After the long, contemplative quiet of Route 11, Route 12 greeted us with curves, climbs, and an invitation to move again. This trail doesn’t just meander—it breathes. Inhale up the hill, exhale down through fields. One moment you’re walking under a green canopy, and the next you’re crossing an open plateau with the sky stretching wide above your head. If Jeju were a story, Route 12 feels like turning the page into a fresh new chapter.
We picked up the trail in Jeoji-ri, where Route 11 had gently dropped us the day before. It didn’t take long before we were surrounded by a forest of cedar and camellia trees, a soft dirt path winding through shade and filtered sunlight. There was something almost meditative about this stretch—birds chirping, leaves rustling, and no other hikers in sight. Jeju’s inland forests are deeply underrated, and Route 12 makes that very clear.
But don’t be fooled by the early serenity—this trail rolls. You’re constantly either going up or down, through hillocks and ridgelines that keep your legs engaged and your eyes scanning the horizon. Midway through, we reached Mureung Farm Road, an open stretch with panoramic farmland views and distant silhouettes of oreum peaks. The wind was stronger here, sweeping over the plains like it had somewhere to be.
What we loved most about Route 12 was how it layered Jeju’s contrasts: wild woods and neat rows of crops, ancient stone walls and brand-new tractors, complete silence followed by a burst of barking from a country dog chasing a passing motorbike. It felt alive—not touristy, not curated, just real.
We paused near Neobeunsungi Oreum, a volcanic cone nestled quietly among fields. While not as well-known as Hallasan or Seongsan Ilchulbong, it had its own gentle charm. We didn’t climb it (we saved our legs for the rest of the trail), but we admired its soft slopes and the way it rose like a green puff against the sky.
One of the more memorable scenes came toward the latter part of the route, where we passed a single tangerine stand—no shopkeeper in sight, just a tin box for coins and a handwritten sign. We bought a couple, sat under the shade of a cypress tree, and peeled them slowly. Sweet, cold, and a little sour—like Jeju itself.
The final stretch led us through Wolpyeong-ri, another small, quiet village where life seems to move to the rhythm of weather and harvests. Chickens wandered freely. A local auntie watered her garden and gave us a nod. No words, just understanding—we were fellow walkers, passing through her world for a moment.
As we reached the trail’s end in Moseulpo, we realized something: Route 12 didn’t try to dazzle. It invited us to look closer. At shadows shifting between trees, at moss on stone walls, at a mountain breeze rolling over onion fields.
It’s easy to overlook a trail like this when you’re chasing dramatic views. But Route 12 has a quiet confidence—one that stays with you long after your boots have stopped moving.