Along the ridges and through the dense forests of the Lower Jura

DIDIER HEUMANN, ANDREAS PAPASAVVAS

 

 

We divided the course into several sections to make it easier to see. For each section, the maps show the course, the slopes found on the course, and the state of the route (paved or dirt roads). The courses were drawn on the « Wikilocs » platform. Today, it is no longer necessary to walk around with detailed maps in your pocket or bag. If you have a mobile phone or tablet, you can easily follow routes live.

For this stage, here is the link:

 

https://fr.wikiloc.com/itineraires-randonnee/de-labbaye-dacey-au-mont-roland-dole-par-le-chemin-de-compostelle-80455784

This is obviously not the case for all pilgrims, who may not feel comfortable reading GPS tracks and routes on a mobile phone, and there are still many places without an Internet connection. For this reason, you can find on Amazon a book that covers this route.         If you only want to consult lodging of the stage, go directly to the bottom of the page.

Today, the route makes a brief incursion into the Lower Jura. This region has nothing in common with the Upper Jura and its steep mountains near Switzerland. Here, everything is calmer, more secretive. The Lower Jura seeks neither brilliance nor spectacle; it reveals itself slowly, like a confidence. The mountain gradually fades, becoming gentler, like an animal at rest. Its last foothills unfold into rounded hills, wooded shoulders, and low ridges guarded by beeches and hornbeams, long-standing and discreet companions of these landscapes. At the bend of the paths, villages built of pale stone emerge, dominated by their Franche-Comté bell towers. Farther on, beneath the silhouette of Mont Roland, Dole comes into view, the former capital of Franche-Comté resting along the Doubs River, like a jewel set in the valley.

The Lower Jura is neither entirely plain nor fully mountain. It is a land in between, a discreet crossroads where nearby Burgundy meets the first folds of the Jura. Here, horizons open wide, offering endless undulations of landscape. Yet despite this broad breathing space, a sense of intimacy remains, as if every path, every stone cross, every chapel wished to share its own secret. A land of passage and memory, the Lower Jura bears the imprint of pilgrims and farmers, and continues to offer those who walk its silence and open horizons.

Mont Roland, in this setting, is neither an imposing nor a fierce mountain. It is a sanctuary hill, a natural belvedere, a gentle elevation of the Lower Jura, rising above the plain like a hand extended toward the sky. From afar, its bell tower can be seen, a familiar silhouette watching over the villages and accompanying the steps of pilgrims. For centuries, it has drawn Compostela walkers, who find here a place of rest and reflection. The scallop shells carved into stone and the crosses planted at the bends of the paths bear witness to this centuries-old devotion. Around the monastery, trails wind beneath the trees, lined with statues, stone crosses, and small shrines that mark the walk like so many stations of an inner pilgrimage. Among them, the Black Madonna, mysterious and moving in her wooden form, gathers silent prayers. She embodies this blend of fervor, mystery, and simplicity that makes Mont Roland not only a place of passage, but a place of presence.

How do pilgrims plan their route? Some imagine that it is enough to follow the waymarking. You will discover, often to your cost, that the waymarking is frequently deficient. Others rely on guides available on the internet, which are also often too basic. Others prefer GPS, provided they have imported the Compostela maps of the region onto their phone. Using this method, if you are skilled in GPS use, you will not get lost, even if the route proposed is sometimes not exactly the same as the one indicated by the scallop shells. You will nevertheless arrive safely at the end of the stage. In this regard, the site considered official is the European route of the Ways of Compostela (https://camino-europe.eu/). For today’s stage, the map is accurate, but this is not always the case. With a GPS, it is even safer to use the Wikiloc maps that we make available, which describe the current waymarked route. However, not all pilgrims are experts in this type of walking, which for them distorts the spirit of the path. You can therefore simply follow us and read along. Every junction on the route that is difficult to interpret has been indicated, to help you avoid getting lost.

Difficulty level: The journey is not without difficulty, although the elevation changes (+480 meters/ -346 meters), remain fairly reasonable for a very long stage. Three serious climbs characterize the route. The most demanding is on the hill of Offlanges, but the ascent toward Gredisans and the climb up to Mont Roland will also require a few drops of sweat.

State of the route: Today’s stage includes slightly more paths than roads:

• Paved roads: 13.7 km
• Dirt roads: 15.7 km

Sometimes, for reasons of logistics or housing possibilities, these stages mix routes operated on different days, having passed several times on these routes. From then on, the skies, the rain, or the seasons can vary. But, generally this is not the case, and in fact this does not change the description of the course.

It is very difficult to specify with certainty the incline of the slopes, whatever the system you use.

For those seeking « true elevations » and enthusiasts of genuine altimetric challenges, carefully review the information on mileage at the beginning of the guide.

Section 1: Along the Oignon River, seldom seen

Overview of the route’s challenges: a route with no particular difficulty.

The route leaves the abbey by descending the road. The gaze turns back for a moment toward the age-old walls, as if to carry away one last fragment of silence. The air still seems inhabited by the murmur of the offices, but already the stone fades behind the trees, and the route toward the horizon begins.

The road slopes gently downward, like a ribbon of grey flowing between meadows and cornfields. On either side, tall ash trees and sturdy oaks alternate with a few maples, familiar companions of this land of Franche-Comté. They watch over the walker like motionless figures, silent guardians of the passage.

The descent ends at an intersection. Another road cuts across it at a right angle, and the scallop shell, discreetly placed on a post, indicates the direction of Brésilley. This is where you turn right, and already the trace of the pilgrimage takes shape.

But the itinerary does not allow itself to be confined by the logic of modern roads. After a short while following this ribbon toward Brésilley, it suddenly branches off, almost capriciously. Here, once again, caution is needed with the scallop shells, which can sometimes mislead. It is not their orientation that guides the walker, but the associated arrow. Thus, it is to the left that the route opens, drawing the walker toward another landscape.

At first, the road still keeps a few trees along its edges. Their scattered foliage softens the light and tempers the severity of the sky. But this protection is short-lived.

Very quickly, the plain unfolds in all its nakedness. No more shade, no more boundary, only meadows and cornfields stretching as far as the eye can see beneath an immense sky. The walker becomes tiny, a silhouette moving through the monotonous infinity of cultivated land.

This is a vulnerable land, where the road itself knows how fragile it is. It runs alongside the Oignon, a capricious river whose floods overflow without effort. In times of heavy rain, water covers the roadway and makes it impassable. A few openings in the hedges, like windows cut into the green, sometimes allow a glimpse of the Oignon as it glides by, discreet or furious depending on the season.

Then the road moves away from the river, and with it disappears the rare shade of trees. The sun once again reigns alone. In this bare plain, the road runs straight, stubborn, as if it were aligned with a single star, the bell tower of the church of Thervay, visible in the distance as a slender line rising toward the sky. From now on, it is the horizon itself that draws the walk forward.

At last, after this long crossing, the first houses of Thervay appear, modest and discreet, hidden behind their foliage. The road seems, as if relieved, to take refuge in this fold of humanity.

You find yourself once again beside the Oignon. Here, people have chosen to restore a spawning ground, so that the river may recover its memory of fertility. In its clear waters, fish come to lay their eggs, perpetuating an immemorial cycle, fragile yet vital.

The road turns right, ignoring the cycle path and this time remaining faithful to the scallop shell. It crosses a small wood whose dense shade suddenly cools the walker’s step.

Then the road opens once more, leaving the protective cover of the wood to head toward the village. The houses draw closer, promising a pause.

At the entrance to Thervay, the discreet Gravellon stream murmurs softly, like a prelude to rest.

A picnic area welcomes the walker. Beneath tall trees, heavy benches of rough granite invite one to sit down. Their rugged stone holds the memory of time. Here, one can enjoy the cool air, set down a pack, before the road sets off again, turning left to enter the heart of the village.

The road then slopes up toward the church of St Martin. The building as it appears today dates in part from the seventeenth century. The centuries have laid down their layers here, giving the stones a relief shaped by history and devotion.

On the square, a monumental fountain stands out. Its broad stone basin shelters three cast-iron swans, elegant despite their frozen stillness. Built at the beginning of the nineteenth century, it is listed in the Inventory of Historic Monuments. It bears witness to a time when water was not only a resource, but also a display, an adornment of the village. Not far from here once stood the château of Balançon, now in ruins. In the Middle Ages, it was one of the most powerful castles in Burgundy, but the route does not lead you there. All that remains is the breath of a prestigious past, which continues to haunt the surroundings.

Leaving the village, the road gradually runs alongside a small oratory dedicated to Ste Philomena. Modest and almost unnoticed, it is nonetheless a sign, a reminder that here, every crossroads and every stone bears the mark of faith.

Section 2: Meeting the train again

Overview of the route’s challenges: a route with no particular difficulty.

Shortly afterward, the road reaches a crossroads. There, in the middle of intersecting roads, stands an isolated house, a silent witness to this meeting of ways. The scallop shell, faithful companion of the walker, invites you to continue to the right, skirting this solitary building that seems to guard the passage.

You now find yourself once again on a dirt path, a long pale ribbon unfolding through the bare countryside. Not a tree breaks the line of the horizon, only the vastness of the plain, where the wind delights in running freely. It is a return to nakedness, to the purity of a landscape without ornament.

Far away from the path, a massive farm stands like an agricultural fortress. It dominates hundreds of hectares of meadows, maize, and cereal crops, land disciplined by the hand of man. Here, the fields seem to ignore oilseed crops. The region favors more traditional cultivation, the familiar silhouettes of wheat and maize forming monotonous checkerboards.

Already, in the distance, a small rise takes shape. It discreetly yet unmistakably signals the passage of the train, like a reminder that beneath this seemingly immutable landscape, modern speed is at work.

The route becomes monotonous. Long and drawn out, it puts patience to the test. Every ten minutes, the plain is cut through by the flash of a high-speed train. You hear it coming from far away, like a swelling murmur, before its roar tears through the air and vanishes at once. This brutal contrast between the stillness of the walker and the speed of the train gives the pilgrimage a strange intensity.

At the top of the rise, the path crosses the high-speed line. The bridge, massive and impersonal, spreads wide. It is always striking to see how much space this colossal infrastructure requires, simply to allow a succession of trains to pass like lightning.

At the exit of the bridge, you must once again let yourself be guided not by the scallop shell, still poorly oriented, but by the arrow that accompanies it. It is the arrow that indicates the direction to take, toward the right.

And it is a return to the dirt path. Almost endless and nearly straight, it unfolds its unyielding austerity. Here, the pilgrim has no choice but to let thoughts roll along like pebbles beneath each step. No shade, no refuge, only harsh light and cultivated land, meadows, maize, cereals, all repeating endlessly. In the distance, a small wood takes shape like a promise.

In this corner of the plain, cereals, especially wheat, become slightly more prevalent.

Meanwhile, out on the plain, the train continues its course, unperturbed. A destiny fully mapped out, indifferent to the slowness of the walker who watches it fade away.

Eventually, the stony path rises gently, gaining a little elevation. The small wood draws closer, like a long-awaited haven.

The walker then enters the shade of the wood. Here, everything feels familiar, an abundance of beeches and hornbeams intertwined, punctuated by solid oaks and ash trees, with a few scattered maples. It is a symphony of trunks and foliage, a world more humid and more secret.

But the ground does not soften. The path, strewn with sharp fragments of limestone, becomes rougher. It turns at a right angle and launches into a descent toward the plain. And in the distance, always, the persistent rumble of the train continues.

To the walker’s left, the village of Brans appears, set into the landscape like a discreet halt, almost motionless beneath its cloak of rural silence.

A little farther on, a large telecommunications mast pierces the sky. Immense and metallic, it seems to touch the clouds, as if conversing with the winds. It clashes with the countryside, yet it also speaks of the modern age watching over even these ancient paths.

The descent, now steeper, continues. At the bottom, the path meets the departmental road D15. Once again, the scallop shell and its arrow guide the step, and you must turn left.

The road then sets off, at first straight as an arrow, then more supple and winding. It undulates across the plain, bordered by meadows and cultivated fields. The landscape unfolds in its simple immensity, yet each bend holds the promise of a new detail, a moment of breathing space.

Little by little, the road draws closer to the village of Brans. Along the way, it crosses the Vèze, a small discreet stream that threads through the countryside with its calm waters. It flows quietly, yet it irrigates the landscape with a gentle humility.

As the village approaches, the meadows come to life. Livestock, peaceful and unhurried, stand in the fields. Their slow, solid silhouettes, moving patches of green, accompany the walker with their benevolent presence.

Section 3: In the countryside of Brans before the woodland

Overview of the route’s challenges: a route with no difficulty.

The road then reaches Brans, a village stretched out like a ribbon, unfolding leisurely along the road. Its stone houses, sometimes modest, sometimes proud, tell an old story, that of a community rooted in land and time. Here, the pilgrim’s step echoes on the asphalt like a familiar sound, welcomed by the discreet gazes of the façades.

The woman who runs the guesthouse, guardian of local hospitality, also holds the key to the church. With a smile, she will tell you that the pews inside are still numbered by family, as if the memory of lineages continues to reign over the nave. Sitting anywhere other than one’s assigned bench would almost be an offense against the old order. As for the lords of the nearby château, they naturally occupied the front row, a clear sign of their precedence within this village hierarchy.

The route soon breaks away from the village and regains its freedom, following the road as it moves off through the countryside.

The road undulates gently between meadows and cereal fields. Along the roadside, a discreet stream runs beside you, a thin ribbon of water whose murmur accompanies your steps.

A little farther on, the road passes in front of the washhouse fountain known as the Bataillé fountain. It is a charming site, almost secret, wrapped in nature’s embrace. One imagines the women of earlier times coming here far from the village to beat their laundry in rhythm with their conversations, weaving the clarity of water with the fabric of confidences. A short granite wall, placed like a punctuation mark, lends the place a romantic quality, as if time itself had paused here.

The route continues for a while on asphalt before opening onto a wide dirt path. Here, waymarking becomes rarer, but the direction is obvious: you must continue straight ahead, carried by the clear logic of the path.

Once again, this is the typical dirt path of the region, scattered with small sharp stones like shards of glass that ring beneath your soles. It gradually draws closer to the forest, as if attracted by a protective shade.

On the hillside, the pilgrim’s eye soon catches the silhouette of the bell tower of Offlanges. Its spire rises into the sky, seeming so close that one might believe it could be reached in moments. But the illusion is deceptive: the route still holds many turns before yielding its secret.

The path softens into gentle curves as it crosses an open woodland. Familiar species dominate: ash trees, hornbeams, beeches, and maples raise their trunks in quiet fraternity. At times, however, tall pines appear, dark sentinels that contrast with the lightness of the deciduous trees, bringing a more austere note to the landscape.

The path stretches on at length within this calm and repetitive atmosphere. From time to time, a scallop shell fixed to a trunk appears like a benevolent smile, reminding the walker that the way is correct. Yet there is little risk of losing one’s way here: a single path cuts through the wood of Brans.

Farther on, the Vèze stream once again meets the route, like an insistent companion, faithful at every bend. Its modest waters are nothing like a torrent, yet they charm through their constancy and clarity.

The path plays with the stream, moving away from it at times, then returning like you return to an old acquaintance. In certain places, the waterlogged ground becomes treacherous: even in dry weather, footsteps sink into the mud. It is a lesson in patience, where each stride demands heightened attention.

Finally, the path turns right and crosses the course of the Vèze. A small footbridge, simple and modest, offers its wood or stone to allow passage. A tiny structure, yet indispensable, it marks the quiet triumph of the walker over natural obstacles.

Section 4: The demanding climb toward Offlanges

Overview of the route’s challenges: slopes are often very steep along the route.

After crossing the stream, the path lingers for a moment in the soothing shade of the woodland. The air remains humid, filled with the scents of ferns and fresh earth. But this forest respite is brief, for the clearing already announces itself, and the open world reclaims its space.

Soon, the slope becomes firmer and more assertive, as if the hill were calling you to order. The stony ground gives way to asphalt, and the gentle dirt path turns into a road where each step demands greater effort. The pilgrim feels this threshold in the legs: the ascent truly begins.

This road bears a name that fits it perfectly: the Chemin de la Serre. It clings to the slope, surging forward and then folding back, twisting lightly beneath the vault of trees. One might think it follows the capricious trace of a vanished stream, so much does it wind and play with the hillside. Dense foliage wraps it in a refreshing coolness, like a vegetal sanctuary at the heart of the effort.

Along this steep road, small cultivated plots appear here and there, like domesticated clearings in the midst of the woods. Modest yet proud patches of wheat sway gently in the wind, in the shade of tall ash trees and pines.

Then, at the bend of a switchback, the first houses of the village appear far above. At first tiny, they stand out like promises of rest.

By the roadside, a small granite cross, simple and discreet, rises like a sign of encouragement. It reminds travelers that every ascent is also a path of faith, a trial that countless footsteps have climbed before you. The stone, worn by centuries, holds the silent memory of all these presences. .

One last effort, one final surge, and at last the first houses of Offlanges are reached. The village opens itself to you, both humble and welcoming, like a promised halt for the pilgrim who has mastered the slope.

The Chemin de la Serre ends where it meets the departmental road D243, beside an old well from another age. Its rim, worn smooth by time, tells of the simple gestures of former generations who came here to draw fresh water before modern life transformed their habits.

Offlanges then reveals its discreet charm. Its stone houses, often coated with ochre plaster, form façades in warm tones. One reads here the imprint of an ancient village, at once rugged and gentle, deeply rooted in its land.

Almost at the center of the village, the church rises, sober and solid. Dedicated to Our Lady of the Assumption, it already occupied this site in the eleventh century. Entirely rebuilt at the beginning of the eighteenth century, it carries in its stones the solemnity of the centuries and the devotion of so many generations. Its imposing presence dominates the surrounding houses, like a protective mother watching over her children.

Leaving the village, the route enters Rue de la Croisette. At the crossroads, another small stone cross welcomes the pilgrim, accompanied by a providential bench, an ideal place to catch one’s breath and pause in reflection.

The road then launches into the descent. At first straight, it crosses the countryside beneath a curtain of trees, punctuated by a picnic area, before passing a singular caravan cemetery, a strange immobile procession that intrigues and provokes reflection.

Gradually, the land opens up. Horizons widen, offering broad views over the plain and the distant rolling hills. It is a moment of breathing space, an invitation to lift one’s eyes and let oneself be filled by the grandeur of the landscape.

Lower down, the route branches off toward Moissey, one and a half kilometers away.

The road crosses meadows and a few wheat fields. It is haymaking season: tractors, true monsters of steel, accomplish in a single skilled movement what generations once did with the strength of their arms. They gather, compress, and wrap in a fluid mechanical ballet that fascinates even as it distances us from older gestures. The scythe of our ancestors suddenly seems to belong to a bygone era, erased by modernity.

A little more descent, and the road rejoins the plain, flattening out like an invitation to breathe after the efforts just made.

At the very bottom, it crosses the departmental road D37, near the cemetery of Moissey, a silent guardian of memory.

And there, a rare surprise on this route where waymarks are sometimes elusive: proper directional signs finally stand upright, clear and reassuring. But the pilgrim already knows that this comfort will not last.

Section 5: A very bad path in the woods

Overview of the route’s challenges: slopes are often steep along the route.

The road then reaches the entrance to Moissey. The village slowly unfolds before the pilgrim, like a long-awaited scene after the monotony of the plain.

The route then slips through the narrow streets, small paved and silent lanes, up to the church that dominates the town. Footsteps echo against the stone walls, adding a discreet rhythm to the serenity of the place.

The building is perched on the top of the hillside, imposing its silhouette over the modern village stretched out below. Dedicated to St Gengoult, a martyr forgotten by time, the church preserves in its choir and sanctuary elements dating back to the fifteenth century, silent witnesses to centuries of devotion. Its stones, gently weathered, seem to absorb the light like lanterns frozen in time.

A very clear sign announces to travelers the continuation of the Way of Compostela: Ruisseau des Gorges in 800 meters, and the village of Menotey, still far away, more than five kilometers on. There is something reassuring in this clarity, a breath of orientation within the labyrinth of the world. 

The route then ventures into a pleasant park adjoining the château. The stones of the monument, with their drawbridges and machicolations shaped by centuries, evoke an imaginary great fortress. Although ruined in the fifth century and rebuilt in the eighteenth century, it has retained the soul of its origins. The path descends below, skirting the church and the château, to reach the main departmental road D475.

At the noisy crossroads, a fountain draws the eye. At once washhouse, watering trough, and fountain, now restored, it dates from the end of the seventeenth century and bears witness to the daily lives of washerwomen of the past. A nearby bakery and grocery shop offers a welcome pause, but the constant procession of heavy trucks descending from the Vosges toward Dole recalls modern life, relentless and hurried.

The route follows the departmental road for a short while before turning left into Rue du Moulin. The transition is gentle yet clear, like a breath that carries you away from the tumult of the crossroads and back toward the serenity of narrower ways.

This street leads to a reception center for dogs and cats, a small domestic interlude in the midst of nature.

From here, a stony dirt path begins its slow climb toward the forest. Stones crunch beneath each step.

The path soon reaches the place known as Ruisseau des Gorges, indicating La Meulière at 1.6 km and Menotey at 5.4 km. Here, the pilgrim feels the transition: the civilized world gradually recedes, and nature reclaims its dominion.

At first, everything seems simple. The wide path follows the peaceful stream. But this impression of tranquility is deceptive. One quickly senses that the route is leading into rougher nature, where each step demands attention.

Then begins a harsh ascent of 1.5 km through marshy woodland, cut through by mountain bikers who have churned the ground. Even in dry weather, the soil gives way beneath your feet, turning each step into a small struggle with the mud. This is one of the most exhausting sections of the Way of Compostela, a trail that tests patience and balance.

Fortunately, amid this chaos, the scallop shell appears from time to time, even though it is always poorly oriented, like a lighthouse in the fog, reminding the pilgrim that the way has not been lost. These reassuring marks are beacons within the ordeal.

Around you, nature is both wild and exuberant. Tall deciduous trees stand impassive, while dense undergrowth and twisting roots set the rhythm of the walk. At times, the trail dries briefly, but the mud, a faithful companion, constantly reminds you of the nature of this slope.

When you reach the place known as La Meulière, a feeling of deliverance takes hold. You have left the hell of the Bois de Grédisan behind, only two kilometers away, yet the village of Menotey still lies more than four kilometers ahead. Two routes lead to the village, but the pilgrim knows that the scallop shell must be followed, a faithful and indispensable guide.

The path then changes character. Dry now, it winds along a ridge, a realm of hunting and wind, where pigeon hides and burrows betray human activity in this territory. Each hide seems like a sentry, silently observing travelers.

The surrounding forest becomes radiant. Sunbeams filter between gigantic trunks, illuminating pines, shaggy oaks, and full-bodied beeches. The spectacle is almost theatrical. Each tree seems to scrape the sky, each shadow dances with the light.

The scallop shells, sometimes visible, subtly mark changes in direction, while the pigeon hides play hide-and-seek within this mysterious enclosure. Nature and humanity coexist here with discreet and respectful elegance.

Farther on, the path reaches the place known as « Le Bois des Pères », located one kilometer from the « Croix Boyon ». The forest here is dense yet breathable, and the stony, stable path allows the pilgrim to recover a calm rhythm after the ordeal of the marshland. .

Section 6: Between groves and open countryside

Overview of the route’s challenges: a route without major difficulty.

A trail continues to sway gently through the magical woodland, balanced between the ever-present scallop shells and the pigeon hides. The pigeons, unseen yet undoubtedly numerous, must be fluttering high above. Each step sounds on the damp earth, blending the murmur of leaves with the discreet clink of stones.

Here, the forest is managed with gentle rigor. Beeches and hornbeams, majestic and imposing, stand among the undergrowth, offering shaded shelter and a sense of permanence to the pilgrim crossing this vegetal realm.

The trail eventually emerges at the place known as “Sous la Croix de Boyon”. The “Croix de Boyon” itself stands two hundred meters higher, solitary and proud, but the route does not venture there. It is a fine stone cross, lost in nature like a forgotten sentinel, a silent witness to the ages.

A long, straight road of compacted earth then stretches through the forest, descending for more than a kilometer. This way, both peaceful and demanding, crosses a hunting area, which comes as no surprise given the pigeon hides encountered earlier in the woods.

Lower down, the path passes through the place known as « Le Chemin de la Poste », where a hunters’ lodge is tucked away, modest yet true to its purpose. Just nearby lies the hamlet of Grédisans, still invisible at this stage but already announced by signs of human presence. .

The road crosses a stone cross and continues its descent. All the crosses here seem to have come from the same mold, compact and low, as if shaped by a single hand, discreet yet dignified, recalling the devotion of generations past.

Before long, the route leaves the road to rejoin a dirt path that plunges into a grove.

It is a lovely, dark grove where dense hornbeams intertwine, drawing corridors of shade punctuated by sunbeams filtering through the branches. The atmosphere is intimate, almost secret, like a refuge for thoughts.

When the path leaves the grove, the first houses of Grédisans appear, nestled in greenery. The village feels peaceful and welcoming, with its farmhouses topped by well-kept roofs and filled with authentic character.

Drinking water is available here, though the fountains are discreet, suggesting that life follows a calm rhythm, sheltered from outside turmoil.

On leaving the village, the route heads toward the “Croix Denis”. It passes in front of the remains of mysterious walls, vestiges of a time when walls concealed secrets and protected forgotten lives.

Behind a rough stone bench, beneath a generous lime tree, near the fine stone cross, it is pleasant to stop and breathe. The path then climbs along the walls, gaining the crest, as if offering the pilgrim, a panorama of the surrounding world.

The path then ventures onto the wild ridge. Here, nature seems sovereign, free, and untamed.

In the distance, on a still uncertain horizon, the hill of Mont Roland takes shape. The goal seems close, yet the journey continues, the distance remains tangible, and the summit still to be won.

At the end of the path, the route meets the departmental road D79 and turns right, following the indication of the scallop shell’s arrow, a faithful guide, sometimes ironic in its approximations.

Today’s route alternates between long roads and isolated paths. Here, the pilgrim walks along the road for nearly a kilometer, eyes lost on the plain and the distant hills.

At the top of a gentle rise, the traveler reaches a stele known as the “milestone.” The name is misleading. Long mistaken for a Roman marker, it is in fact a Gallo-Roman funerary stele from the second century. The present reproduction pays homage to the original, preserved at the Archaeological Museum of Lons-le-Saunier.

Shortly afterward, the road reaches the place known as Le Faubourg, just a stone’s throw from the village of Menotey. The route bypasses the village center, preferring the discreet charm of its outskirts, and heads toward Jouhe, located three kilometers from here.

Section 7: With Mont Roland before your eyes

Overview of the route’s challenges : a route without difficulty.

Une route désossée s’élance alors sur la crête, musardant entre les herbes folles et les lignes ondulées du paysage. Elle avance sans hâte, comme si elle se laissait porter par le souffle du vent et la respiration tranquille des collines.

Peu après, elle croise une Vierge de pierre, discrète et recueillie, protégée par l’ombre apaisante des marronniers. Dans ce petit parc, la présence silencieuse de la statue invite le pèlerin à un instant de pause, à une pensée intérieure.

Un large chemin, caillouteux à souhait, commence à monter doucement vers la colline. Non loin d’une antenne solitaire, les vaches paissent en liberté, indifférentes aux pas des voyageurs.

Du sommet de la crête, le chemin s’adoucit, large et tranquille. Il descend imperceptiblement, rectiligne, moins caillouteux. Autour de lui, les prés nus s’étendent, ouverts sur l’horizon. Devant, presque toujours en ligne de mire, se dresse le clocher de l’église de Mont Roland, silhouette encore lointaine, promesse d’une arrivée lointaine

Plus bas, le chemin s’enfonce dans un léger sous-bois. Là, le clocher disparaît parfois, comme pour jouer à cache-cache avec le pèlerin, avant de réapparaître plus loin. Le chemin change de visage, tantôt lisse, tantôt piqueté de pierres, rythmé par ce jeu d’ombres et de lumière.

Au terme de la descente, le chemin enjambe la grande départementale D475, bruyante et familière, déjà croisée à Moissey. Le contraste est frappant entre la sérénité du chemin et le tumulte incessant de la route.

Sitôt après, près d’une croix de granite tapie sous les frondaisons, le chemin oblique doucement, comme guidé par la pierre silencieuse.

De nouveau, il s’échappe dans les prés, serpentant à ciel ouvert.

Peu à peu, il s’approche de la route, à l’entrée de Jouhe, longeant un parc ombragé où les arbres offrent un abri aux voyageurs.

Vous arrivez alors au lieudit La Grande Corvée, à un kilomètre du centre de Jouhe, et à 3.6 kilomètres seulement du Mont Roland. L’horizon s’approche, mais le pèlerinage garde encore sa part d’effort et de patience.

La route bifurque alors à gauche, suivant la route de Gray. Elle longe le parc et progresse lentement vers le cœur du village, comme hésitant à pénétrer dans son intimité.

Un peu plus loin, le parcours tourne à droite et descend doucement jusqu’au centre.

La route traverse la place de l’église St Pierre, un édifice marqué par les siècles et les transformations. Longtemps rattachée au couvent du Mont Roland, cette église garde l’empreinte du temps, témoin de l’histoire spirituelle des lieux.

À la sortie du village, la route franchit de nouveau la Vèze, ce petit cours d’eau compagnon de route, aperçu tant de fois ces derniers jours. Ici, le site est charmant, où l’eau claire s’accorde à la sérénité des arbres qui l’accompagnent.

Section 8 : En route pour le Mont Roland

Aperçu général des difficultés du parcours : parfois quelques pentes rudes.

Le parcours quitte alors l’axe routier pour s’échapper à droite. Une petite route, comme timide, s’élève et s’efface rapidement devant un chemin qui s’élance vers les hauteurs. C’est le Chemin du Mont, qui prend ici des allures d’invitation solennelle. Le pèlerin sent déjà qu’il pénètre dans une autre dimension : celle de l’attente et de l’approche, celle des pas qui s’accordent avec l’espérance. Chaque pierre, chaque touffe d’herbe au bord du chemin semble annoncer l’ascension à venir.

C’est alors un large chemin qui monte en pente douce sous les frondaisons. La voûte des arbres s’ouvre et se referme, telle une nef sylvestre où la lumière joue comme à travers des vitraux mouvants.

Au sommet de la première montée, le chemin rejoint une petite route goudronnée. La transition surprend : après l’intimité des bois, l’asphalte apparaît comme une ligne dure, une cicatrice humaine posée au milieu de la nature. Mais elle n’est qu’un passage, un trait d’union obligé.

Cette route permet de franchir l’autoroute A36, que vous retrouverez demain sur le parcours. Ici, le contraste est brutal : la rumeur incessante des moteurs rompt la paix du chemin. Pourtant, de ce tumulte mécanique, le pèlerin ne retient qu’un écho lointain, comme un rappel de la modernité dont il s’est volontairement éloigné. Le pont devient alors un seuil : derrière soi, le monde affairé ; devant, la montée vers le sacré.

Vous êtes au lieudit Le Pont Vert. De là, certains pèlerins peuvent céder à la tentation de gagner directement Sampans, évitant ainsi l’ascension du Mont Roland. Mais c’est se priver d’une étape essentielle, c’est tourner le dos à une expérience intérieure. Escamoter le Mont Roland, c’est renoncer à la rencontre. Pourtant, il en est toujours qui préfèrent raccourcir le temps, comme si le chemin n’était qu’un obstacle. Pour d’autres, au contraire, la lenteur est l’essence même du pèlerinage.

La terre battue reprend alors ses droits. Le goudron s’efface, et le large chemin reprend sa montée raisonnable vers les hauteurs, bordé de haies épaisses où s’entrelacent les feuillus. La marche retrouve son naturel, son rythme ancien.

Vous voici parvenu au Carrefour de Jouhe. À seulement 1,4 km du Mont Roland, l’étape finale se fait pressentir, comme un sommet attendu derrière la dernière colline.

Le parcours s’enfonce alors dans un sentier étroit qui replonge dans le bois. La lumière baisse, l’espace se resserre, et la marche se fait plus intime. C’est comme si le pèlerin devait franchir un ultime couloir de verdure avant d’atteindre la clarté.

Ici, rien d’inédit, et pourtant tout demeure accueillant : les hêtres, innombrables, dressent leurs troncs droits comme des colonnes ; les charmes étendent leurs ramures serrées ; quelques jeunes chênes, obstinés, pointent vers la lumière. Des érables complètent cette architecture vivante. Le sous-bois respire une familiarité apaisante, mais jamais monotone.

C’est toujours la même forêt, à la fois douce et mystérieuse, comme une compagne fidèle. L’ascension n’a rien de pénible : elle se vit comme une promenade intérieure, un cheminement de l’âme autant que du corps.

Plus haut, le sentier atteint le Carrefour de Saint-Jacques. Le nom seul est une promesse, un signe. À 700 mètres seulement du sanctuaire, le pèlerin sait qu’il touche à l’accomplissement du jour.

Encore un détour dans le sous-bois, au long des broussailles serrées, comme si la forêt voulait retenir le marcheur avant de le laisser partir. Puis soudain, l’espace s’ouvre : le sentier débouche sur un large chemin, dans une clairière où la lumière explose. Le Mont Roland est là, presque à portée de main.

Alors les efforts de la journée se dissipent, balayés par la joie de l’approche. Le chemin, apaisé, contourne les arbres. Sur le bas-côté, une Vierge Noire accueille le pèlerin. Drapée dans ses habits de bois sombre, elle veille, discrète et émouvante. Ses traits semblent taillés pour dire la fidélité et la patience, comme si elle portait depuis toujours les prières de ceux qui passent.

La promenade fait le tour du mur d’enceinte du monastère.

Le monastère est situé sur une grande place près d’un grand parc. Il y règne une atmosphère pleine de spiritualité, car l’endroit est un grand site de pèlerinage.

Une chapelle aurait d’abord été fondée au IVe siècle par St Martin, puis un monastère au VIIIe siècle par Roland, neveu de Charlemagne, d’où le nom Mont-Roland.  Mentionné officiellement en 1089 dans une bulle papale, il était rattaché au prieuré de Jouhe. Pillé au XIVe siècle, il fut reconstruit et la chapelle devint une église. Plus tard, les jésuites et les bénédictins s’y installèrent. A la révolution, les bénédictins furent chassés et l’église devint un bien national.  Les pierres furent vendues. Le sanctuaire renaquit en 1843 par son rachat par les jésuites. La construction dura tout un siècle. Au début du XXe siècle, faute de moyens, les jésuites furent expulsés de la région. Mais par aide financière, ils purent revenir jusqu’en 1961.  Au départ des Jésuites, l’administration du sanctuaire de Notre-Dame de Mont-Roland revient au diocèse de St Claude.

Le sanctuaire de Mont-Roland se compose de l’église dédiée à Notre-Dame (1851–1870), où se déroulent, outre les offices des pèlerinages, de plusieurs hébergements et l’hôtellerie, pour accueillir les pèlerins itinérants ou les pèlerinages.

Au bout du long préau, un magnifique hôtel, très fréquenté permet de trouver le repos mérité après une si longue étape.

Logements officiels sur le parcours de la Suisse et l’Allemagne à Cluny /Le Puy-en-Velay

 

• Gîte Aubriot, 8 Rue du Puits, Offlanges ; 03 84 70 25 64 ; Gîte
• De Pierre et de Lumière, 5 Rue de la Platière, Jouhe ; 06 31 10 93 79 ; Gîte et chambre d’hôte
• Hôtel Restaurant Le Chalet, Mont-Roland; 03 84 72 04 55 ; Hôtel

Accueils jacquaires (voir introduction)

• Thervay (1)
• Brans (1)
• Mont Roland (1)

 

Airbnb

• Thervay 2)
• Offlanges (1)
• Moissey (3)
• Jouhe (1)

Chaque année, le chemin évolue. Certains hébergements disparaissent, d’autres apparaissent. Il est donc impossible d’en dresser une liste définitive. Celle-ci ne comprend que les logements situés sur l’itinéraire ou à moins d’un kilomètre. Pour des informations plus détaillées, le guide Chemins de Compostelle en Rhône-Alpes, publié par l’Association des Amis de Compostelle, reste la référence. On y trouve aussi les adresses utiles des bars, restaurants et boulangeries qui jalonnent le parcours. Dans cette étape, il ne devrait pas y avoir de grands problèmes pour se loger. Il faut le dire : la région n’est pas touristique. Elle offre d’autres richesses, mais pas l’abondance des infrastructures. Aujourd’hui, airbnb est devenu une nouvelle référence touristique, que nous ne pouvons ignorer. C’est devenu la source la plus importante de logements dans toutes les régions, même les régions touristiques peu favorisées. Comme vous le savez, les adresses ne sont pas disponibles directement. Il est toujours vivement conseillé de réserver à l’avance. Un lit trouvé au dernier moment est parfois un coup de chance ; mieux vaut ne pas s’y fier tous les jours. Renseignez-vous, lors de vos réservations des possibilités de repas ou de petit déjeuner.

N’hésitez pas à ajouter des commentaires. C’est souvent ainsi que l’on monte dans la hiérarchie de Google, et que de plus nombreux pèlerins auront accès au site.

	Etape suivante : Etape 12: Mont Roland à St Jean-de-Losne

 

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