I've seen several examples of post-WWII rebuilds, most of them in Germany, like Kassel, Hannover, and Wupperthal. Cologne tops the list because of its size. These places all have something in common; they possess a chilling ambiance that mercilessly reminds one of the human will to annihilate.

When I learned last summer that LeHavre had been selected for the World Heritage List, I was incredulous. This is because I cannot forget the day in July 1991 that I arrived there by train from Paris. I had a five-hour wait for the ferry to Portsmouth. Sad, grey, severe, and angular, and the materials looked shoddy. Now, I wasn't expecting a tourist venue oozing quaintness. But I wasn't prepared for this. The whole town seemed to weep.

France, 1947. Devastated in two World Wars, politically adrift,losing its colonies,and broke. An elderly and respected architect is granted one of his last commissions, and the result, as least for me on that summer day, was an impression of crime, bewilderment, and profound grief. I'd seen the memorials at Verdun, but they offered little in the competition for Saddest Place in Europe. One recalls Patrick McGoohan as The Prisoner in his sinister village, or maybe a Jacques Tati remake done by George Romero, or a minimalist Rodenbach updating Bruges la morte.

Maybe it's changed, but from the photos I've seen, I don't think so. Now that UNESCO has sanctified it, so to speak, I dream about visiting it again, out of respect for the folks who courageously face down LeHavre's smothering atmosphere of emptiness and loss.

I dream about visiting again, but I don't believe I have the strength. The mayor is quoted as praising the city's "ambition and bravery" during the "exceptional" rebuild. Maybe. But on the Baleful Woe Scale, four stars.