At the tip of the northern horn of the island sits Ia (or Oia), Santorini's second-largest town and the Aegean's most-photographed village. Ia is more tasteful than Fira (for one thing, no establishment here is allowed to play music that can be heard on the street), and the town's cubical white houses, some vaulted against earthquakes, stand out against the green-, brown-, and rust-color layers of rock, earth, and solid volcanic ash that rise from the sea. Every summer evening, travelers from all over the world congregate at the caldera's rim—sitting on whitewashed fences, staircases, beneath the town's windmill, on the old Kastro—each looking out to sea in anticipation of the performance: the Ia sunset. The three-hour rim-edge walk from Ia to Fira at this hour is unforgettable.
In the middle of the quiet caldera, the volcano smolders away eerily, adding an air of suspense to an already awe-inspiring scene. The 1956 earthquake, 7.8 on the Richter scale, left 48 people dead (thankfully, most residents were working outdoors at the time), hundreds injured, and 2,000 houses toppled. Santorini’s west side—especially Ia, until then the largest town—was hard hit, and many residents decided to emigrate to Athens, Australia, and America. Although Fira, also damaged, rebuilt rapidly, Ia proceeded slowly, sticking to the traditional architectural style. In 1900, Ia had nearly 9,000 inhabitants, mostly mariners who owned 164 seafaring vessels and seven shipyards. Now there are about 500 permanent residents, and more than 100 boats. Many of these mariners use the endless flight of stairs to descend to the water and the small port of Armeni or take the road or steps to Ammoudi, where the pebble beach is home to some of the island's nicest fish tavernas and the port of embarkation for many excursion boats.
Ia is set up like the other three towns—Fira, Firostefani, and Imerovigli—that adorn the caldera's sinuous rim. There is a cliffside walkway (Nikolaos Nomikou), which is old, and a more recent road for vehicles. Shops and restaurants are all on the walkway, and hotel entrances mostly descend from it—something to check carefully if you cannot negotiate stairs easily. Short streets leading from the road to the walkway have cheaper eateries and shops. There is a parking lot at either end, and the northern one marks the end of the road and the rim. Nothing is very far from anything else.
The main walkway of Ia can be thought of as a straight river, with a delta at the northern end, where the better shops and restaurants are. Many luxurious cave-house hotels are at the southern end, and a stroll by them is part of the extended evening promenade. Although Ia is not as crowded as Fira, where the tour boats deposit their thousands of hasty shoppers, relentless publicity about the town's beauty and tastefulness— accurate enough—are making the narrow lanes impassable in August. The sunset in Ia may not really be much more spectacular than in Fira, and certainly not better than in higher Imerovigli, but somewhere along the line, the island's taxi drivers had the enterprising idea of telling their passengers that the best sunsets were in Ia, which just so happened to generate the highest fares for them as the farthest point away from the airport, Fira, or harbor. Nevertheless, there is something tribally satisfying at the sight of so many people gathering in one spot to celebrate pure beauty. Happily, the night scene isn't as frantic as Fira's—most shop owners are content to sit out front and don't cotton to the few revelers' bars in operation. In winter, Ia feels pretty uninhabited.
