Santorini is Greece's most famous island: whitewashed houses and blue-domed churches lined up along a cliff edge, hundreds of metres above a deep blue sea. But that famous view holds a secret most visitors miss: the cliff is the wall of a giant volcano. Thousands of years ago an enormous eruption collapsed the middle of the island and the sea poured in; the deep blue bay where the ferries glide today is the old crater itself. The famous towns, Fira and Oia, sit right on its rim. Most houses are built not on the cliff but into it: a hotel room here is often a cool cave carved into the rock, its terrace the roof of the house below, its door opening straight onto the sea. Inside the towns everything is within walking distance: narrow, shaded lanes wind between the white houses, bougainvillea spills over the walls, and through every gap between buildings the same view returns: that huge blue bay, far below. In the evening everyone flows to Oia; the sun sets straight into the crater, the white walls turn gold and then pink, and applause rises from the crowd.
And Santorini is more than the postcard; the island has a lesser-known side, and that is where it gets really interesting. One of its best experiences is the three-hour walk from Fira to Oia along the crest of the crater, the bay on one side and the island's quiet interior on the other. The beaches look like no beach you know: the sand is volcanic, jet black or deep red. At Kamari you walk into the sea from black sand; at Red Beach a wall of rust-coloured rock rises behind you. A boat takes you to the small volcanic islet in the middle of the bay: walking the rim of its crater you still catch the smell of sulphur, and on the way back you swim in a cove where warm springs mix into the sea. Akrotiri, in the south, is another world altogether: a real town the volcano buried in ash 3,600 years ago, dug out again by archaeologists. You wander its streets, its two-storey houses still standing; and strangest of all, not a single human body has ever been found. Everyone, it seems, sensed the disaster coming and left in time. Even the wine at dinner is part of the story: the vines curl on the ground like baskets to survive the wind, and they produce Assyrtiko, the island's famous sharp white. That is what stays on the way home: everything beautiful here was made by a disaster, and the volcano is still there, just sleeping.