Chora's white lanes

Chora is the town that grew inside the monastery's shadow, and it kept the shape: lanes barely wide enough for two people, arched passages that cut under houses, and blank white walls broken by a painted door, a bougainvillea or a black iron grille. Behind those plain fronts are seventeenth- and eighteenth-century sea-captains' houses, which is why the doorways and stone frames are so much grander than the alleys.

For a session it is a set of small stages rather than one view. The vaulted passages give a natural frame and bounce light; the flights of steps give height; and every so often a lane simply stops and opens on the Aegean, which is the shot to keep for last. The central square, with its plane tree and cafés, is the one open space.

Midday is the difficult hour — the white burns and the shade is hard — so work the first and last hours. Cars cannot get into most of it, so it is quiet, but it is also residential: keep the group small, do not sit on doorsteps, and expect a cruise group to come through in the middle of the day.