Our street is cobbled. Proper cobbles. It’s one of the few around here that still is, and although it’s pretty it has its hazards, particularly in the winter.
Wet cobbles are slippery, and look greasy in the light (although the camera’s flash tends to flatten that out), snow on cobbles is nasty, and packed snow/ice on cobbles is lethal. Not to cars, that I can tell, but then the road is only a block long and one and a half cars wide, so we don’t often get people losing control outside the house. I don’t like riding my bike on wet cobbles, though, and confess that I ride on the pavement until I get to a cross street with more familiar tarmac.
The recent snow, though, got packed down hard, melted and frozen repeatedly, making a lumpy icy treacherous mess. I hate being nervous when leaving my house, although I don’t mind the cold, and I hated the snow for that reason mostly. I live in fear of broken bones, having broken too many already.