After the gentle, soul-soothing walk of Route 9, we knew Route 10 would throw us back into the game. And it did—but not in a punishing way. Route 10 was where we felt movement again—of our bodies, the wind, and Jeju itself. It wasn’t the longest trail, nor the hardest, but it kept us on our toes with variety: forest trails, farmland flats, breezy ridgelines, and enough open sky to make you feel small in the best way.
We began in Hamo-ri, where Route 9 had left us, and quickly transitioned from the quiet seaside to wide farmland. Cabbage patches and radish fields lined the early part of the path, stretching out under Jeju’s signature low stone walls. Farmers worked quietly nearby, barely glancing up—this was their rhythm, and we were just passing through it.
The trail soon turned upward, leading us into Suwolbong Peak—the highest point on this route. It’s more of a scenic ridge than a steep mountain, but the view from the top was wide and cinematic. Below us stretched the sparkling coast, with fishing boats drifting near the shore. Behind us, endless farmland faded into misty hills. It was the kind of place that makes you breathe deeper without realizing it.
Suwolbong also carries a bit of volcanic history—this ridge is the result of underwater eruptions, and it’s even recognized as a geological site. You can see layers of black lava and tuff stacked like a cutaway of time. Standing there, wind whipping around our jackets, we felt like we were walking on something ancient, something still settling.
From the ridgeline, the trail descended back toward the coast, winding through small villages like Chagwido-ri, where we passed quiet harbors and weathered homes. The wind picked up again here—Route 10 is famously breezy, thanks to its open layout. But we didn’t mind. The air was cool, clean, and full of sea salt. It woke us up.
We took a longer break at Chagwido Port, one of the highlights of the route. Locals say this is one of the best sunset spots on the island. Fishing boats rocked gently in the water, and we imagined coming back one day just to sit here and watch the sky turn fire-orange over the sea. Chagwido Island stood in the distance, wild and uninhabited, like something from a painter’s dream.
The trail moved inland again, giving us quiet paths through orchards and more farmland. It felt like Jeju’s working soul—people growing things, fixing things, living life slowly and steadily. No tourists, no noise. Just wind, earth, and the steady crunch of boots on gravel.
Route 10 ends near Gosan-ri, where the next trail begins. We reached it just as the sky began to dim, painting everything in muted gold. There were no grand finales here—just a sense of contentment. A steady heart, a full step, and the subtle shift of feeling stronger than when we started.
Route 10 didn’t try to overwhelm us—it just asked us to keep going. And we did. Past the farms, past the ridge, past the wind. It was the kind of trail that doesn’t just carry you forward—it reminds you why you started in the first place.