"If what we call a desert is a place without a soul in which the sky alone is king, then Oran awaits it's prophets. All around and above the town the brutal nature of Africa is, infact, resplendent in it's most burning glory. It splits open the ill-chosen decor which men have laid apon it, utters its violent cries between each house and over all the housetops. If you go up to one of te roads running up to the Santa Cruz, what you see first are all the scattered and brightly coloured blocks of Oran, but as soon as you go a little higher, the jagged cliffs surrounding the plateau seem to be crouching in the sea like red beasts. From higher still, great whirlpools of sun and wind swirl over the untidy town, blowing and battering through it as it lies scattered in confusion over all four corners of the rocky landscape. You see the clash between the magnificent anarchy of men and the permanence of an unchanging sea. This gives the road along the mountain-side an overwhelming scent of life."
Albert Camus.
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