Oradour street

I couldn't like Oradour.

That's a strange thing to say, I know: how could you "like" a village which the nazis just turned up one day and destroyed? They shot practically everyone. Just like that.

But this place has been "preserved" in a way which, for me, stripped it of any emotion, of any sort. There are a few too many rusty sewing machines on windowsills. It's been manipulated.

I was deeply moved when I read about the village, but not when I saw it. Actually, I recommend you don't go, just find out about those people and be satisfied with that.

The wartime bunker we found later, by accident, was infinitely more imbued with memories and – dare I say – ghosts.