We didn’t realize it at first, but Route 14 is where the mood started to soften. After the wild winds and volcanic cliffs of Route 13, this trail felt like Jeju was letting us catch our breath—without losing the magic. It wasn’t the most rugged or remote, but it was easily one of the most charming trails we’d walked so far. Think hand-painted walls, seaside cafes, sleepy fishing ports, and a constant salty breeze in your face.
We started from Daejeong-eup, where Route 13 left off. The sea was already in view, and within minutes, we were strolling beside it—calmer now, gentler. The terrain was easygoing, which let us actually look around more. And Route 14 gives you plenty to look at.
Not long into the trail, we passed through Shinheung-ri and Hwasun-ri, tiny neighborhoods known for their vibrant mural villages. The walls were alive with paintings of haenyeo women, island legends, and cheeky, cartoonish takes on local life. Even the bus stops were cute. We found ourselves pausing every few meters just to take photos or giggle at some oddly expressive sea creature art. Jeju knows how to have fun—even in paint.
The trail briefly curved inland through quiet farmland and then looped back to the sea again. At some point, we realized Sanbangsan Mountain was behind us now, slowly shrinking with each step. Ahead, we could spot the outline of Mt. Hallasan watching over the center of the island. And somewhere in between, we were just walking—suspended between past climbs and future ones.
A highlight of the trail was Hamo Port, a small but active fishing village where boats bobbed in sync, and seafood was practically leaping from the docks. We grabbed a bite at a local stall—simple grilled fish, salty and sweet—and ate with our legs dangling over the pier. The locals didn’t seem to mind our hiking clothes or our big cameras. In fact, an old halmeoni even offered us a slice of tangerine from her basket. No words exchanged—just a smile and fruit.
From there, the trail winds toward Sagye-ri, where you walk past palm trees, wide skies, and homes tucked into volcanic stone fences. There were moments on this stretch that felt like nowhere else in Korea. The blend of tropical trees, old fishing culture, and wide ocean views felt oddly cinematic.
By the time we arrived at Yongmeori Coast, one of the trail’s crown jewels, the sun was beginning to dip. The wave-carved cliffs here—dark, dramatic, and layered like a stack of pancakes—stopped us in our tracks. We didn’t climb down this time (we were saving our legs), but even from above, the place radiated energy. It’s called “Dragon’s Head Coast” for a reason—it really does look like a dragon is resting beneath the waves.
We wrapped up our walk in Andeok-myeon, where the light turned golden and a few hikers waved as we passed. We waved back—tired, sun-warmed, and quietly proud.
Route 14 didn’t try to impress with height or difficulty. It won us over with charm, color, and the slow unraveling of coastal life. It was the kind of trail where you don’t realize how happy you are until you’re almost at the end.
By the time we reached Route 15, we were deep in the island’s quieter pulse. No crashing waves this time. No dramatic cliffs or volcanic peaks rising in the distance. Instead, we walked through stories told by stone walls, backyard gardens, and sleepy roads where even the breeze moved slower.
The trail begins in Andeok-myeon, right where Route 14 left off. From the very first few steps, we noticed the mood shift. This was a village-to-village kind of walk, the kind where you greet every ajusshi on a scooter and pause to admire someone’s cabbage patch without realizing it.
The route weaves through a mix of agricultural land, residential lanes, and countryside schools where the sound of children playing echoes across open fields. At times, the path felt almost too simple—flat roads, tidy homes, and long fences made of Jeju’s signature basalt stones. But that simplicity is where Route 15 shines.
One of the most memorable things was walking alongside fields of barley and garlic, golden and green, brushed gently by the wind. Farmers were out tending the land, and a few even waved as we passed, our backpacks probably giving us away as “those Olle walkers.”
Midway through the trail, we reached Sagyebogil-gil, a gentle forest path that was unexpectedly magical. The trees weren’t towering, but the sunlight filtered through in golden streaks, and for a moment, it felt like walking inside a forgotten poem. Birds chirped above, and the crunch of leaves beneath our boots was the only other sound.
What makes Route 15 unique isn’t the landscape—it’s the feeling. The sense that you’ve wandered into someone’s everyday life and been quietly welcomed without question. It’s a slower Jeju—where haenyeo women rest in the shade, where garden hoses run across the road, and where the island stops trying to impress and just… exists.
There are no flashy tourist spots here, but small surprises made us smile: a mural of a dog and cat cuddling near an elementary school, a vending machine parked alone beside a stone wall, a tractor left humming next to a pile of tangerine crates.
The trail ended in Gueom-ri, a small village with open skies and friendly dogs that trailed us for a few minutes before getting bored and wandering off. The final road was warm in the afternoon light, and we walked it in silence—not because we were tired, but because we didn’t want to break the peace.