Close set houses, their laundry festooned balconies almost meeting, above the narrow streets, straggle up the steep hillside.
Crossed, along the contours, by walkways which are more slender still.
Built in an age before wheeled travel, let alone the motor car, was the norm.
Oft as not, plunging off steeply, via steps, down the cliffside.
To reach the houses below.
That crowd the slim strip of flat land, which surrounds the harbour.
The air is sit-in-the-shade hot.
Stargazer's canopy is rigged. To make the most of the cooling breeze.
And yet, the sun rarely shows itself. Instead, a general brightness diffuses through the veil of high cloud, which wreathes the mountain peaks. Lending the light a chimeral quality. Some times hard edged and stark. At others, soft and muted.
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