On September 20, 2025, I boarded the plane to Turkey from Milan Malpensa Airport with a backpack full of expectations and that familiar feeling that accompanies every new departure: a mix of focus, adrenaline, and the desire to face the unknown. The destination was one that had long called to me, silent but constant: Mount Ararat, the country's highest peak at 5,137 meters. A solitary giant on the border between Turkey, Armenia, and Iran, steeped in history, symbols, and age-old legends. It is not just any mountain, but a place that evokes biblical tales, unresolved conflicts, and strong identities. At the same time, it is an interesting mountaineering environment, with changing conditions and a morphology that requires attention, endurance, and planning. At my side was my partner Ivan Peri, with whom I have shared field projects, mountaineering ascents, and a solid relationship built on trust and a passion for the mountains for years. Together, we're developing a technical collaboration with AKU, an Italian company specializing in mountain and outdoor footwear, which supports our work as guides with products designed to offer performance, reliability, and protection even in extreme conditions. Ararat proved to be an ideal testing ground, from its rocky slopes to the snowy sections at high altitude. We can honestly say that the terrain challenged us at every step.

This journey was not only a physical ascent to the summit, but also an intense human experience, filled with unexpected encounters, genuine hospitality, shared efforts, and moments of silence. We went far beyond simply "reaching a summit," because mountains aren't climbed by legs alone, but by the ability to be transformed by what the mountain, silently, teaches us, and by the courage to humble ourselves before what is immeasurably greater than ourselves. After a layover in Istanbul, we landed at the small airport of Iğdır. A magnificent spectacle unfolded before us: majestic Mount Ararat, rising over 4,200 meters from the plain, solitary and imposing. It was our goal, and even from here it seemed incredible. As soon as we reached the baggage carousel, we were stopped by the police: we were the only Westerners, and without much explanation, they subjected us to a rather insistent interrogation. Eventually, they let us go, and with a little tension still hanging over us, we board the bus that, in about an hour, takes us to Doğubeyazıt, a town 30 km from the Iranian border. Here, we spend the night in a small hotel, trying to relax. The next morning, we meet our guide: to climb Ararat, you need a permit from the Turkish authorities and a local guide. We drive off-road to an altitude of 2,200 meters, where the trek begins.

Climbing on foot, we reach Camp 1, at 3,300 meters. The landscape is captivating, but unfortunately, we begin to notice trash scattered along the trail. Camp 2 will be even worse: it's the only real downside of this trip. While we wait for dinner, two Frenchmen and an American boy arrive, fresh from Camp 2. None of the three managed to reach the summit: the boy had altitude-related problems, the two Frenchmen suffered frostbite on their feet. Their stories give us pause. We check the weather forecast for the next few days: Saturday, the day we plan to summit, is expected to see strong winds, over 60 km/h. Ivan and I exchange glances. We immediately understand each other: "Shall we try tomorrow?" The climb would be challenging: 1,800 meters of elevation gain and over 1,000 meters of descent, all in one day and at these altitudes. But we decide to give it a try. Even the guide, despite some difficulty communicating, gives us the green light. In the evening, Camp 1 offers us a unique view: the moon shining below us in a surreal silence. By 7:00 PM, we're already in our sleeping bags, ready for the long day ahead.

At dawn, we load our gear onto the "white" horse that will carry it to Camp 2 (4,050 m) and begin our ascent. We pass Camp 2 without any problems, feeling good. We reach and pass the altitude of Mont Blanc (4,810 m): the wind and cold are starting to take their toll, but we grit our teeth. At 2:30 PM, we finally reach the summit of Ararat, at 5,137 meters. The emotion is indescribable. My thoughts immediately turn to the women back home, who supported me in this dream. The wind is blowing strongly, not giving us much time: we take a few photos and immediately begin the descent. On the way back, the guide begins to feel ill. We reach Camp 2, where there are now only three of us left: the season is ending and there is no one left on the climb. We struggle to eat something and at 5:30 PM, we are back in our sleeping bags. The night is very long: biting cold, strong winds, the tent on a slope, yet we're fine, no noticeable symptoms caused by the altitude. At dawn on Saturday, we await the white horse arriving from Camp 1, which will carry our gear to the base. During the descent, the guide's condition worsens, and once we reach Camp 1, he's forced to abandon the expedition. From that moment on, we're alone, with three young men breaking up camp and the porter on his usual white horse. We enjoy a restful afternoon, enveloped in the silence of the mountain. The weather changes constantly: it snows, then the sun comes out, then snows again, because the mountain is in the middle of nowhere and the weather changes quickly. Unexpectedly, the guys invite us to lunch with them: grilled chicken wings, well-spiced, accompanied by unleavened bread. It's the best meal of the trip. That evening, they bring us hot soup: if we'd had it the night before, at 4,000 meters, it would have been a luxury! Outside the tent, the boys' dog, a large Kangal, crouches. We think we'll finally sleep peacefully, but during the night the dog barks incessantly: the wolves are close by, and not even a gunshot can scare them away.

On Sunday morning, together with the porter and the white horse, we descend to an altitude of 2,200 meters, where the jeep awaits us for the return journey. While waiting for a ride, I notice the porter's boots: worn, almost destroyed, the ones he wore up to 4,000 meters. I offer him my boots; they fit perfectly! He looks at the AKUs on my feet, smiles, and hugs me. A small gesture, but I see genuine joy in his eyes. It's one of the most beautiful moments of the trip.
In the afternoon, we play tourist, visiting Ishak Pasha's palace, a splendid example of late-imperial Ottoman architecture, with Persian and Armenian influences. A place that tells centuries of history at the edge of the world. On Monday morning, with the landscapes of Ararat still in our eyes and the emotions of this adventure in our hearts, we retrace the journey in reverse: from Doğubeyazıt to Iğdır, then Istanbul, finally Milan. As the plane takes off, leaving the mountains behind us, I think back to every step, the rarefied silence of the high altitude, the wind that stung our faces at the summit, the knowing glances, the small gestures that gave this journey such profound meaning.

It wasn't just a climb, but an experience filled with encounters, unexpected events, hardships, and wonders. On Ararat, the legendary mountain of Noah's Ark, we left behind a little sweat, perhaps a little fear, but we take away so much more: the strength of climbing high, the value of sharing, and the essential beauty of simple things. We return home a little lighter, perhaps, but richer inside. And who knows... maybe the white horse will already be climbing again, silently, toward the sky of Camp 2, accompanied by its happy handler in AKUs.

For this trip I used:

- Flyrock GTX up to Dogubayazit 1600m: super comfortable, cushioning that made walking lighter.

- Rock DFS GTX up to Camp 2 (4050 m) and descent from Camp 1 to the base (then donated to the porter): exceptional grip, good protection and comfort, they were very versatile.

- Croda DFS GTX from Camp 2 to the summit and descent to Camp 1: excellent stability and grip, with the foot remaining warm even at altitude.

AKU Ambassador Sergio Pezzoli