From Għar Lapsi to the Roof of South America: Maltese Climber Rebecca Camilleri Takes on Aconcagua

Valletta-born physiotherapist Rebecca Camilleri has spent the last decade patching up rock-climbing injuries at the national sports pavilion in Cottonera, but in three weeks’ time she will be the one needing ice-packs and altitude meds. The 34-year-old mother of twin girls is flying to Argentina to attempt Aconcagua—at 6,961 m the tallest peak outside Asia—and, if successful, will become the first Maltese woman to stand on South America’s rooftop.

“I still pinch myself when I pack the harness next to theħobż biż-żejt,” Camilleri laughs, zipping a duffel that smells more of ġbejniet than Goretex. “But someone has to plant the Maltese flag up there, and it might as well be a girl who learned to climb on the limestone above Għar Lapsi.”

Local climbers say that scrap of coastline—where farmers once lowered goats by rope to graze on cliff-side ledges—has become the unlikely incubator for Malta’s most ambitious alpinists. The island’s highest “mountain” is literally a hillock the size of the Upper Barrakka Gardens; vertical gain is measured in metres, not kilometres. Yet every weekend, chalk-dusted youngsters rehearse crevasse rescues between the cacti, dreaming of bigger stone.

“Rebecca’s Aconcagua push is our collective ticket to the big leagues,” explains Simon Mercieca, president of the Malta Climbing Club, whose membership has doubled to 380 since the pandemic. “If she summits, SportMalta has already pledged €10,000 for a national winter-training wall—finally giving kids a place to practice with crampons instead of just YouTube.”

The expedition is also a soft-power coup for a country whose idea of altitude is the lift to the 15th floor of the Mercury Tower. When news broke on TVM, the Education Ministry added Camilleri’s satellite-tracked ascent to the Year 6 geography syllabus; classrooms are plotting her daily elevation like a live volcano. “Students who couldn’t point to Argentina on a map are now debating wind-chill algorithms,” says St Aloysius science teacher Daniel Xuereb. “That’s soft power you can’t buy with LNG money.”

Culturally, the timing is potent. February marks the festa of St Paul’s Shipwreck, the island’s oldest pilgrimage, when Valletta’s streets swell with confetti and brass bands. Camilleri’s father, a retired banda tuba player, jokes that his daughter is simply swapping the statue of St Paul for a summit cross. “Same faith, different altitude,” he shrugs, polishing the brass mouthpiece he plans to hang on her backpack for luck.

But the mission carries a deeper resonance: Malta’s women are increasingly the ones pushing physical frontiers. Last year, Dorianne Micallef became the first local female Ironman pro; now Camilleri is eyeing the Andes. “We’re stuck with this Mediterranean stereotype of nanna stirring rabbit stew,” Camilleri says. “I want my daughters to know the biggest thing they can stir is the world.”

The community has responded with typical island fervour. Pastizzi sales at Sliema café “Cafe du Climb”—which live-streams her training sessions—have spiked 40%. Owner Marlene Pace offers a “Rebecca Special” (pea-pastizzi plus electrolyte coffee) and displays a world map where patrons pin messages that will be photo-shopped into a giant flag she’ll carry to base camp. Even the archbishop weighed in, blessing her crampons after Sunday mass and quipping, “May your rope be as strong as our faith, and your excuses weaker than Maltese bread.”

Yet the stakes are real. Aconcagua kills roughly three climbers a year, mostly from altitude sickness or unpredictable Pacific storms. Camilleri’s physiotherapy background helps—she can self-treat pulmonary oedema—but she still needs €8,500 in unpaid expenses. Crowdfunding hit 70% after a marathon abseil fundraiser down the Mdina bastions, where donors sponsored every vertical metre. Local brewery “Lord Chambray” released a limited-edition IPA whose label shows the Maltese cross over snow-capped peaks; proceeds go toward avalanche safety kits.

If the mountain gods allow, Camilleri will top out around 12 February, weather permitting. She plans to unfurl not one but two flags: the Maltese cross and a second stitched by inmates at Corradino Correctional Facility reading “Mill-Imħabba, Għal Qiegħ” (From the Depths, With Love). “It’s cheesy,” she admits, “but so is festa confetti, and that still makes grown men cry.”

Whether or not she makes the summit, her boots are already leaving prints on Malta’s imagination—proof that an island with no mountains can still produce sky-high dreams.