Oradour garage
Oradour church (pale)
Oradour church (colour)
St. Claud
Bibendum
Corrugation
Panes
Illumination
Weeding
Classic enamel (Michelin tyre signs)
Barn find
Tiger in the grass (1)
Tiger in the grass (2)
Playing with reflections in the café
Café talk
Peugeot 404 cabriolet (front ¾)
Peugeot 404 cabriolet (front)
Peugeot 404 cabriolet (rear ¾)
Resistance monument
The honour entrance
Veteran graffiti
River (pretty much as shot)
River (warmed up)
Oradour street sign
Oradour street
Windowseat (2)
Windowseat (1)
Shell stone
Ornate trunk carving
Becky's demon
Lightroom
Drainage column detail
Drainage column
Lizard (colour)
Lizard (mono)
The family wing
Missing floor
Archive library
Estate archives
Chateau Rochefoucauld
Resting block
Tower blocked
Extinguished
Cathedral graveyard
Lazy tree
Location
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Address: unknown
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Keywords
Authorizations, license
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102 visits
Oradour street with garage


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.
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.
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