30/09/25 Habitat – Ti cerco dentro la montagna
Concert into the cave
sung story by
Arthur Chambry
Chiara Prodi
With the support and knowledge of Gruppo Speleologico Piemontese, Torino
INTRO:
I don’t really know where this whole story began, I couldn’t say where the origin is… It may well be that a couple of years ago, or maybe five or six, I started…
Or even many years before, before I was born.
I couldn’t say exactly where or how either.
The fact is that the first time I entered the cave, I felt a recall, like an echo, that was inside me and also inside the cave, at a point halfway… but then even saying halfway isn’t accurate, because rather than a point halfway, it’s a point in both ways, a multiple point… Where our two bodies meet.
And then it happened that I went to Turin to visit my friend Lorenzo, and it happened that Lorenzo lives with Lazzaro, and that’s how I met Lazzaro.
And it happened that Lazzaro is a speleologist, and we talked for a long time.
And so Lazzaro invited us to return to the cave together.
He was sure about it.
And so, we returned.
It was me and Arthur, with his voice and his music, together with a group of forty cavers, in a large dripping hall, the Sala Besson, 600 meters below ground. On August 17, 2025, in Piaggia Bella, on the Marguareis complex.
And we weren’t alone, we were a multitude.
-----
It’s 8 a.m. and we’re getting ready to leave. We put the last few things in our backpacks and head to the village to catch the bus.
We have a long journey ahead of us, of buses, trains, cars, and foot.
We’re carrying two large backpacks and Arthur’s blue heavy suitcase, which is full of sort-of trumpets.
We arrive in Turin at 5 p.m. It is very hot, and we wait for Alessio in the shade of a tree at the station.
Alessio arrives wearing a yellow speleologist shirt with “PIEMONTE PIEGROTTE” written on it. We smile.
We load all our luggage into a rusty Suzuki Jimny, which will be our ironed Aquilante for the next five hours.
There, on the street in Turin, it is easy to perceive that we have a purpose, that we are adventurers.
We set off. We have a silent urge to leave the city behind.
The hot Suzuki roars and bounces along the landscape, with a timid sunset behind the mist.
Then we suddenly find ourselves in the mountains.
We reach a place called Limone Piemonte, which is only one of a list of curious names.
The more we go up, the more Alessio lights up, like a fire. He tells us anecdotes and geological and naturalistic facts linked to the landscape.
And here, everything is about the landscape.
He recognizes the outlines of the mountains and orients himself with the lines of the horizon.
We stop at a small dirt bend.
We are facing the Indian. A very accurate profile of a sleeping Indian. A giant rock.
A cloud of smoke comes out of his mouth. Alessio lights a dirty cigarette. We eat blueberries and even if we don’t say it, this is our way of greeting the Indian, and paying him homage for which I don’t have the right words.
Night falls slowly and we drive along a very long dirt road in our Suzuki, that has only one headlight on.
We arrive at the refuge as night falls and the stars come out.
In silence, we prepare our backpacks, which incredibly fill up again and again.
Loaded like mules, we start walking.
Our pace is slow because of the backpacks. Alessio leads the way, Arthur is in the middle, and I bring up the rear, keeping my eyes on the backpack in front of me, to which we have attached tubes, pipes, trumpets, and flutes. We look funny.
We walk in silence, the red moon softens our fatigue.
We seem to be the only explorers in this harsh land, but we know that not far away, the cavers are waiting for us.
We arrive at the Capanna Saracco Volante at midnight and eat a vegetable soup with this unique group of pioneers and wine, who welcome us with smiles and warmth.
On the ceiling of the hut hangs a map that I cannot read.
The air is crisp, and we fall asleep talking.
We wake up with the first rays of sun, carefully following the double-digit prophecy.
We are surrounded by cows as white as ghosts, which, accompanied by the song of black crows, play a concert of bells for us.
-----
The hut is a remote outpost where cave explorers converge.
They gather there, at the top, to look at the mountain from the inside.
We reach the wooden table where everyone is gathered to eat biscuits.
Among the cookies and crumbs, the day ahead also reveals itself.
We put our desires and wishes on the breakfast table, so as to find companions.
A group forms: Lazzaro, Dario, Moretti, Arthur, and me.
The process of getting dressed is particularly meticulous and takes place in the center of the square, where expert eyes scan the thermal capacity of the clothing.
Before us there’s only mystery.
We are dressed like astronauts, with historic suits, helmets, lights, ropes, and backpacks.
I am so excited that I have to stay focused, seek silence, and calm my heartbeat.
We look out over the Voragine, which is exactly what it sounds like.
And there, in that funnel of stones, we enter.
We squeeze between the rocks where at first it seems impossible to pass, yet we, like water, always find a way.
Where I come from, the old people say that water always returns to where it has already passed.
Maybe this is what we are doing too.
Gabriele il Mago del Tramazzo, who is 96 years old, with eyes like rivers and feet like mountains, told me so.
And here, everything is about water.
We descend like drops, sliding and climbing down. Lazzaro, who is of another species, leads the way. He moves with his eight legs in the darkness on the wet rocks like a spider.
Inside the cave there is an elastic band, a giant slingshot.
It pulls me, pulls me deeper and deeper, to find out what’s next.
-----
The deeper we go into the cave, the more I feel like I’m entering another world, which is the same world, but different.
And maybe it’s trivial, but I feel like we’re crossing a threshold into the world of the dead.
As if the earth keeps in the darkness the secret of the disappearing.
And so here, sitting on this cold rock, in this black, liquid void that surrounds me, here I look for you.
I feel myself being pulled towards the unknown, towards you, and I strain my ears like a deer to hear your voice.
I don't hear anything.
Perhaps.
I hear
this concrete mound, in this torment of rocks.
In this place
close to the womb and to death
which is your home
perhaps
I hear
your lament or your song or your voice of ancient motherhood
together with the waters
your body is all in the air
and you are not alone, there is many of you.
You arrive blowing cold wind
and with the steps of insects
you crawl your wet bellies on the earth
gathered in a great parade of the abyss
where grandmothers lead the way with their white hair
braided like branches.
What sounds does your tongue make?
I can hear but I do not understand
you arrive with a precise call, like that of the shepherd with his flocks
with our feet we knock on the earth
with our hands we snap the air
and we wait to hear your otherworldly and grotesque voice
of those who inhabit
the damp lands.
And so here we are
in these upturned bowels
in this hollow space of the mountain
in this mountain
upside down
here we are with our ears straining to turn the worlds upside down
we are a small carnival,
an atavic carousel of dry land.
-----
The elastic pulls us in, until it turns and starts pulling us out, bringing us back outside. Into the world of colors and the scent of the meadow.
The white cows are still there, placidly guarding the entrance, beating a reassuring rhythm with their mouths full of grass.
When we come out, the world seems different, and perhaps it is.
Inside the cave, a spell is cast that I cannot describe in words.
Something to do with sacred and eternity.
Our eyes are new.
They see everything white, frozen and sparkling. Illuminated by an electric sky of thunder.
Our legs sinking into what appears to be snow, in this crystalline landscape that feels like we have landed on a star.
The lights of the hut are showing us the way forward.
We climb the mountain in great leaps, doing acrobatic pirouettes and even flying at times.
Partly because we are happy, and partly because inside the cave our bodies have learned the game from scorpions and bats, training muscles that were previously dormant and now, after millions of years, have awakened.
