Alain Robert started his Christmas morning at the foot of the world’s highest tower, not next to a tree. He reached for the first handhold of Taipei 101, a building that was not yet accessible to the public, around 6:45 a.m. while Taipei’s streets were still remarkably quiet.
It had already begun to rain.
Even little rain would be a strong argument to reschedule for the majority of climbers. However, perseverance, not convenience, has always molded Robert’s profession. Frequently without authorization, he had ascended the Empire State Building and the Eiffel Tower. Taipei 101, however, presented a unique obstacle. The construction was still incomplete, covered in scaffolding and subject to erratic wind shear.
One requirement was immediately imposed by officials: he had to wear a safety harness. They grudgingly agreed to the deal. Robert’s natural rhythm was upset, even though it may have made the ascent safer. Wearing a harness created drag and mental friction that no seasoned soloist enjoys, especially when it’s raining.
The extra weight didn’t stop Robert from climbing.
He didn’t rise quickly or spectacularly. It was very consistent and well-considered. He moved with the poise of an engineer and the serenity of a poet. In addition to muscle memory, a kind of subdued veneration for the structure underneath him influenced every grasp and step.
The wind began to pick up about halfway through.
| Detail | Information |
|---|---|
| Name | Alain Robert |
| Nickname | “The French Spider-Man” |
| Date of Taipei 101 Climb | December 25, 2004 |
| Building Height | 508 meters (1,667 feet) |
| Duration of Climb | ~4 hours |
| Conditions | Rainy, slippery, harnessed by police requirement |
| Outcome | Successfully reached the top |
| Credible Source | https://edition.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/asiapcf/12/25/taipei.climb/ |
Rain had made the already slippery glass façade much more dangerous. But Robert rarely looked down as he continued to rise. He had complete focus. Below, a crowd had started to gather. They stood with their umbrellas angled and their phones aimed at the sky; the operators of the 2004 phones persevered with just as much vigor as those of today.
Later, when I was viewing news video on a desktop computer in my kitchen, I noticed how quiet the rise seemed. There was only the picture of a lone climber negotiating damp metal and murky air—no overlayed visuals or viral tunes. It seems more like a ceremony than a stunt.
It took slightly under four hours to climb.
That particular detail hardly captures the difficulty of such a task. Few people have the physiological balance needed to hang on to a vertical surface for hours in the face of wind, rain, and mental exhaustion. Robert’s physical and mental stamina were extremely useful in turning a mechanical act into something that resembled art.
Construction workers had stopped work by the time he arrived at the summit. Some peered out from balconies of scaffolding to watch his approach. Their facial expressions were a mixture of admiration and perplexity. Robert did not yell or gesture. With his arms at his sides and his breathing evident in the crisp morning air, he stood close to the summit.
This led to his arrest.
This was not at all unusual. Robert has been incarcerated several times over his career. His climbs are considered unapproved public hazards in numerous places. Officials in Taipei, however, gave a subdued response. Maybe they realized that what had just happened was an homage rather than a sign of lawlessness. A homage to a building that Robert’s ascent had already humanized before it was formally inaugurated.
It was during a New Year’s party with fireworks that Taipei 101 formally opened a few days later. It was the tallest building ever built for a short time. Yet already a rainstorm and a barefoot climber had subtly molded its history.
This was not well publicized, in contrast to many modern antics. No funders. Ads don’t pre-roll. No sponsored videos or live broadcasts. The motivation was especially appealing since it was personal. Nothing was being sold by Robert. He had something to say.
Vital and viral differ greatly from one another.
Urban climbing has drawn thrill-seekers seeking algorithmic validation in recent years. Alain Roberts’ approach, however, is still very distinct. His worldview emphasizes dialogue—between danger and ritual, between body and structure—rather than dominance.
He is reminiscent of Alex Honnold, whose daring solo ascent of El Capitan garnered media attention due to its stark beauty and accuracy. Although their courage is remarkably comparable, their styles differ in tone. Honnold trains painstakingly for routes that can be repeated. Unplanned settings that Robert must deal with include corporate security teams, reflective surfaces, and swaying cranes.
Robert welcomes uncertainty, but Honnold shies away from it.
Looking back, the climb on Christmas morning seems even more significant. It wasn’t a single act of defiance. It demonstrated how individual willpower, when used with respect, may change our perceptions of structures, laws, and even the weather.
Robert’s ascent of Taipei 101 has been forgotten by many throughout the years. The building’s height has long since been surpassed. But for those who recall, the picture of a guy mounting it under gloomy skies—without a safety net or applause track—remains vivid.
Here’s a subtle lesson: not all records are meant to be televised. Some accomplishments—especially the bold ones—resonate more deeply because they were accomplished alone.
Robert created an exceptionally uncommon impact by climbing the tower in the rain while exercising control and grace rather than loudness.
In contrast to height, elegance is difficult to quantify.
