Jeju: A Volcanic Isle, A Familiar Feeling
How do you describe a place that feels like home — but isn’t?
Descending onto Jeju Island, I had to remind myself where I was. The humid air curling around my face, the sight of volcanic peaks disappearing into the clouds, the endless blue of the ocean hugging the island’s jagged edges—for a moment, I wasn’t in Korea. I was back in Hawaii. I get it now. Why they call Jeju the Hawaii of Korea, it’s not just the palm trees or the beaches. It’s something in the air, in the way the land seems to breathe. Jeju is a place shaped by fire and water, where life carves its way through volcanic rock, where people have learned to live with—rather than against—nature.
We left Cheonan’s small local airport that morning—and let me tell you, even Korea’s smaller airports run circles around some of the biggest ones in the U.S. The check-in process was seamless, the airport itself was spotless, and the staff was efficient without the TSA doom and gloom we’re used to.
The flight itself? A revelation. Back home, a one-hour “puddle jumper” flight means an ancient, cramped plane that rattles like it was last serviced during the Cold War. Here? Spacious seats, a smiling crew, and snack service for a one-hour flight. America, take notes.
Landing in Jeju felt like stepping into another Korea entirely. This was not Seoul. The air was different, saltier, heavier with summer. The airport bustled with tourists, mostly from Korea and China—a reminder of just how isolated American travelers can be from the rest of the world.
Welcome to Jeju: Where Even the Pit Stops Are an Experience
We were expecting to head straight to the hotel. We were wrong. Instead, our bus pulled up to an immersive art museum. Inside, it was like stepping into another dimension—walls alive with shifting lights, soundscapes that pulled us through forests and fantasy worlds. You didn’t just look at the art here. You walked through it. It was mesmerizing, completely unexpected, and honestly, a perfect way to set the tone for Jeju. This wasn’t going to be like the rest of Korea.
By the time we reached our hotel—except, it wasn’t just a hotel…It was a full-fledged resort, an amusement park, waterpark, and a shopping mall with a killer ocean view. It actually felt like we were on vacation for a moment instead of a working research trip - a very in your face reminder that even on a fun work trip you still need some rest.
But there was one small issue. Food. Being on an island meant our options were limited to what was on-site. And as someone with a shellfish allergy, that was…problematic. Jeju is a seafood paradise. That’s great if you’re here to eat your weight in fresh fish. Not so great if shrimp can literally kill you. So, a few of us ventured into the resort’s mall and settled on a burger joint. Not bad, not great—probably the least exciting meal of the trip. I think we’d just been spoiled by everything else we’d eaten in Korea.
And then came another unexpected bit of culture shock. You see, back home, when a resort has a pool, you just… use it. Here?
You pay.
There are set hours.
It’s a whole thing.
It was bizarre, but hey—that’s travel for you.
After dinner, we wandered the resort grounds, stumbling across hidden photo spots, dessert shops, and boutiques selling Jeju’s famous hallabong oranges—sweet, juicy citrus the size of a fist. Finally, exhausted, I made my way back to my room—and what a room. Floor-to-ceiling windows. An unobstructed view of the ocean. And just as I was about to turn in for the night, a sound. A faint *pop, pop, pop* outside my window.
I turned off the lights, pulled back the curtains, and there they were—fireworks. Exploding over the resort in bursts of color, reflecting off the glass like liquid fire.
I didn’t have to fight a crowd. I didn’t have to leave my room. I just sat there, soaking it in, letting the day’s surreal experiences settle in my bones. And as had become my nighttime ritual, I flipped on the TV, curled into bed, and watched my favorite dramas as they premiered live—no subtitles, no delay, just me and the story unfolding in real time.
A small, simple moment. But one that felt, in its own way, kind of perfect.
