The flower girls stood excitedly in two rows in front of the bier. The six biggest were robed in white polyester with purple sashes, the two littlest in red. Thrilled to be all dressed up and the centre of attention, they were enthusiastically crossing themselves with their right hands whilst flouncing their skirts with the left. Each was armed with a bowl of rose petals with which, on cue, they pelted the body of our Lord.

The flow of the service was very different from that which I'm used to. The priest was up at the altar, back to us and out of sight, doing his thing. In the body of the church the congregation engaged in individual acts of worship or socializing. People arrived and left at will, the doors were open, the prayers flooded out and the line between inside and outside the church was blurred. Individuals or little groups would chant a few words, sometimes with the leaders, sometimes not, before fading out again. There was certainly no "we will now sing hymn number...."

As the service climaxed, more of the congregation started to join in, although the atmosphere remained more football stadium than ecclesiastic. A few voices at a time joined the chanters until most of the congregation were praying in unison. I waved my candle. The air was thick with incense and candle-smoke and the church was very hot. Over the chanting we could hear bangers and fireworks from the churches who had started parading earlier. Towards the end of the service the bower of palms and streamers was stripped away from the bier and the electric bulbs disconnected. Followed by priest, altar boys, flower girls and finally the chanting and candle-waving congregation, the bier was carried solemnly out of the church.

Exactly how long was the sermon?
There was nothing I could recognize as a sermon.

Which part of the service was like being in heaven?
The whole thing was truly splendid, in a very over the top way. The church was beautifully dressed, the biers must have taken hours to make and decorate, and there was a real sense of the involvement of the whole community. The chanting, the incense, the candles: it all seemed like something out of another age. Watching the children was lovely. There was no youth church, no simplistic songs with arm gestures, yet each child participated fully. They were lifted up by their parents to light candles and kiss icons, crossed themselves solemnly with the rest, and were accepted and welcomed as part of the congregation.

And which part was like being in... er... the other place?
Clambering up a steep hillside by candlelight in open-toed sandals is far from what you would call fun, especially when you drip hot wax on your toes. The crowd was extremely tight and it felt a little unsafe at times ­ a lass near us had her hair singed and nearly came to blows with the person she thought responsible.

What happened when you hung around after the service looking lost?
Didn't happen. The bier had been processed for what seemed like miles, and was heading ever higher into the hills. It was very dark and the ground was getting increasingly dodgy, so we sloped off to the sea-front to get ice cream.

How would you describe the after-service coffee?
No after service coffee ­ it wasn't really that sort of service, and catering for the thousands would have been well nigh impossible.

How would you feel about making this church your regular (where 10 = ecstatic, 0 = terminal)?
8 – Well, it's not what you'd call an every-day service, and I have no intention of becoming either Orthodox or Greek. But the sense of the reality and totalness of Christ's death has never come home to me so strongly before, and I'll carry the memory of that through Good Fridays in the future.

Did the service make you feel glad to be a Christian?
Yes, definitely. Coming from a culture where half-empty churches are the norm rather than the exception, and Easter has become a largely chocolate-related festival, it was wonderful to see Christ at the very centre of the holiday. Everyone in town was in one of those churches, from the very old to babes in arms.

What one thing will you remember about all this in seven days' time?
The sense of utter desolation walking back through the empty graveyard through which we had followed the coffin of Christ. The words 'Christ has died' have never had so much impact. Through the lens of the resurrection Christ's death can seem diminished ­ we know it's going to come out alright in the end. For the first time the reality, the completeness, of Christ's death hit me. He was taken down from the cross stiff and bloody, his disciples left his cold body in a tomb and went away to mourn.