A psychiatric hospital is never a safe place, neither for an old therapist nor for a group of patients obsessed with the idea of climbing, perhaps horizontally on the pavement. The building is more or less falling to pieces, as such places are often metaphorically presented in books and films in the areas of central Europe, poised between the past and the past perfect, apparently resistant to any modernization. It is not surprising, then, that the pschiatrist, in order to preserve his own pathologic order and that of the hospital he runs, diagnoses the compulsatory desire to climb as incurable and, with aggressive determination, discharges the patients who are prisoners of this desire. As often happens, the places and situations of madness are outside fences and gates. The former patients satisfy their whims on sanstone twoers, in the woods and in urban scenes. It is up to the spectator to decide whether this is really madness.