This week I eagerly queued to see Jessica Hausner's acclaimed film Lourdes, 10 years after I had spent two summers working in the French pilgrimage town. I was 17 at the time, and at my high school – in the west coast of Scotland – it was a pre-university rite of passage. Organised by the Paisley diocese, pupils from the area were given the opportunity to work as helpers to the sick. Previous "aides" had raved about their experience – not for the spiritual benefits, but because it was warm, there were nightly parties and you met other people your age who were also failing Catholics.
Lourdes, however, was not what I expected. Tired and disgruntled after a two-day journey, I was unnerved by my first impressions of the town. "Jesus," said one friend, "it's like a holy Blackpool." Indeed it was. Lourdes was packed with God-themed tat, seedy bars and tourists. The town has the atmosphere of a bustling holiday resort, with salesmen touting holy souvenirs on the streets. The whole town revolved around the Grotto of Massabielle – where in 1858 the Virgin Mary reputedly appeared to 14-year-old Bernadette Soubirous – and residents had turned miracle-hunting into a thriving business. Got a life-threatening illness? Have some holy water in a Virgin Mary-shaped bottle. Need gifts for the family? A chocolate saint should do the trick. Our nearest sweet shop was called the Immaculate Confection.
Yet watching Hausner's film, there was little I recognised. The movie focuses on the experience of Sylvie Testud's Christine, whose multiple sclerosis is temporarily "cured" after she visits the grotto and bathes in holy water. Fellow pilgrims and aides become jealous of her "miracle" and question why it was she who was made better. Hausner's film is set mostly within the walls of the grotto, and her commitment to subtlety makes for a muted depiction of the town.
I remember streets lined with busy bars, full of aides and locals desperate to get away from the dying, the desperate and the pious. In one of our regular haunts, we would sing along with the piano player and order drink after drink. Tearing down the streets to evening mass, we would dash into bars and down shots of cheap tequila. Afternoons off were wine-fuelled benders that usually culminated with the hammered aides pairing off. But the supervising priests put their trust in us, and as a result we showed up for shifts on time and worked hard.
The job itself was physically and emotionally shattering. There was fierce, sometimes violent, competition between aides from different tour groups, which could make even the simplest tours treacherous. The candlelit procession and mass was notoriously difficult to get into, and hundreds of pilgrims lined up in the evening to be part of it. Instead of queuing, the Italians endeavoured to skip in front of us by burning our arms with their candles. Lining up for blessings in the Basilica of the Rosary, aides from other pilgrimages would kick our shins to get in there first.
In the film, the job of an aide is portrayed as little more than pushing a wheelchair, with these helpers depicted as shallow and vain, and the priests as charlatans, fudging their answers to pilgrims' questions about God. Yet in my experience, the priests leading our groups, mainly from the Paisley area, were highly dedicated, counselling those who they knew were close to death. Aides too spent as much time with pilgrims as was needed; acting almost like foster grandchildren, we took them shopping, to mass and confession. Many pilgrims were not there looking for a miracle, but for companionship and escape. Our daily efforts to provide conversation and comfort often meant rising at 6am and clocking off at 9pm.
In the film, bathing in the grotto's holy water is an anti-climax, yet going into the baths was one of the most intense experiences I have ever had. Kneeling in heart-stoppingly cold water to pray while two nuns held my hands left me, inexplicably, in floods of tears. Of course, every pilgrimage is different. And things have undoubtedly changed over the past 10 years. But cinema-goers should not take this film as gospel – the real Lourdes is far more compelling. The mix of tacky commercialism and a sense of spiritual fulfilment for its pilgrims is something you'll see nowhere else on earth.