On a cool October morning in Milan, I piled into a rented Fiat Panda with two Swedish girls, Jenny and Victoria. A climbing friend, I’d met Jenny in Milan a few weeks back. Victoria flew in from Budapest that morning, and came straight from the airport. Cortina was our destination, for a 48 hour escape from the city. 

Our Fiat’s tiny engine labored under the stress of the mountain roads, as it crawled all the way to Cortina. We nicknamed it the ‘feisty chihuahua’ for it’s sputterous revving noises, but inability to pass anyone on the highway - all bark, no bite. We rolled through the mountain valleys, jaws agape, staring at the rolling hills covered in copper-colored leaves. Dolomiti monoliths towered over us, and stood guard over the valleys of changing leaves. 

In Cortina, we met with some friends Jenny knew from Milan. They were too kind, not only providing us lodging, but offering to cook us dinner, and show us around their local crags. After an aperitivo, we all stocked up on food and drinks and went back to our home for the night to cook and drink. Dinner turned into a mini party, and we drank late into the hours of the early morning. We played drunken midsommar games, and we gaped at the incredible display of stars, a mountain luxury not afforded to us city dwellers. At one point, the lights were cut and we danced by the lights of our headlamps. 

The next morning, I struggled to get moving. A splitting headache and several bouts of vomiting was the payment owed for the late night fun and drinks. I went to the nearby local cafe for a cappuccino, only to puke it back into the bushes outside. Most of our Italian hosts were incapacitated as well. Jenny and Victoria seemed to get the best of it, shrugging off the night with a few coffees.

Only Thomas, our ‘cook’ from the night before, was up for climbing. He met us in downtown Cortina, and after a quick discussion, we changed our original plan to climb at Cinque Torri, and instead went to Passo di Falzarego to climb the cliffs underneath the Lagazuoi mountain. 

Following a quick approach, we were at the crag. We set up shop beneath a towering, several-thousand-foot limestone monolith. Across the valley from us, the distinct Cinque Torri formation stood out above a sea of golden leaved trees. Fall was still holding out against winter, and despite the chilly temperatures, the south-facing crag basked in sunlight, keeping us warm.  

Thomas and I swapped leads on a few easy warm-up climbs. Jenny got her laps in, and we helped Victoria with climbing and belaying, it was her first time climbing. 

After a few laps on different cliffs and features, I started to feel much better. The cool autumn breeze and bask of the warm sun obliterated the last semblances of my hangover. Thomas and I exchanged a few leads on some interesting routes higher up on the cliff, mixing some steep juggy climbing with a half pitch of delicate slab. The climbing had a good mix of everything: steeps, slabs, jugs, etc. I even found a hand jam crack. 

After several hours, we tore into our packed sandwiches and rested for a bit. The sun wrapped behind some of the towering peaks of the Cortina valley, and it was starting to get cold. We only had time for a few more routes. Thomas pointed me to “an easy 6c” around the corner - far harder than anything I’d ever climbed, let alone led. Encouraged, by him and Jenny, I gave it a shot. 

Jenny belayed while I flailed upward. The first three or four bolts came easy. Bolts five and six required delicate moves on holds that seemed to disappear as I climbed. I lost track of the bolts after that. Each move became a struggle, every inch of vertical gained a battle. I slipped, whipped and fell. Hanging in my harness, I ripped my jacket off and screamed and shouted profanities so loud that the whole valley could hear me. The crux of the route sat between me and the last bolt and chains. Pulling, screaming, flailing - somehow, I pulled to the next bolt, clipped, then made a few hasty moves and climbed within arms-reach of the anchor. A few meters above my last clip, pumped, scared, and shaking, I threw my arm blindly towards the chains, hoping to find any textured bit of rock To hold onto. I slapped the chains, just as my feet slipped off their micro-sized button holds. Jenny caught me, I screamed and slammed into the wall, the first real whipper I’ve taken in a long time. My left side was bruised for the next few weeks. Pissed, hurt, and tired of getting my ass kicked, I tiptoed back up to my highpoint, and pull through the delicate, precise maneuvers, and finally found rescue jug near the anchor to hold onto while I clipped in. I let out a primal yell at the top, terrifying anyone else in the valley. 

After all her patience, Jenny gave it a shot on top rope. After a few falls, she pulled through the tricky middle section. Near the top, after a few more falls, we yelled and screamed animal noises at each other to get fired up, and she punched to the top after a few tries. Victoria and Thomas laughed at us and the noises we’d made trying to will each other up the route. It was a well established route already with a name, but I called the route the ‘Feisty Chihuahua’, in honor of our rental car, and a testament to the noises we’d made trying to pull our way up it. 

We left the valley that night. Thomas invited us to dinner before we departed, and we ate with him and our other Italian friends from the night before at a secret mountain hut. Their speciality was a regional beef dish, and we loaded our stomachs before hitting the road back to Milan. I had class at 9am the next morning, and Jenny had work. We left Cortina around 10pm, drove for a few hours, slept in the car at a gas station, then finished the drive to Milan as the sun rose. We made it back to the rental car agency by 8am, and said our goodbyes. I made my way back home, and collapsed into bed after dropping my climbing gear. No less than 2 minutes after I arrived,  my new skis and outerwear kit were delivered to my door. Exhausted, I somehow made it to school.