Written by Eva Toschi

Photos by Federico Ravassard

It’s not very often that you arrive at a crag and meet a group of women who are by themselves, just with each other, for the sake of spending time together and climbing, sharing an experience that may not necessarily be better, yet is different. Why does this so rarely happen? What fears, constraints and expectations stop four, five or six women from organizing and setting off on a micro climbing adventure?

We’re here because we want to find out why, we want to experience it first hand – a hand full of splits and scratches, most likely.

 

 

We meet up on Friday evening in Arco. It seemed like the best place considering the road and the weather. There’s enough rock here to go around.

In our seats, we finally look each other in the face. We know each other. We get to know each other again. Time flies. Our glasses empty and the conversation flows like a river fit for bursting after a week’s rain. To be fair, we’ve actually been sending each other messages for a week and, while only some of us know each other, it’s clear that we’re all welcoming. Just like the earth is willing to be flooded after a long period of drought.


Little by little, we connect the dots. It's strange: it’s like meeting someone for the first time. Yet, at the same time, it’s like seeing an old childhood friend again.
- Hi. You’re Giulia, right? I met your sister a few summers ago.
- What are you up to?
- Where are we climbing tomorrow?

There’s no room for questions about climbing grades or comments about how the others look in our chats. If we talk about our bodies and sizes, it’s only to ask: can I lend you a pair of my shorts? They’d look great on you.

At the end of the evening, we still don’t know what route we’ll be climbing the next day. We leafed through the guidebook and turned down the corners of the pages with the most exciting routes. And then, we got on with getting to know each other. It feels like this is more important for a successful day of climbing.

 

 

Eva couldn’t sleep. Michela left her house before the sun was up to come and meet us. Giulia got up early, had a shower and put on some eyeliner. We’re ready to go climb a multi-pitch route. We've even chosen which one. From our approach to the division of the materials, it all seems so easy and natural. Even though we’re not friends, we know we’re about to become them. And that’s why our defenses are down and our smiles are wide. We’re practically strangers yet, at the same time, we’re like old childhood friends.

 

The sun warms our backs, our feet swell and we climb the wall. All amidst laughter, squeals of excitement, full-on banter, requests for support and rope, more rope please. We’re creating a space where each of us can bring out the best – and the worst – of ourselves. And it’s wonderful. And that’s one of the reasons why, when all is said and done, it’s so scary to do.

 

 

A WEEKEND AMONG STRANGERS AND OLD CHILDHOOD FRIENDS

by Eva Toschi

3.0 minute read

 

 

We reach the peak – which isn’t actually the peak, just up - and we waste time – which, in actuality, isn't wasted but invested – tearing off pieces of focaccia, redoing the ropes and tying up our hair with our greasy, earth-covered hands. We’re not in any hurry to get back to the world that awaits us below. A rope party of German men arrives a little after us and continues onwards immediately. Too rushed and too silent. We speak about how efficiency is inversely proportional to the emotion that you put into what you do. We are emotion. And that can be scary. It’s scary to show it to others in a world where emotion is synonymous with weakness. It’s scary to accept it. To accept ourselves.

 

 

In the world below, even though we’re no longer roped together, we’re united. We’re very different, yet we’re united by something we have experienced and by the promise of something to come. Mary comes to meet us and empty glasses of spritz start to pile up on the table. We’ve got ruddy cheeks and a desire to share. Climbing wasn’t enough. Isn’t enough. We speak a lot and we drink because our throats are parched and we’re dying of thirst. The more we speak, the more we drink, and the more the conversations turn serious, yet light in tone. All of our paranoias and insecurities come flying out of our mouths, before we even realize that we have them. By sharing, we exorcise them.

 

 

We talk about our prejudices and those of others when they see us climbing. What is expected of a female climber? What do we expect from ourselves when we tie the rope into our harness? What model do we inspire to? And what if all the constructs created around female climbing were nothing more than clothing that could theoretically fit every woman but, simply, aren't a good fit for us? We’re women, but first and foremost we are individuals. And every individual has their own quirks. For better or for worse, they’re the things that define us as people.

 

We talk, but we don't expect an answer to fall from the sky, especially not one that would satisfy us all.
In any case, it’s asking the questions that’s important.

 

 

It’s Sunday and it’s a perfect day after the night we had. We arrive at the crag together. Not only are we different people, but we are also very different from one another as climbers. Each of us has her own style, her own monsters, her own goals and her own reasons. Perhaps it’s precisely because we're able to recognize our differences that we’re able to understand each other.

 

We watch each other carefully while we let the rope run through our hands. We spur each other on and we’re able to put ourselves to the side for the others. We know how to wait. And even though there are many whys in the air, we now know that there are many of us who are asking ourselves the same question.

 

But in the end, you need to put yourself out there. You need to set off and spend a weekend with strangers and old childhood friends so that, sooner or later, you find the answers.
That day, a weekend like this, will no longer be such a rare occurrence.

 

 

It’s Sunday and it’s a perfect day after the night we had. We arrive at the crag together. Not only are we different people, but we are also very different from one another as climbers. Each of us has her own style, her own monsters, her own goals and her own reasons. Perhaps it’s precisely because we're able to recognize our differences that we’re able to understand each other.


We watch each other carefully while we let the rope run through our hands. We spur each other on and we’re able to put ourselves to the side for the others. We know how to wait.

And even though there are many whys in the air, we now know that there are many of us who are asking ourselves the same question.

 

But in the end, you need to put yourself out there. You need to set off and spend a weekend with strangers and old childhood friends so that, sooner or later, you find the answers.
That day, a weekend like this, will no longer be such a rare occurrence.