Imagine colorful wooden doors in odd shapes and windows at wonky angles embedded into the rock. Sometimes the top of one house has a rickety bridge to the balcony of another. It’s a stair-step bunch of cave homes stacked around each other. And curving along the windowsills is a little river, like a stone gutter, winding around the entire village. Sometimes it goes into the house, where you could wash your hands in the constant flow of cold mountain water. Sometimes it makes a tiny waterfall cascading next to a dirt staircase leading down to a new terrace of houses.
