In Merrion Square Park, an open invite to build human towers

Liam Pewton surveys the circle of nine faces. Some are new, some familiar.

“So do you have experience in castells, already?” he says, to a woman in a red-and-white checked shirt.

Paula Carulla nods and offers a smile.  

“Yes! Which colle?” says Pewton, in a bright voice. Which team, or gang?

“In Barcelona,” says Carulla. The group collectively coo and ahh – then burst into laughs. 

The rain is steady. But they pile backpacks at the mossy base of a tree and break out into pairs. Winding waists into faixas – long black sashes with tassels – is a two-person job, after all.

Marta Lavado finds a space on the grass. 

She plants her feet firm and holds one end of the fabric and Carulla stretches it out, and leans into the other end, pulling it taut as she rolls it tight around the top of her white canvas trousers.

Jordi Asin bounces on the spot and slips off his shoes. 

He stuffs one sock in each, leaving his feet bare on the patchy grass and crinkly leaves – ready to take his place in the human towers.

The rise of human towers

Building castells, or human towers, is believed to have grown out of a Valencian folk dance at the turn of the 19th century, says Mariann Vaczi, an anthropologist and associate professor at the University of Nevada.

“Basically, a religious dance where people climbed, like just one person or maybe two, like a pillar kind of scenario,” she says. 

The dance travelled from there to Valls, in Catalonia, where they began to make it more complex and dropped the movement, says Vaczi, who authored the 2023 book Catalona’s Human Towers: Castells, Cultural Politics, and the Struggle toward the Heights. 

In recent decades, the popularity of the practice has swelled in Catalonia – and now, spread further afield. 

At the time of Spain’s transition from Francisco Franco’s dictatorial regime to democracy in 1975, there were only six teams, says Vaczi.

In 1980, there were 17 teams, and in 2009 there were 56. Today, more than 100 teams in Catalonia build about 15,000 human towers a year, Vaczi says. 

Now, there’s one in Dublin too. 

Castellers d'Éire

On Sunday, Pewton looked upwards at the sky above Merrion Square Park. It was luminous but gusty and grey.

“I think our Ireland team will be special because we will learn to train in the rain and the cold,” he said. 

The group has tried to find an inside space but without luck. 

Insurance in many spaces doesn’t allow activities above 1.5 metres, he says. That wouldn’t allow much of a tower.

Castellers d'Éire had its first meeting, outside, in May, says Pewton. 

His friend, Irene Gabara, dreamt it up, he says. She had always wanted to build castells but never had the chance. 

He had experience, he says. His parents had first signed him up to a colle – as the castell clubs are called – when he was eight years old in his hometown of Olot in northern Catalonia. 

So, he said he could help a bit with the Dublin team, Pewton says. “And somehow I have become a lot more involved.”

The group got support from Casal Català d'Irlanda, an organisation that promotes Catalan culture in Ireland, he says. And, “we’ve been adding people, committees, it’s all grown from there”. 

Within Catalonia, the growth of colles has been powered by social and political changes, says Vaszi, the anthropologist. 

After the collapse of Franco’s regime, there was a sense of freedom and possibility, she says, especially in regions where identities had been repressed.

“There was this big desire to reclaim the street by the people and that includes by local culture,” she says.

Women also felt freer from the conservative Catholic politics of earlier, she says. Little by little, they started to enter the realm of castells which had – as with much of popular culture – been a male domain, she says.

Teams realised the benefits. Castells thrive on body diversity, she says. Women brought in more body shapes and heights, she says. 

They can hold as well as men, they are often lighter, they can balance, she says. “Women bodies contribute to performative success.”

And so, the social base of castells gradually broadened, she says.

The 2008 economic crisis played its role too. People sought cheaper ways of coming together and many found colles, she says. “That’s basically, the function of all this – is neighbourhood sociality and solidarity.”

Meanwhile, post-2010 Catalonian pro-independence fervor also turned castells into a cultural expression of national identity, she says. 

The make-up and ethos of teams can vary, says Vaszi. But still across all, she says, “the basic philosophy is openness.”

On Sunday, almost all of those who turned up to the Dublin session were Catalan.

Still, many were trying castells for the first time. 

It’s fun, says Jordi Asin, in a spotted-blue shirt with a big collar to protect his neck. 

It’s a way to meet people, says Marc Bofill. “It’s a connection.”

It’s a way to show Catalan culture, says Marta Carrasco. “It’s something I always wanted to try but just didn’t have the opportunity”

The activity isn’t just for Catalans though, says Pewton – anyone is invited. “And the thing about castells is, it can be anyone from four to 100 years old.”

Time to build

Pewton splits the group for warm ups – one for newbies and those out of practice, and another for old hands. 

“So, it’s quite easy,” he says to those getting started. 

Jordi Rodriguez faces a tree, gripping the trunk with both hands. Pewton stands behind him as if in a queue.

He talks through technique. Get close to the person, says Pewton, as he puts his hands on Rodriguez’s shoulders. He tucks his feet on the inside of his thigh, and squeezes his knees to clamp hold and hang. 

He narrates his movements, wedging a foot into the top of the faxia, the black waistband, and pushing up smoothly. “As if you are getting out of a pool,” he says.

“Your foot here,” says Pewton, pointing to the inside of Rodriguez’s shoulder, snug to his neck, as he moves from kneeling to standing right up. “Closest to the neck as you can get,” he says.

Others watch on, arms folded. But they’ve a role too, says Pewton. 

“Every time someone goes up, everyone has to be around just in case they fall. Okay?” he says. “It almost never happens.” 

Building castells is much safer these days, says Pewton. To those who make the base, they stress not to look up. Kids wear helmets. Faxias support backs. 

Organisers stress the need to listen to each other, he says. “It all starts really with the mentality, knowing when to say no. That’s something that we repeat a lot.” 

“If you feel it is too much, say it always,” he says. If someone says it, immediately, everyone comes down, he says.

One of the philosophical debates around castells is whether it is a sport, what it should be, says Vaczi, the anthropologist.

Should the stress be on competition or participation? she says. “I like to call it, like, in this liminal space between culture and sport.”

Every two years, competition is let loose at a big event at the Tarraco Arena, an ancient bullfighting ring in Tarragona, she says. But some teams resist and refuse to go, she says.

In Merrion Square Park, the castellers take turns at the warm up. Up on Rodirguez’s shoulders, Carulla’s legs tremble. She grasps the tree trunk in front.

Relax your legs, says Pewton, with encouragement. Her legs stop shaking.

“Okay!” says Pewton, as another has a turn.

“Well done!” he says, to the next.

“There’s a lot of closeness, as you can see,” says Asin, watching on. “It’s great to build friendships though.”

The many roles

As the session rolls on, more people arrive. They’ll try without the trees as support, says Pewton. 

He directs each person, as if a composer. Checks who is comfortable, who is overlooked.

The sturdiest bodies make the base of a castell. The lighter figures – often women, teenagers, and children – scale to the higher layers.

The taller the tower, the more bodies are needed. A 10-level tower – the highest built so far – can rise to more than 40 feet and use more than 1,000 people.

In Dublin, 17 people have turned up now.

This is the pinyar, says Asin – the base, or foundation – as Pewton moves people into a new formation and talks them through how to brace, and where to place arms and hands. 

“Everybody has a role,” says Asin.

There are all kinds of positions. The “baixos” who stand at bottom of the columns. The “crosses” who stand under the armpits of the baixos. The “taps” who plug the gaps. The “enxaneta” who crowns the tower. 

In Catalonia, castell building has its own soundtrack too: toc de castells.

The tune is always played as people scale the towers, says Nagore Kobeaga, an Erasmus student here for a semester. 

She walks away from the group towards the pile of backpacks and unzips a case. She pulls out the dark-wood pipe with a thick double reed like an oboe.

“It’s a gralla,” she says. 

The sound is resolute and clear.

“It’s a big community thing”

The towers are built and unbuilt and built. First, one person atop another. Then, one atop another, atop another. Later, more complex bases with several bodies locked together. 

Alba Delgado picks up a black helmet. It fits snug on her head. 

It is made for a kid, she says. “But we don’t have a kid, we have to make do with me.” 

Delgado’s first experience as part of a castell has been in Ireland too, she says. “My town didn’t have a team so I could never have done it as a child.”

She walks towards the waiting human tower. She wraps her foot, and squeezes her knees, and climbs up over Rodriguez and pulls herself up. 

She climbs carefully up the second layer where Pewton and Sebastian Viveros have their arms planked together, their faces turned to the ground. 

She plants her feet wide apart in a crouch on their shoulders – and grins and raises a hand. 

“It’s exciting when you’re up there,” says Delgado, back on the ground.

Last practice was two weeks ago. She worried she had forgotten the drill, she says. “If you don’t put your foot where you’re supposed to, you’re down.”

Delgado is big into team sports, she says. She plays rugby, tried out GAA. 

The interdependence of castells is special for her, she says. “It’s a big community thing. If you don’t have enough people, you can’t do it at all.”

You rely on others, she says. “Everyone is going to be equally important,” says Delgado, looking towards the huddle of bodies. 

“It doesn’t matter who is at the top, if you don’t have people at the bottom, you’re not getting anyone up there,” she says.