Semana Santa in Seville

Even the staunchest of atheists would find it hard to deny that religion has given us some of the greatest wonders of the world, whether it be the temples of Cambodia or India, the cathedrals of Europe or even the modest village churches of the English countryside.

As well as simply bricks and mortar - not to mention the vast majority of works of art and pieces of music – religion has also given us some of the world's best parties, many of which can more than rival their contemporary secular counterparts in terms of late-night drinking, dancing and general hedonism.

Up among the best of them is Seville's Semana Santa, or Holy Week, which sees this usually quiet and laid-back Andalucian city come to life for seven day's of partying enjoyed by a massively swelled population.

Having visited the city before in the July heat, the mild April temperatures were a welcome relief and meant we were able to enjoy more than scurrying from the shade of one tree to the next and see more than the city's many bars and flamenco clubs in the relatively cool night time.

Having been unlucky the previous year, we started sorting out our travel insurance and booking accommodation soon after our New Year's hangovers had died down, knowing full well that trying to get a room in the days leading up to the festivities is nigh on impossible.

Smug though we were to have landed a hotel bang in the middle of the stunning old town, we decided not to waste time hanging around but rather headed out into the heart of things.

What we didn't realise is the sheer chaotic nature of Holy Week in Seville.

Given we knew no one living locally, it was simply a case of wandering around the narrow streets, from plaza to plaza hoping to come across a piece of the action – hardly a bad thing when there are tapas bars and cafes selling the local sherry and wine at crazily low prices every few steps.

We could hear it well before we actually set eyes on it; solemn chanting and hymns which could only have been religious despite the fact that none of us spoke the local lingo.

Sure enough, we stumbled across a Paso, a procession carrying a float of the Virgin Mary surrounded by colourful flowers and loud and well-dressed devotees.

We duly tagged onto the end of the procession behind a number of robed and hooded men and eventually followed the spectacular Avienda de la Constitucion and wound up at the imposing gothic cathedral.

Clearly the locals were off to mass and clearly the tourists weren't welcome.

Not to worry, we hit a bar and waited for the sun to go down and sure enough the natives came out to play, though in place of the austere mourning old ladies, the cafes and pubs around the main squares filled up with young senoritas looking to take advantage of the fact there was no work the morning after.

Indeed, it was hard to determine how many of those taking part in the festivities were devoutly religious or were simply following the processions out of curiosity as we were. Either way, they certainly know how to enjoy themselves and wine and flamenco sure beat Songs of Praise.