that made each checkpoint feel like a tiny reward.

The Olle Trail isn’t confined to the main island. Three routes lead to the satellite islands of Udo, Gapado, and Chujado, each requiring a short ferry ride and offering its own landscape and rhythm. There are also inland detours like Routes 7‑1 and 14‑1, which cut through Jeju’s volcanic heart and rural villages. More than a hike, the Olle Trail promised a slow immersion into the island’s natural beauty and cultural rhythm, and that’s exactly what I was looking for.

My next mission for the day was simple: find a good meal. Just a short walk from the hotel was the Olle Market, a full‑blown seafood extravaganza. Abalone, octopus, squid, mackerel, everything I loved was laid out on ice or sizzling on grills. If this was my first taste of Jeju, then today, and the next three weeks of walking, were going to be a culinary paradise. I felt certain of it.

The seafood cooks were fire artists. They’d take your chosen squid or octopus and sear it over open flames, turning the whole process into a performance, sparks flying, metal tongs clattering, the air thick with the smell of the sea. It was entertainment and fresh, delicious food all at once, a small spectacle served on a plate.

The next morning, I stashed everything I didn’t need in a long‑term locker, tightened the straps on my 8‑kg backpack, and stepped onto the trail. It was instantly delightful. A river to follow, parks opening up beside me, open‑air museums tucked into corners, stretches of forest, and sudden flashes of ocean, the island seemed determined to serve everything at once.

I quickly learned the Olle Trail was brilliantly marked, blue ribbons on trees and poles appearing every few minutes, simple and reliable enough to follow without thinking.

I lingered at Oedolgae, Independence Rock, a 20‑meter sea stack rising alone from the water near Sammaebong Peak in Seogwipo. The cliffs around it offered sweeping views, and hundreds of locals were out taking photos. Local legends say the rock resembles either a loyal general or an old woman who turned to stone waiting for her husband; standing there in the wind, both stories felt equally possible.

Continuing on, I passed the whimsical sculptures outside the JW Marriott, a place where rooms start at a thousand dollars a night. And just beyond that, I spotted the markers that would guide me for the next three weeks: the blue arrow for the clockwise Jeju Olle Trail, and the orange one for those walking it in reverse.

Without a hearty breakfast, three hours of walking under the sun had left me hollowed out and hungry. Just as the trail curved past a quiet stretch of coastline, I spotted the Bunker House and felt a wave of relief. It wasn’t just a place to eat; it was a small oasis built near the remnants of the Beophwan-dong April 3rd Fortress, a site once used to isolate residents during the uprising. The contrast was striking; where guard posts once stood every hundred meters, now there were a variety of drinks and pastries. I was grateful for the pause and ate more than my fair share of the yummy delights.

The path led through mandarin orchards, one of Jeju’s most popular plantations, then into forested stretches, steep wooden stairs, and bursts of flowering trees. I walked steadily, making sure to collect the midpoint stamp tucked strategically at the top of a hill. By day’s end, I had reached the end of Route 7, tired but satisfied, the first segment of the Olle Trail complete.

The next morning, I started walking at 7 a.m., and by 10 I was properly hungry. So, it felt like perfect timing when I stumbled upon a small café opening its doors just as I arrived. The woman running it did everything herself, taking orders, cooking, handing out plates, all while dressed in an effortless elegance. The café sat in the middle of a mandarin orchard, and soon families with small children wandered in to pick fruit, filling paper bags with whatever they gathered. It was a gentle, wholesome scene, and exactly the break I needed.

On the path stood Yakcheonsa Temple — peaceful, expansive, and quietly majestic. Its grounds stretched wide, framed by palms and volcanic stone, and in the sanctum sat a towering Buddha, serene and golden. This wasn’t just a scenic stop; it was the starting point of the Seonjeong Trail, a 42‑km pilgrimage route connecting Jeju’s Buddhist temples. The trail was designed to foster serenity and wisdom, and walking past Yakcheonsa, I could feel that stillness and calm.

I came across a geological phenomenon that instantly reminded me of the Giant’s Causeway near Belfast, the same striking hexagonal columns formed by cooling lava. Here on Jeju’s coast, the basalt had fractured into columnar joints, shaped like tortoise shells, each one a frozen ripple of volcanic heat.

These formations occur when molten lava contracts as it cools, splitting into polygonal columns, a process that begins around 900°C. It was a quiet marvel, science and beauty fused into stone, and a reminder that Jeju’s drama isn’t just in its cliffs and forests, but also in its volcanic origins.

The coastal routes were spectacular, ocean waves crashing against lava rocks, distant mountains rising beyond the horizon, lighthouses perched like sentinels, and seabirds overhead. The water was a deep, endless blue, mesmerizing in its stillness and power. It was peaceful, infinite, and exactly the kind of rhythm I hoped would carry me through all 437 kilometers of the Olle Trail.

Over the three‑week walk, I came across hundreds of creative sculptures carved from Jeju’s volcanic rock. The most common were the figures of the deep‑sea abalone diver women — strong, stoic, and instantly recognizable. They appeared everywhere along the trail, a quiet tribute to the island’s legendary haenyeo and the culture shaped by their courage.

Another common statue along the trail was the Dol hareubang, Jeju’s iconic “stone grandfather.” Carved from the island’s volcanic basalt, these figures once stood as guardians at fortress entrances, believed to ward off evil spirits and bring fertility. With their bulging eyes, firmly closed mouths, soldier‑style hats, and hands resting on their bellies, they were instantly recognizable. I saw them everywhere: watching over village lanes, marking trail junctions, and quietly reminding me of Jeju’s deep, volcanic heritage.

For the next couple of days, Sanbangsan Mountain stayed in view, a striking trachytic lava dome rising abruptly from the landscape. The trail wound along meandering coastal paths, past small offshore islands and the scattered markers and buoys of the East China Sea. It was a stretch of pure beauty: mountain to my left, deep blue water to my right, and the quiet path unfolding ahead.

Route 10‑1 on Gapado Island felt like stepping into a quieter, wind‑brushed world. The trail circled the tiny island in an easy loop, passing low stone walls, windswept fields, and clusters of traditional houses built to withstand the relentless sea breeze. The ocean was never out of sight and the pace of life seemed slow. Gapado is famous for its barley fields and wide‑open horizons, and walking the route felt like moving through a living postcard, simple, peaceful, and beautifully unhurried.

Over the days I saw plenty of walkers, some tackling a single route, others dipping in and out of the trail, but one person kept reappearing. A 22‑year‑old with a huge backpack, camping gear strapped everywhere, and almost no English. We exchanged only a handful of words each time we crossed paths, but one message came through clearly: he dreamed of walking the Camino de Santiago. For most of my 17 days on the Olle Trail, he was a quiet, determined presence on the horizon, a reminder that everyone out here was chasing something.

On Day 6, while walking Route 13, I reached the Osulloc tea plantations with long, perfect rows of green stretching into the distance, inside were cafés and restaurants tucked neatly along the edges. It was a peaceful, almost meditative landscape, but somewhere within those manicured fields the trail had hidden its prize: the pony‑marked midpoint stamp.

I wandered between the tea bushes until I finally spotted it, a small burst of whimsy in all that orderly green. Hundreds of visitors were milling about, taking photos and sampling pastries and teas. I joined them, taking a well‑earned break and enjoying my fill of the local delicacies.

Beautiful ocean views became a routine part of the day, the kind of routine you never grow tired of. Every few minutes the trail would open up to another sweep of blue water, waves folding into the lava rocks, seabirds drifting on the wind. It was a constant, calming presence, a quiet reminder of why walking the Olle Trail feels so endlessly rewarding.

Chuja‑do came with its own sense of adventure. To reach it, I took the ferry from Jeju City to Chuja Island, the jumping‑off point for Routes 18‑1 and 18‑2. The moment we docked, everyone was guided through a brief immigration check — a reminder that Chuja‑do sits out on the edge of the sea, closer to the mainland than to Jeju itself. The trail wound across narrow ridgelines with the ocean on both sides, fishing boats drifting far below and gulls circling in the wind. Rugged, windswept, and beautifully remote, Chuja‑do offered some of the most dramatic walking of the entire Olle network, a place where the horizon felt impossibly wide and the sea seemed to breathe around you.

Udo Island, home to Route 1‑1, was a bright, breezy escape just a short ferry ride from Seongsan Port. The crossing took only about fifteen minutes, but it felt like entering a different world, one of white coral‑sand beaches, black lava cliffs, and endless turquoise water. Before starting the walk, I rented a tiny three‑wheeler and zipped around the entire island, grinning the whole way; it was pure, carefree fun. The route itself looped around Udo in an easy circuit, passing peanut fields, lighthouses, and viewpoints where the sea seemed to stretch forever. Small, simple, and full of charm, Udo made Route 1‑1 feel like a perfect blend of coastal calm and playful adventure.

I only saw the Camino de Santiago marker once along the entire trail — unexpected at first but completely fitting once I remembered that the Olle is a sister Camino. It felt like a small nod across continents, a quiet reminder that these long walks share the same spirit of reflection and perseverance, whether in Spain or on a volcanic island in the East China Sea.

For 17 days I walked, soaking in the polite hospitality of Korean hotel keepers, eating excellent seafood, and never once growing tired of the endless ocean and forest views. When I finally reached Seogwipo, I presented my passport, packed with start, midpoint, and finish stamps, missing only two of the eighty‑one, and received both the Olle certificate and the combined Compostela–Jeju one.

The officials held a small ceremony, took photos, wrote my name in their journal, and the onlookers clapped and offered congratulations. It felt quietly incredible, a moment of recognition at the end of a long, beautiful journey. I left with very fond memories and a deep appreciation for the trail that carried me.