“Silenci!” The chattering crowd hushes. A tight circle quickly forms, arms interlocked. More people crush into the circle, four or five people deep, then several men and women quickly climb on their shoulders, arms again outstretched and interlocked. Yet more people clamber upwards, more circles form and before my eyes a human tower, or castell, emerges. It is now five people high. The castelleros on the second layer are shaking as they bear the weight above them. Their brows are furrowed, sweat drips down their faces, concentrating intensely. I look up, the tower is now six people high. Two small children are now scampering upwards, my heart is in my mouth. They reach the top, raise their hands, cry 'fer l'aleta', then scurry downwards and the tower is carefully dismantled. I am in Tarragona, Spain, watching rehearsals for a local castellero team. I am here with my mother and her cousin Janet on a very personal mission. My great-great-grandfather, Joseph Soler, came to New Zealand in the 1860s from Constantí, a small village outside of Tarragona. As well as exploring our local history, Janet’s father, the grandson of our Spanish ancestor, had requested his ashes be scattered in Spain. We’ve met a local family, distant relatives, who have generously welcomed us into their home. Tonight is their weekly castellero rehearsal and they invite us to watch. Building castells is an incredible feat, requiring teamwork, strength and balance. I am shocked to discover that towers go as high as nine levels, only the height of the rehearsal building restricts weekly training to six levels. Already hooked, I am eager to discover more about the city and the Catalan culture of my forebears. Founded in the 5th century BC, Tarragona boasts numerous ruins dating back to its time as the capital of the Roman Empire. The Ampitheatre is the jewel in the crown, perched between the city and the sea, once accommodating up to 15,000 people. Nearby, the Roman Circus is beautifully preserved, and my imagination conjures visions of ancient chariot races. I close my eyes and I can almost hear the roar of the crowd. I fall in love with the old city walls, its brightly coloured bougainvillea and stunning views. The knowledge I’m walking in Joseph Soler’s footsteps thrills me. Soon it’s time to join our hosts, Remei and Josep-Maria. As a choir-member, Remei is eager to show off the Tarragona Cathedral. She is justly proud of the magnificent 12th century structure, with its towering nave and dazzling altar, but it is when Remei shares her family’s personal stories that it comes alive. We stop at the chapel where her son, Jordi, was married. She had sung Ave Maria on their wedding day, and to our delight, bursts into song, music filling the chapel. Our hosts surprise us again. In honour of Joseph Soler, one of New Zealand’s first commercial wine makers, they have organised a visit to Priorat, one of only two wine-growing regions in Spain to qualify as DOCa, the highest qualification level under Spanish regulations. At a prestigious local winery, Alvaro Palacios, near the village of Gratallops, we are honoured with a personal tour by one of the wine-makers. He takes us to the vineyard where they grow their premium flagship label, L’Ermita. The grapes grow on perilously steep schist slopes requiring donkeys instead of tractors, and we listen attentively as he tells us about the soil, the weather, the grapes, and their organic practices. We finish with a tasting and I am converted to Priorat wine! Our final stop is not on any tourist’s list. We visit what was once the Soler’s family home, now a deserted and over-grown stone structure in a field on the outskirts of Constantí. We come to the real purpose of this trip, scattering the ashes. Janet asks Remei to sing a hymn. We stand in silence with heads bowed, as Remei’s beautiful voice dips and soars around us, while the ashes flutter briefly in the breeze then settle lightly on the earth. A circle has been completed, our Catalan history is rediscovered. A memorable visit has sparked a thirst to discover more. We depart reluctantly, vowing to return.