The city where we stopped for the night, Portomarin, has an interesting history. The original town site was moved in the 1960s when Marco dammed up the river. The new community was built up on the side of a hill and some of the buildings were moved stone by stone. It must have been a huge undertaking. You can still see remnants of some of the buildings down by the shore and sometimes you can apparently see structures submerged in the reservoir (the water was too murky for us to see anything).
After checking into our albergue we went to the local supermarket to get supplies for the next day. There were some wonderful old photos on the wall of the original townsite. One in particular caught my eye. It showed a whole group of women holding a giant crocheted doily. I would love to know the story behind that.
From the grocery store we moved on to the local church. Once again I was struck by the beauty in its simplicity. I softly hummed a song; the acoustics were wonderful. Afterwards I regretted not getting a group of us to sing something, just to experience the sound. Over the next couple of days Moya and I practiced a few songs just in case we came across another church like this, but we never did.
Back at the albergue for a late lunch I had my first taste of pulpo. It was a bit like tuna but very rich. A few pieces were more than enough. Luckily there were a few of us at the table, including Neil from Cambridge, Ontario, so this Galician delicacy didn’t go to waste.