Whenever I leave my cave house, there are exactly 90 steps up to the main street, and then many more to get me to my destination. Some are cement, painted white around the edges in an attempt to not have us topple down, down, down. Others are cobblestoned, a combination of large rocks and cement, many with chunks broken off long ago. Almost all are uneven and need the inexperienced tourist to focus when mounting an assault. Meanwhile, the locals practically dance up and down them, weaving around until they reach their destination.
I should hate these steps: they leave me out of breath even on the way down (mainly when I’m carrying 9 litres of water and some shopping)! And I have to focus since they are so uneven. At night, some aren’t properly lit and I feel my way along the wall. But I don’t hate them; I have come to love them, to be excited at the prospect of ascending them again, and relieved to almost be home on the way down. And at every other turn, there lies some of Oia’s magic.
Here is the journey I take down those steps.