TEEN TIMES: There were three of us. It was our first "girlie" holiday together. We could imagine the ridicule, the sniggering of our peers if they knew the truth. We were going to Lourdes. On holidays. We assured ourselves we could shield one another from any religious fanatics trying to lure us in. It was, we promised ourselves, going to be "an experience", writes Orla Tinsley

The bus journey into Lourdes left us with gaping gobs. It reminded me of those shanty towns my geography teacher used to tell us about - towns that were poor or had experienced some natural disaster. I could see my friends' faces sink. I had organised the trip - its success rested firmly on my shoulders.

But then life seemed to spring up out of nowhere: water fountains, chocolate shops and boulangeries filled with croissants of every kind - including my favourite, raisin.

Our three-star hotel was lovely, but there was no air conditioning. This close to the Pyrenees, the 36-degree heat was not constant. On day four we awoke to what I imagined was an army on the rooftop. It turned out to be a rainstorm. I purchased an oversized, rainproof poncho on our way to Mass. We went to Mass every day. The churches boasted mighty architecture, both inside and out. The most intriguing was the church in Bartez whose murals St Bernadette spent hours studying.

It struck me that perhaps a new generation of religious existed - Masses were so relaxed. Our priest was so in touch with reality. There was goodness in the air.

At the lake, we enjoyed pedal boats and a sneaky waterfight with fellow pilgrims. They sold water guns outside the church.

The nightly procession was my greatest fear. I remember one religion teacher describing it as "cult-like", but it was nothing of the sort. I was given the honour of carrying the group banner to the altar. After 15 minutes my arms began to tire, but the atmosphere carried me along. Then the magic of Lourdes hit me. The visual impact of thousands raising their voices to Ave Maria in five different languages was beyond amazing. In that moment the sense of unity and belonging overshadowed any scepticism. I was blown away.

On our final night we decided to experience the grotto in the 4am darkness. During daytime thousands flock there, but at night it is mostly empty. As we entered, a warmth engulfed me. My friend and I sat in silence. I had expected her to make shifting noises accompanied by polite sighs until I gave up and we left. I could feel her raise her head. "Do you feel that . . . heat?" We both felt it. We could pinpoint the transition - there was warmth in the circle, a sharp wind beyond. We returned to the hotel with a feeling we had experienced something rare.

Although I have long squabbled with enforced religion through education, the Lourdes experience has left me pondering that perhaps we have been far too ignorant.

Religion has a different meaning for everyone. The gods of our generation seem to be celebrities. They are the unattainable, the mysterious beings of our time. Is it mature of us to question everything and believe only in our own logic? Or should we believe in all and question the maturity of not believing? Lourdes left me reflecting all of this long after I came home.

Orla Tinsley (18) lives in Newbridge, Co Kildare

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