After the volcanic chaos of Route 8—cliffs, wind, and sore calves—we welcomed Route 9 like a soft breeze after a storm. This trail didn’t shout. It whispered. It didn’t try to impress with drama or danger. Instead, it gently pulled us along Jeju’s calmer southern coast, through fishing ports, pine forests, and some of the coziest seaside views we’d seen so far.
We started in Daepyeong-ri, right where Route 8 had left us. Our bodies still remembered the pounding from the lava paths the day before, so we moved slower this time—partially because of soreness, partially because the landscape invited it. From the very start, Route 9 felt like an exhale.
The trail opened with a winding walk through pine-lined roads, the kind that smelled fresh and earthy, with needles crunching under our boots. It wasn’t long before we caught sight of the coast again—this time gentler, more accessible. The sea was calm, the wind mild, and the path felt like it had all the time in the world.
We passed through small villages, the kind where laundry flaps lazily in the sun and local dogs snooze under mopeds. Hamo-ri was one such place, where the pace of life seemed to match our walking speed. Every now and then, we’d see a haenyeo’s wetsuit hanging out to dry or hear the faint crackle of a radio playing from behind a stone wall. It felt like walking through a living postcard—familiar, but also quietly magical.
One of the loveliest surprises was Hamo Beach—modest, uncrowded, and glowing with soft golden sand. We paused here for a long time, shoes off, feet in the water. The kind of break that doesn’t just rest your body, but clears your mind too.
As we continued, we crossed the Changdong Bridge, a simple wooden walkway that offered wide views of the sea and inland rice paddies. The trail meandered between coast and countryside, giving us glimpses of both Jeju’s natural beauty and its daily life. One minute we were beside fishing boats, the next we were walking past small farms and greenhouses growing who-knows-what.
Toward the end, we arrived at Suwolbong, a gentle peak near the finish of Route 9. It wasn’t a mountain, really—more like a big hill with a panoramic view. But after miles of coastal walking, it felt special. We stood at the top as the late afternoon light spilled across the water, turning everything gold. We could see far into the distance—both behind us, where we’d come from, and forward, toward the next trail.
Route 9 may not have been the most thrilling, but it gave us something we hadn’t realized we needed: recovery. It gave our legs a break, gave our eyes something soft and soothing, and gave our minds space to process everything this journey was becoming.
We didn’t finish the day sweaty and breathless. We finished it smiling, walking slow, with wind-dried hair and salt still on our skin. That night, we slept deeper than usual—like the trail had rocked us gently into rest.
Next? Route 10. Rumor has it, we’ll be back in mountain country soon. But for now, Route 9 was a lullaby of a trail—and we’re glad we listened.