“We Hadn’t Even Thought of a Climbing Gym”: How a Basque Village Brought Climbing and Local Traditions Together
A small village in the French Basque Country set out to bring its pelota court back to the center of community life. With help from a group of local mountain enthusiasts, the project grew to include a community-run climbing gym with 24 anchors for roped climbing. And at the heart of it all is Euskara, the Basque language. A report from Itxassou.
Like a metronome. Inside this climbing gym in the French Basque Country, a steady thump comes through the wall opposite the climbing routes. The rhythm is so regular that most climbers barely notice it. But between climbs, it's hard to ignore. The sound tells the story of an unlikely partnership. Two sports have found a home under the same roof. One is played across a court at a frantic pace. The other takes place on a vertical wall, with slower, more deliberate movements. Both demand skill with the hands, but until recently, their worlds rarely crossed paths. That steady beat, punctuated by the occasional rush of air, comes from a Basque pelota game. The sound of a ball striking a wall now carries through a roped climbing gym.
A Basque Bounce-Back
In this corner of the Basque Country, pelota and climbing have come together in a project that also helps preserve and promote the Basque language. Everyone involved seems delighted with how it's turned out. "What we've created together in the heart of our village has exceeded our expectations," says Mizel Setoain, a member of the Itxassou town council and deputy mayor responsible for roads and the budget. The village is known as Itsasu in Basque. When the project began, the town council knew next to nothing about climbing, especially indoor climbing. That's somewhat surprising given the area's reputation among outdoor climbers. Just southwest of the village, Mount Mondarrain rises to 2,457 feet (749 meters), with some 150 climbing routes and more than 200 boulder problems.
About a 30-minute drive from Biarritz, Itxassou is home to roughly 2,200 people and an impressive number of sporting champions. Generation after generation, the village has produced athletes who have earned the respect of their peers. And they've certainly put their hands to good use. They just weren't climbing walls. They were hitting balls against them.
For decades, Itxassou has produced outstanding pelotaris, as Basque pelota players are known. It's hardly surprising. Around here, pelota is practically the national sport. For a long time, it was about the only sport in town. Children grow up playing it against frontons, the distinctive pink walls with rounded tops that dot the landscape, or inside trinquets, traditional indoor pelota courts housed in large, white buildings marked by broad green, red, or brown bands.
"We wanted an open place where people could meet and different generations could spend time together. We knew there would be a bar and a restaurant. We also wanted it to be somewhere people could speak Basque. But beyond that, we didn't really know what to do with it"
Mizel Setoain, Itxassou City Council Member
Today, pelota is thriving in Itxassou again. The village's 300-seat trinquet, which spent years at the center of a drawn-out saga, is once more full of life. The building had gradually fallen into disrepair before closing altogether. Then the town council launched an ambitious community project to bring it back, working with a local group to add a climbing gym. The idea caught plenty of people off guard. Indoor climbing had virtually no presence in the area. It was a climbing-gym dead zone, much like a place without cellphone reception. The French Mountaineering and Climbing Federation (FFME) classified the area as underserved.
Perhaps the most surprised people were the ones who had started the whole project: the town council elected in 2020. Their campaign platform included a familiar ambition, but with a new approach. If elected, they would purchase the privately owned trinquet from the sons of its founder, Mr. Neys, and turn it into a place for more than just pelota. Neys had built the Itxassou trinquet in 1961 and named it Balaki, meaning "If he knew" in Basque. According to local legend, the name was a jab at the village priest, who had built his own wall to keep his parishioners under his control. But whatever Neys really meant by it, he took the secret to his grave.
For decades, generations of local children had passed through Balaki, along with their parents, friends, and relatives. Yet the building had never been able to host official competitions because it failed to meet the standards set by the French Basque Pelota Federation. Poor maintenance eventually took its toll, and Balaki closed in the mid-2010s. The previous town council considered buying it, but negotiations went nowhere. When the new council took office, Mizel Setoain and his colleagues reopened talks. This time, the purchase went through. "We wanted to restore it for pelota," Setoain recalls. "We wanted an open place where people could meet and different generations could spend time together. We knew there would be a bar and a restaurant. We also wanted it to be somewhere people could speak Basque. But beyond that, we didn't really know what to do with it."
Creating a place where the Basque language could flourish might seem like a minor detail. It isn't. France has a long history of marginalizing its regional languages. In the Basque Country, Euskara is central to local identity. The Basque name for the Basque Country is Euskal Herria. Literally, it means "the land where Basque is spoken." That says it all.
A Glass Roof and a Big Idea
To figure out what to do with Balaki, the town council launched a broad public consultation. Residents were free to propose whatever they wanted. Some imagined a glass-roofed bar above the cancha, the pelota playing area inside the trinquet. Others suggested a yoga studio or weight room. Ideas came from every direction. Then Arroka entered the picture. The association, whose name means "rock" in Basque, began as a small group of mountain enthusiasts who regularly crossed paths on hiking trails, mountain bike rides, ski outings, canyoning trips, and, for some, climbing days at the crag.
"We're not hardcore climbers, but we wanted a climbing gym that could also introduce people to the mountains, which are really our passion," explains Ximun Zubieta, cofounder and treasurer of the association, established in 2021. "The indoor gym would be a gateway to the outdoors"
Ximun Zubieta, co-founder of Arroka.
Among them were mountain hiking guides, former ski patrollers, and physical education teachers. More than anything, they were people who loved the mountains. Climbing was part of that world, even if it wasn't their main passion. Behind the trinquet stood a large exterior wall, with some open space between it and the property line. Why not turn that wall into somewhere people could climb? "We're not hardcore climbers, but we wanted a climbing gym that could also introduce people to the mountains, which are really our passion," explains Ximun Zubieta, cofounder and treasurer of the association, established in 2021. "The indoor gym would be a gateway to the outdoors." But they weren't about to rush into it without a plan. The Basque Country has a dense network of community organizations. Local residents are deeply involved in clubs, associations, advocacy groups, and volunteer work.
"How could we make climbing accessible, and who would it be for?" Zubieta recalls asking. "We didn't know much about indoor climbing, but we knew how to organize." Arroka launched a public survey. Within 10 days, 500 people had responded positively. The association then consulted Itxassou's three elementary schools and contacted the FFME, which immediately expressed strong interest in Balaki. The project fit neatly into the federation's development strategy. As Jean-Baptiste Goemare, a technical official with the FFME, puts it, the goal is to "reduce inequalities in access to climbing." Arroka had identified a clear shortage of facilities in the Basque Country. "There's The Roof in Bayonne, a private bouldering gym, and another roped climbing gym that's completely overcrowded," Zubieta explains. "Five clubs share it, and each gets one evening a week. Otherwise, you have to drive to Oloron-Sainte-Marie, more than an hour away." The group put together a proposal and requested a formal meeting with the town council.
"It was the only really substantial proposal we received," Setoain remembers. "We have to admit, a climbing gym hadn't even crossed our minds. And we were incredibly naive about what it would take. We thought you could just put some holds on the wall, build a little roof to keep the rain off, and that would do it. All for next to nothing! We quickly realized we had no idea what we were getting into." To help the council understand indoor climbing, Arroka took its members on a tour of local gyms. "We took them to see gyms so they'd get interested and we could win them over," says Zubieta. "We made the rounds. And we were pretty strategic about visiting when school groups were there. We figured seeing the kids might soften them up! The project needed a social purpose. We wanted to show how much it could help local people have fun, grow, and discover something new."
Every major decision was discussed with the association's members. That commitment to collective decision-making remained central as the project moved forward. "From the beginning, we wanted a facility that would be recognized at the departmental level, not some tiny wall," Zubieta says. "If experienced climbers can climb every route in one evening, they won't come back." The group also had a lot to learn along the way. "We didn't even know we'd have to choose the colors of the walls," the treasurer admits. Another decision made collectively was to hide the route grades, the difficulty ratings climbers use to measure their progress. The idea was to keep people from becoming obsessed with numbers.
The Numbers Behind the Dream
Still, a few numbers help explain just how successful the project has become. Four years after the partnership with the town council began, Balaki has 24 climbing anchors, 65 routes ranging from roughly 5.6 to 5.13b (French grades 4a to 8a), a 13-foot overhang, and 3,025 square feet of climbable wall space. Eight different routesetters design and install the climbs.
The gym operates 10 months a year, seven days a week, for a total of 29 hours weekly. Arroka now has 230 members, including 70 students enrolled in its climbing school and 160 annual subscribers. Since the beginning of the year, Balaki has recorded more than 1,800 single-session visits. Altogether, more than 1,000 different people have climbed there since it opened just over a year ago. And the prices are hard to beat. Membership in Arroka costs €10. An unlimited annual climbing pass is €110, while an FFME federation license costs €83. A single session is €10. There are also discounted rates for Itxassou residents, students, and job seekers.
"Before, pelota was pretty much the only sport you could play in the village," he explains. "So we were really happy when the climbing gym opened. My daughter took to it immediately. She wouldn't necessarily have gotten interested in pelota. That's why I wanted to learn to climb, so I could do it with her"
Andoni Setoain, pelotari and new climber.
The 70 climbing school students train under Paul Bailleux, a state-certified outdoor climbing instructor. The school offers 10 hours of classes each week throughout the year, plus another two hours dedicated to beginners who want to develop the skills to climb independently. "Ninety percent of the kids and teenagers were complete beginners a year ago," Bailleux says. "Now they're lead climbing," meaning they're clipping the rope into protection as they make their way up the wall. "It's incredibly rewarding."
Among the people who have learned to climb at Balaki is a former pelota champion whose story captures what the whole project is about: Andoni Setoain. He has known the trinquet his entire life. When it reopened, he felt the familiar excitement return. And like many others, he was curious about climbing. Demand was so high that he had to wait several months before he could get into a class. These days, climbing takes up a little of his free time, an hour or two here and there. Pelota, meanwhile, has become a regular part of his week again, with two to three hours of play. But it's his oldest daughter, age 9, who has really taken to climbing. "Before, pelota was pretty much the only sport you could play in the village," he explains. "So we were really happy when the climbing gym opened. My daughter took to it immediately. She wouldn't necessarily have gotten interested in pelota. That's why I wanted to learn to climb, so I could do it with her."
The pelota players and climbers have found common ground in their love of sport. They also share a commitment to preserving the Basque language, without excluding people who don't speak it. "It's become a safe haven for our language," Zubieta says, visibly pleased. "For people who don't speak Basque, we use climbing vocabulary to teach them some words, then simple things like hello, thank you, and goodbye." As the day's climbers arrive, Basque fills the room. Idoia, Mikela, Oihan, and others greet one another and chat in their language.
"And now I can climb in winter, too," Idoia adds. Oihan, one of the people responsible for running climbing sessions, emphasizes the importance of the association's volunteer-run, collectively managed model. "Here, you're not just paying for an activity and doing your own thing," he says. "A lot of us put in the work to make sure as many people as possible get the chance to climb." Jean-Baptiste Goemare of the FFME also appreciates how the project brings people with different interests together around a shared cultural mission. And he's pleased with the broader growth of climbing in the area. "We've passed 2,100 federation members in Pyrénées-Atlantiques!" he says.
The next chapter will take place in the mountains. For now, the goal is to keep members coming back and gradually introduce them to outdoor climbing. That ambition is already written on the wall of the trinquet: Arrokan Gora Ametsen Bila. "Climb the peaks to reach your dreams." And perhaps, someday, that same steady rhythm of pelota will find its way into the mountains, carrying with it the sense of community that brought these two sports together.
