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Today, you set out from the very centre of the city, at Barfüsserplatz. At the corner of the square, near Gerberstrasse, a narrow alley opens discreetly, almost timidly. This is Lohnhofgässlein. It then rises via steep steps toward the esplanade overlooking the historic centre, where Leonhardskirche stands. This is where the city’s French-speaking church is located, a Gothic-inspired building dating from the sixteenth century. In Basel, bilingualism is claimed, yet here, in the streets or on public benches, French remains discreet, like a muted murmur. .

Not far from the Music Academy, the route leads you across the tram tracks, those long mechanical serpents that crisscross the city, before guiding you into Leonhardsstrasse. You slip along it like through a corridor, punctuated by successive intersections, each one marking a brief pause in the progression.

At the end of Leonhardsstrasse, a gentle curve to the left brings you onto Leimenstrasse. There, at the turn of the street, rises the Basel synagogue, majestic in its restraint. This late nineteenth-century building affirms, through its presence, the city’s religious diversity and cultural richness.

Leimenstrasse cuts through the urban fabric, crosses several main arteries, and comes up against the inner ring of the city, the Steinenring. A form of boundary, flexible yet clearly defined, between the old heart and the modern rings.

The route leaves Neuwiller via Rue des Tilleuls. It slopes up gently, without any real difficulty, along a small country road bordered by meadows and fields. The markings continue, red triangles and green dots. But by focusing too much on watching the signs, one forgets to lift one’s eyes to admire the landscape. That is a pity, is it not ? 

When we passed through here, fruit trees were in bloom. A gentle spring countryside, discreet yet vibrant.

From there, the view opens onto the village of Hagenthal-le-Bas below. But the game of markings continues. At this junction, a red circle and an orange circle have been added. Why not? But for whom? That remains a mystery. Yellow circles are often intended for equestrian circuits. The green dot will likely remain without explanation, unless a local scholar reveals its secret to you. As for the red dot, who can say. Perhaps a variant for the undecided? 

The road now descends through wide open fields. The sky feels broader here. The eye ranges far beyond the ploughed furrows. 

The slope becomes steeper at times. As the village approaches, a section of dirt track suddenly replaces the cement, with no obvious reason. Then the asphalted road resumes its role, as if nothing had happened.

At the bottom of the descent, hidden behind a hedge of ash trees and a few dark birches, the road gently enters the outskirts of Hagenthal-le-Bas. The village is quiet, the houses neatly aligned, shutters often closed at this calm hour of the day.

You will have to accept it, but you will not be able to form a clear conclusion. Here, the red triangles are over. In their place now appear blue rectangles, arriving from another path coming from the north. Fortunately, the Via Jura 41 signs and the Compostela shells are still there to guide you. For further on, on the signposts, the names of the villages you will cross today are striking by their absence.

We have nothing against our hiking friends from Alsace. But still, the path of Santiago matters a little, does it not? It seems very discreet here. The outsider, if not equipped with a guide or a GPS, is quite likely to go around in circles. By contrast, the locals know these paths by heart. They need no directions nor markings to go where they intend.

The road continues calmly through Hagenthal-le-Bas. It passes by the school, then by the village church, simple and well maintained.

Here again, numerous stone crosses punctuate the route, witnesses to a tradition still very much alive.

Climb the road a little. And in this true jumble of directions, choose the one that leads to Hagenthal-le-Haut. Somewhere, between two posts, the blue rectangles reappear. You will never know exactly where one of the two Hagenthals begins, nor where the other ends. But that hardly matters.

The road runs in front of the town hall, an imposing building with the air of a small prefecture, contrasting with the more modest surrounding houses. Then it continues on through the rest of the village.

At last, the crossing of the two Hagenthals comes to an end. The road moves away. In the surrounding fields, cows barely raise their heads, surprised to see these pilgrims with large packs and dusty shoes pass by.

From here on, it is forest almost without interruption all the way to Ferrette. You were clearly told to follow the blue rectangles. So, you search the trees, the posts, the rocks. At first, nothing appears. As you leave the village, a small road that quickly turns into a dirt path heads toward the forest.

There, in the heart of this vast forest, beech trees still reign supreme. They raise their smooth, grey trunks toward the sky, forming an elegant vault.

And then, a few hundred meters further on, at last some good news. A blue rectangle, clear and visible, fixed to a large beech tree. A sigh of relief. You are on the right way. For the green dots, if they are meant for cyclists, not a single one has been seen so far today.

But do not celebrate too quickly. Further on, you come across a direction sign. Doubt sets in. No one warned you that you would have to abandon the blue rectangles that head toward Leymen. Do you go via Leymen? Nothing is less certain. The route, as often happens, splits in two. And no sign tells you that you must now follow the yellow diamonds.

So, what is to be done? There is only one solution on the Basel connector. You must have prepared your journey seriously, with accurate maps or a reliable guide. The small book entitled Le Chemin de Compostelle en Alsace, Franche-Comté et Bourgogne, even if sometimes brief, remains the only one that truly describes this route. It explains clearly, for those who reread it afterward: “At the exit of the village, follow the blue rectangles. Climb on asphalt through fields, then enter the forest along a stony path. Then, at a junction of paths at the top of the hill, follow the yellow diamonds again.”

Fortunately, the ever-methodical Swiss have left one more Via Jura 41 indication to reassure you. But here, this is no minor matter. In this vast and deep forest, if you head off in the wrong direction, you risk wandering for a long time. There is now only one reflex to adopt: look for the yellow diamonds. 

Fortunately, the forest is magnificent, airy, alive. You encounter the traces of forestry tractors. The wood is worked, yes, but without brutality. The paths remain clean, wide, and pleasant.

You walk on, attentive to the slightest marking. Here, a yellow diamond on an oak. There, another painted directly onto the bark of a beech. Each marking reassures you, like a complicit blink from the path itself.

Then, a little further on, you remember what the guide says: “When the markings invite you to leave the wide path for a trail opposite, with steep and muddy sections, stay on the path to the right and continue without markings in order to rediscover the usual markings after a short climb.” Easy to say when one already knows the terrain. But here, before you, several paths intersect, slant diagonally, descend, climb. The markings suggest turning off, but you hesitate. The guide advises not to follow them. Advice of this kind only becomes useful once the route has already been walked. Never take unmarked shortcuts, your common sense tells you. And yet this trail narrows and begins to climb. Let us go and see where it leads.

The slopes in the Wessenberg forest are demanding, often between 15 and 25 percent, over more than a kilometre. The ascent is sustained, but rewarding. The forest is superb and majestic, with its tall beech trees and sturdy oaks of all sizes, growing from a thick carpet of last season’s fallen leaves. At times, small stone markers emerge, covered in moss, remnants of former boundaries whose function has now been forgotten.

The higher you climb, the steeper the slope becomes, and the more modest the beech trees appear, sometimes reduced to young shoots, straight as stakes, pressed close together as if to protect one another from the highland wind.

And then, suddenly, a yellow diamond reappears, marked on a stocky oak. Relief. You meet a mountain biker racing downhill at full speed and ask for confirmation. Yes, this is indeed the right path. That small yellow diamond, insignificant to many, is a blessing for the walker. For turning back after several kilometres when one has taken a wrong turn is the kind of thing that crushes morale more surely than an icy downpour.

The descent then begins, gentle at first, through a forest that is still just as splendid. As altitude is lost, the woodland becomes more open, the trees taller, and light filters through the foliage, bathing the trunks in a warm, diffused glow. 

The forest path then winds along the bottom of the hill, almost flat. In places, an old and curious boundary stone stands by the side of the path, as if forgotten there by a surveyor from another century.

Then comes a muddy section, well known to walkers, where repeated tractor passages have carved deep ruts. Here, it is often wiser to follow the parallel tracks created by wild boar or previous hikers, who have traced drier alternatives through the undergrowth. 

The forest then changes name, even though it retains the same wild beauty. You leave Wessenberg and enter Britskiwald. The path continues almost flat for a while longer, then turns decisively toward the descent. . 

It is a marked slope, sometimes reaching 15 %, down toward the small departmental road D9b. You must place your feet carefully, especially on damp ground.

You follow this road briefly, for just a few meters, before finding a path leading toward the chapel of St Brice. As always, the faithful yellow diamonds guide you, along with the Swiss symbols of Via Jura 41, reassuring companions on the route since Basel. 

The path crosses the road, then climbs slightly again through ruts carved by forestry machinery. At times, you need to place your feet carefully, especially if rain has made the ground slippery. 

A little higher up, the path becomes calmer and more measured. It softens and moves forward in an almost perfect forest silence, until it reaches a beautiful clearing. This is where the St Brice chapel is nestled, in a peaceful and shaded setting. Just a short distance from the Swiss border, the place breathes serenity. At the fountain, fresh water still flows, inviting a well-deserved pause.

The St Brice site is truly charming. First mentioned in 1361, the chapel stands on an ancient location. Archaeological excavations have revealed a Neolithic site here, proof that people have passed through this place since the dawn of time. In the past, St Brice was a renowned place of pilgrimage, with an adjoining hermitage. More recently, an Alsatian style inn had taken over, attracting Sunday visitors. It is now closed and undergoing reconstruction, like the chapel itself, which had already been partially rebuilt at the end of the seventeenth century. 

From here, a wide forest path descends gently toward Oltingue. All markings are in agreement, with diamonds, shells, and Via Jura 41 signs. The walker can move forward without asking questions.

The path then becomes a wide packed earth track, occasionally scattered with stones. It winds beneath broadleaf trees in a bucolic atmosphere.

At the edge of the forest, pay attention. You emerge into a clearing that could be misleading. Here, the markings change. Yellow diamonds head toward Rodersdorf, while it is now the red diamonds that must be followed to reach Ferrette. A Compostela shell is indeed present, but it does not indicate the correct direction. Let us recall that on the true path, the top of the shell should point toward the way ahead. Here, it serves only as a symbolic reminder of the pilgrimage route. Keep this in mind. From this point on, it is the red diamond that must be followed. With the passing kilometres, you learn. One might even say that one has become an expert in this unusual marking system.

A steady descent then begins along a small asphalted road that winds between fields toward Oltingue. It is a calm walk, almost meditative, paced by the walker’s breathing and the sound of footsteps.

The closer you get to the plain, the gentler the slope becomes. From time to time, a red diamond appears on an old walnut tree, confirming that you are still heading in the right direction. Around you, cultivated fields stretch as far as the eye can see.

Soon, the road reaches the plain. It runs alongside a small stream, the Limendenbach, which local riders gladly follow, in the shade of a peaceful patch of woodland.

A little further on, the road crosses the Pfaffenbach, another small and equally discreet stream, then slopes up gently again toward Oltingue.

TStill guided by the faithful red diamonds, you finally enter the outskirts of the village of Oltingue, along a quiet road lined with gardens and vegetable plots.

The road enters the village of Oltingue gently, where houses cluster along the main street. Here, many residents are cross-border workers who commute to Basel, while preserving the spirit of their village.

The road crosses this charming and very Alsatian village, with its carefully maintained half-timbered houses, often painted in pastel or bright tones typical of the region. It passes in front of the village church, with its modest steeple. Some pilgrims choose to make a detour to the St Martin-des-Champs chapel, located about one kilometre from the route. This often-overlooked place offers a welcome pause in a pastoral setting. For the others, as you leave the village, the path crosses the Ill River. The Ill is the great river of Alsace, which flows through the region from south to north before joining the Rhine. Here in Oltingue, however, it is still very young, barely emerging from its sources. 

Still following the red diamonds, the road leaves the village and runs alongside a Roma camp set up by the roadside. Sometimes greetings are exchanged from afar, without many words, in mutual respect between passing travellers.

Then a wide dirt path, almost too smooth to seem real, gently enters an orchard. Apple trees, cherry trees, and sometimes even Mirabelle plums line the way.

The road, still dirt but now stonier, soon enters the forest.

This is the forest known as Hinter dem Berg. It immediately makes its presence felt through the verticality of its trees. Majestic silver firs, recognizable by their grey, fissured bark, dominate the landscape. There are also Douglas firs, often mistakenly called fir trees, yet standing tall and straight, almost arrogant. Oaks and beeches compete for light, while in the undergrowth, hornbeams, hazel trees, and young spruces struggle to find their place. The path itself keeps its bearings. The ever-faithful red diamonds reassure the walker. 

In this magnificent and airy forest, slopes remain gentle, never exceeding 10%. Long straight lines stretch over two kilometres, as if drawn with a ruler between the trunks. You must keep pace, walking straight ahead without letting the monotony lull the mind. Further on, stay alert. A trail marked with a yellow triangle invites you to turn off. This is the discovery trail, undoubtedly interesting, but it is not yours. The Way of St. James continues straight on, undisturbed. Here, it is long and seemingly endless, but the scenery is charming and the woodland remains open.

And the path, never monotonous, continues forward beneath the tall trees. You might almost feel that the forest is gently pushing you from behind, as everything seems to invite you to keep going.

The slope becomes slightly steeper. The path climbs calmly up to a junction, the one leading to the famous oak. Without hesitation, you turn aside, as the place deserves a few extra steps.

The Gros Chêne of Sondersdorf rests in a small clearing, outside both world and time. Some say it is 400 years old, others 500. It has witnessed centuries pass by, endured lightning, storms, and droughts. Once, it rose more than 25 meters high. Only about twelve meters remain today, yet what presence it still has. Knotted and twisted, it escaped the woodcutters. Not straight enough for beams, too massive for a mast. That may well have saved it. It has remained there, peacefully, surrounded by respect.

From the old oak, a wide dirt path resumes beneath the beeches. You walk almost in silence, as if not to disturb the majesty of the place. But be careful here. The next junction is deceptive. Do not let shapes or colours mislead you. A blue triangle appears in the landscape, promising an escape toward Sommersdorf. But this is not the right way. Yours, the pilgrim’s path, continues straight ahead. And once again, the diamond has returned to red, faithful as ever. The Compostela shell also keeps its direction. And the Swiss Via Jura continues to accompany you. There is no doubt, this is the way to go.

The path, fairly stony, climbs gently through the deciduous forest. Tree shade accompanies the ascent. Higher up, another sign again indicates a direction toward Sommersdorf, and another toward ponds imagined to be peaceful, but far from the route. This forest is riddled with secondary tracks, exploration trails, and places to visit, each one an opportunity to get lost if you do not stay focused.

Yet the atmosphere here is pleasant. At times, the forest opens onto long straight stretches, like natural corridors. At a crossroads, a cycle track appears, shared with other markings, including yellow diamonds once again.

The path reaches the forest edge, opening into a calm clearing. Around you, beehives hum softly. One tells oneself that the forest is finally behind.

The wide path descends once more into the woods, crossing a small picnic area, like a final pause before the village.

Below, the path becomes rougher. The path loses its regularity, and a trail runs alongside the first scattered houses announcing the village. You can feel the transition between nature and civilization.  

The narrow trail, steep and slightly slippery, drops quickly. And suddenly, there it is, the upper part of Ferrette. 

The route now follows the road, which gently leads you down toward the entrance of the village. 

Ferrette appears, nestled on its slopes, dominated by the ruins of its castle. The village, with its closely packed houses, climbs up the hillside in a peaceful and ancient atmosphere. 

Ferrette is a magnificent village, but dauntingly steep. Perhaps the steepest on the entire Way of St. James. To reach the lower part of the village, where shops are concentrated, you must descend Rue du Château, sometimes facing slopes approaching 20%.  

Along the way, you pass beautiful residences, some converted into guesthouses. The town hall, both austere and elegant, stands at the centre. Then you arrive at the commercial square, lively and welcoming. In the past, Ferrette was connected to Switzerland by a railway line. The train stopped at the border, as often happens in peripheral regions.