I never thought I’d fall in love with a mountain. But then again, I never thought I’d fall in love with a country through its trails.

When I first moved to Korea, I wasn’t exactly the hiking type. I was more about coffee shops, neon-lit nights in Seoul, and the occasional weekend escape to Busan. But somewhere between my first steep climb and the silence of a summit, I found something I didn’t know I was looking for: stillness, connection, and a version of myself I liked better.

Hiking in Korea isn’t just a weekend activity. It’s a rhythm. It’s baked into the national psyche—woven into conversations, family traditions, and even subway advertisements. You don’t need to be athletic. You don’t need fancy gear. You just need to show up.

The Accidental Beginning

It started with a casual invite.

“Come hike Bukhansan with us this Saturday. It’s not that bad.”

They lied. It was absolutely that bad—for someone who had never climbed anything taller than an escalator.

But I said yes. And I’m glad I did. Because that day, I learned something Korea understands better than most places: when you climb a mountain, you shed something. Tension. Ego. Maybe even loneliness. And you gain something too.

That first trail up Bukhansan was steep and crowded. Elderly hikers passed me with encouraging smiles, one woman even shouting “화이팅!” as she surged ahead in her neon jacket and full makeup. I reached the top sweating, sore, and completely enchanted.

What Makes Hiking in Korea Special?

Let me put it this way: hiking in Korea isn’t just about getting somewhere—it’s about being there.

Koreans treat their mountains with deep respect. Trails are spotless, often lined with ropes, stone steps, and carved signposts. Even the more rugged routes feel intentional. And at the top? You’ll often find shrines, bells, or simply groups of people chatting, laughing, and sharing food like a mountaintop picnic.

Once, at the summit of Seoraksan, a man in his sixties handed me a piece of chocolate and gestured toward the view.

“You don’t get this from the city,” he said.

He was right. You don’t.

My Favorite Trails (So Far)

I’ve hiked quite a bit now. Not as much as some, but enough to know a good trail when I see one. Here are three hikes that changed me in different ways:

1. Seoraksan National Park – Gangwon Province

It’s hard not to get emotional here. The jagged peaks feel ancient and humbling. I hiked Ulsanbawi in autumn, surrounded by fire-colored leaves. The final stair climb felt eternal. But when I reached the top and saw the world stretching below in layered mist? I cried. And I’m not even embarrassed about it.

2. Jirisan – Southern Korea

This one isn’t easy. It’s long, rugged, and better for experienced hikers. But there’s solitude here that I haven’t found anywhere else in Korea. A kind of sacred silence. I did part of the traverse trail over two days and felt completely off-grid. It reminded me how small I was—in the best way.

3. Inwangsan – Seoul

If you’re short on time but need a reset, Inwangsan is a gem. The views of the city are incredible, especially at sunset. It’s where urban energy and mountain spirit shake hands. I’ve done this one alone, with friends, even once on a bad date (we broke up—but the hike was worth it).

Korean Hiking Culture: It’s a Whole Vibe

You haven’t really done hiking in Korea until you’ve been passed by a 70-year-old in head-to-toe hiking gear while you’re gasping for air. Koreans hike with purpose and with style.

They also hike with snacks.

I’ve shared trail mix, makgeolli (yes, people bring rice wine to summits), oranges, and even a tiny slice of grilled fish—offered to me by a smiling grandmother on Bukhansan. I learned that day that generosity travels light.

There’s something beautiful about how strangers become familiar up there. We’re all sweaty, tired, and staring at the same sky. It flattens hierarchies. You start to realize that no one cares what you do for work or how fluent your Korean is. All that matters is that you climbed.

What I’ve Learned (Beyond Hiking)

• Don’t rush. The mountain isn’t going anywhere.
• Say hello. “Annyeonghaseyo” to passing hikers can spark real joy.
• Bring more water than you think you need. Always.
• Enjoy the view, but also enjoy the breath you take getting there.
• Sometimes, silence says more than any conversation.

Hiking in Korea taught me that solitude doesn’t mean loneliness. That strength isn’t about how fast you climb, but that you keep moving. That it’s okay to pause—not just to catch your breath, but to appreciate that you’re here, alive, and capable.

Final Thoughts: Why You Should Go

You don’t need to be outdoorsy. You don’t need to know the language. You don’t even need to know where you’re going. Start with a hill, then a ridge, then a peak.

And somewhere along the way, if you listen closely—not to your playlist, but to the wind in the pines—you might hear the country whispering something back.

Because hiking in Korea isn’t just about trails. It’s about finding a version of yourself that you didn’t know was missing, and realizing they were always there, waiting, just a few steps up the mountain.