They are fascinating and impressive but also also a little spooky: the processions of the Holy Week. And no matter how often you have watched that spectacle, on Good Friday everybody is out on the streets, together with thousands of neighbours and visitors, when the confrarias (brotherhoods) of believers pay tribute to this Christian tradition dating back hundreds of years. I always picture the medieval Palma – if it was not for the traffic signs you could get lost in time. Even the lanterns fool you since the yellow light pretends to be powered by gas rather instead of electricity.

This year easter is late so the weather is fine. Last year, the men who walked barefoot and with long chains around their ankles let me wonder how bad their sins must have been. This time the atmosphere is more relaxed. Still the procession remains silent except for the marching bands. The kids, proud to take part, give away sweets to the other children who only watch, or they take away the surplus of wax from the countless candles that are being carried in the procession. After a while, the sticks they use look like lollypops.

Most of the shops and restaurants are closed on Good Friday. So I went home and enjoyed the pasta that my sweetheart prepared for dinner. With the music turned down, we can still hear the drums, marking the beat for those who march towards midnight.