I first arrived in Seville in the spring of 1984 on a bicycle. I had abandoned my London office job in shipping to visit a friend who was teaching English there.

I juddered down the maze of cobbled streets to his flat in the old Jewish quarter of the Barrio Santa Cruz. The air was heavy with the scent of orange blossom. Brilliant purple bougainvillea and vermilion geraniums cascaded down the whitewashed walls of the houses and people walked the street four abreast laughing and talking all at once and handclapping in perfect flamenco time. It didn’t feel like Europe but some halfway house to Arabia.

Once I’d been introduced to la vida de la calle (street life), strolling from bar to bar, eating tapas, listening to live music and joining the open-air parties in various squares every night, I was hooked.

Having cycled 2,000 miles (3,218km) I was in good shape to make the most of Semana Santa, the Holy Week leading up to Easter Sunday, and the Feria (festival), a fortnight later, because, believe me, stamina is required. So much so that the locals are given a week’s holiday for each.

Semana Santa might appear to be religious, as figures of the Virgin Mary are carried on ornate floats decorated with thousands of flowers and candles, borne aloft by a dozen young guys (costaleros) and accompanied by the sinister-looking nazarenos in their pointy hats. It is, however, like most things in Seville, a fascinating blend of religion and hedonism, tradition and theatre. Watching these processions is not what tires you out — although seeing the costaleros straining underneath a two-tonne float can have a deleterious effect on one’s equilibrium. You become exhausted by the endless eating and drinking that accompanies the spectacle.

The Feria, a more carnal festival with a week of dancing and bullfights, takes place at the end of April in a tented town that springs up on the outskirts of the city. It is more physically demanding in that you have to dance, and not just any old foot shuffling. You must dance sevillanas. A full sevillana is in 12 parts but if you can vaguely master the first three or four movements you will be in demand, especially if you’re male. I’ve never been known for my deftness of foot but even my rudimentary steps attracted partners, from six years old right up to grannies, all dressed in striking flamenco tiered dresses, combs and fringed shawls. You get better as the night progresses because the only available drink is fino or manzanilla, bone-dry sherry at 15 per cent alcohol. It loosens up the concrete in your feet beautifully, but transfers it to your head in the morning.

I returned to the city in 1993 as a writer in the process of publishing my first book. As soon as I started walking those narrow streets again, feeling the buzz of excitement hovering between the cavernous walls, hitting the bars, knocking back the beers and the sherry, I knew I was going to set a novel in Seville.

But why choose Seville for the setting of a crime novel? Barely 15 people are murdered here a year. It is known throughout Spain and the world as one of the most beautiful cities with a people so full of alegrÍa (high spirits) that it’s impossible to have a bad time. As the saying goes: “To whom God loves, He gives a house in Seville.” A city with such a strong image is irresistible to a crime writer because, as we all know, nothing is as it seems. The Sevillians aren’t immune to the human condition and their society has the same social problems of any other modern city. It just appears not to. And appearance versus reality is one of the most powerful themes of crime fiction.

It is also a deep pleasure to wander the city in the name of research. I never tire of browsing the Moorish geometric tile designs on my way through the Alcázar to the beautiful and peaceful walled gardens behind, or walking through the Parque Maria Luisa to the Archaeological Museum and around the Plaza de España (the colossal monument left over from the 1929 Expo).

I love strolling by the river (which plays a significant role in the Falcón books) and stopping for a manzanillain La Bodega de la Albariza on Calle Betis, wandering around the Plaza del Museo on a Sunday morning looking at the locals displaying their art, and drifting past the Colombian, Cuban and classical music bands busking on the main shopping streets. The pace is slow but the atmosphere always lively and, of course, Seville is the most flirtatious city in Spain — everybody of all ages is always looking at each other.

Bars and stars on the epicurean trail

Seville is an epicurean’s delight. Here are a few of Wilson’s hero Inspector Javier Falcón’s top tips for transcendent tapas.

El Cairo, Reyes Católicos. Inés (Falcón’s ex-wife) likes to go here for a piquillo pepper stuffed with hake ( pimento de piquillo relleno de merluza), but my favourite is the jamón Ibérico de bellota — cured ham made from pigs fed only on acorns. It is indescribably sweet and melts on the tongue. Enough to make vegetarians momentarily relent, it’s not cheap but worth it. Enjoy with a manzanilla (La Guita) or a rioja, especially Muga or Marqués de Arienzo.

Bar Eslava, Calle Eslava. Near the wonderfully shaded Plaza San Lorenzo, this narrow bar becomes a heaving mass of scoffing humanity from 9pm. This is early for Seville, but the tapas are great. My normally fastidious wife devours sangre encebollada, a form of black pudding. The salmorejo (like a thick gazpacho) is the best in Seville and the costillas a la miel (honey-coated ribs) are a dream.

El Rinconcillo, Calle Gerona, round the back of the Santa Catalina church. This is the oldest bar in Seville and with its tiled frontage, sherry from the barrel and decent selection of tapas, it has to be seen. Try the espinacas con garbanzos, spinach with chickpeas.

La Estrella, Calle Estrella. Spend some time in the maze of streets between the cathedral and the Plaza Alfalfa trying to find this place. The tapas menu is perhaps the most extensive in Seville. Eat a solomillo al whisky, which Falcón makes at home: flash-fry pork fillet and garlic, flambé with Johnnie Walker. Delicious. This bar has a sister on Calle Mateos Gago called Bar Giralda, which has tiled walls, vaulted ceilings and much the same menu. Try a glass of cava and a flamenquÍn, a kind of exotic croquette.

Casa Ricardo, Calle Hernán Cortes, behind the San Lorenzo church. In this strange bar, manzanilla and the Madonna meet — the walls are covered in photographs of processions and the piped music is from Semana Santa (Holy Week). Here Falcón trysts with Consuelo, a woman (and ex-suspect) he is crazy about. They eat scrambled eggs and salt cod ( revuelto de bacalao).

Bar Garlochi, Calle Boteros. Opening late at weekends, this place takes the religious/secular to an extreme. The bar is decked out like a Semana Santa float, incense burns and the house cocktail, served in a large glass chalice, is red and called Sangre de Cristo, Blood of Christ. The ultimate in decadence.

Need to know

This year Semana Santa is April 1-8 and the Feria is April 23-29.

Getting there: Clickair (00 34 902 254252, www.clickair.com) flies from Heathrow to Seville; Ryanair (0871 2460000, www. ryanair.com) flies there from Stansted and Liverpool.

Staying: Casa Imperial, a palacio set around three courtyards, doubles from £135; La Casa del Maestro, 11-room B&B with roof terrace, doubles from £67. Book with www.i-escape.com

Further information: www.turismosevilla.org

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