![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKMnr1-wyzLmTqJaJM-kNcrjMRuxu4xRCH0X5bRMzEBhnY-XOz9JS5ULj93gh0d8bP1B89BdLW92ew3dBL_qITLLgaxRlB6nariHA6Zz04iavcBWcnADW6LRvR-UJX9jGvNJhJIFkxO20L/s200/Camino5D-489.jpg)
The new town was built to include the old Romanesque church, every stone of which was moved block-by-block to its new location. That poses the metaphysical question whether a 12th Century church that has been moved a mile or so is still an old church, or merely a replica (I have much less trouble with the block-by-block reconstruction of a church in the same place where it collapsed, such as the Frauenkirche in Dresden). ![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2A-xWdRLxN6a9O-FlZ7ekISsDxdW0YSTcbAqikqZRFum3BQtUDhFn_eb1BIgo1xT4hR7gKZd4OlC36b1kvgjbwukLeoaYUiUDPmNXU2iBxyjcvXyc-cfN86SgzzCyKXZIQNgCKWSik-i/s200/Camino5D-485.jpg)
But the more important problem is the new town was otherwise built with a monolithic architecture for its stores and bar-restaurantes, and a tract-housing style for its residential streets. Overall, the esthetic is high-end prison camp.
If I lived here, the only sadder thing I could imagine than living in this soulless town would be seeing my old town re-emerge from the water and mud so that I could look down every day and say, “There, those foundations on the riverbank fourth from the bridge
are where I used to live.”
Apart from the downer presented by Portomarin, this was another day of walking ancient paths and quiet roads. The man in the picture owned a small herd of cows that walked down the Camino toward us this morning. A friend who had not yet amassed her quota of cows-coming-down-the-Camino pictures, took out her camera. The man gestured emphatically that it was more important for us to take a picture of him and his faithful shepherd dog. So we all did.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2A-xWdRLxN6a9O-FlZ7ekISsDxdW0YSTcbAqikqZRFum3BQtUDhFn_eb1BIgo1xT4hR7gKZd4OlC36b1kvgjbwukLeoaYUiUDPmNXU2iBxyjcvXyc-cfN86SgzzCyKXZIQNgCKWSik-i/s200/Camino5D-485.jpg)
But the more important problem is the new town was otherwise built with a monolithic architecture for its stores and bar-restaurantes, and a tract-housing style for its residential streets. Overall, the esthetic is high-end prison camp.
If I lived here, the only sadder thing I could imagine than living in this soulless town would be seeing my old town re-emerge from the water and mud so that I could look down every day and say, “There, those foundations on the riverbank fourth from the bridge
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRi59VDBdsJ1koFK1q6tY78N_WeD2HTbLTFw5Nq-Veoi7_5KJ0FcyjfvpvSpXwGd2rHFXfIMuXKqekiQEEVy9jOXUJnqMXy9I_d9h9S04MgcJedebt1xBiDOKh7pGgxjkBTtYgJDYo1xL8/s200/Camino-396.jpg)
Apart from the downer presented by Portomarin, this was another day of walking ancient paths and quiet roads. The man in the picture owned a small herd of cows that walked down the Camino toward us this morning. A friend who had not yet amassed her quota of cows-coming-down-the-Camino pictures, took out her camera. The man gestured emphatically that it was more important for us to take a picture of him and his faithful shepherd dog. So we all did.
The old-trees-on-the-Camino pictures are, I know, hackneyed. But walking here is so timeless. I’m powerless to resist these photographic clichés.