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The six-mile hike between Oia and Fira has been universally recommended and given all the tzazki, calamari, grilled feta in sesame and honey and souvlaki
we’ve been eating, I am all for it. We climb rugged, rocky trails, clamber up steep slopes, pass pristine white Greek Orthodox churches and walk into and out of a variety of tourist establishments, most of which are swarmed by workmen busily getting them ready for the kick-off the tourism season that is fast approaching.
We are ahead of the game, enjoying uncharacteristically warm weather and no crowds.
We get some magical moments on the hike; wisps of mist rise up from the water a thousand feet or so below us, drifting past us in the warm spring sunshine.
We make it to Fira in just under three hours. Our cabbie bursts out laughing when she hears of our walk. “You’re crazy!” she says.
But that night, we eat dinner with impunity.