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The Iberian Horseshoe — A Journey

Part III. South East

On the Beach at Guardamar

Steve Porter

Global Fiction

First publication: April 2007

http://badosa.com/n250-49

Between Santa Pola and over-developed Torrevieja, lies the quiet resort of Guardamar, with its scent of pines. Palm trees had long since lost their exoticness. I awoke early and walked along the beach at sunrise. I bathed my feet before the sun could heat the sand and sea. I was alone on the beach. I recalled traces of last night’s dream about an Arab killing an unspecified member of my family. It occurred to me that the dream was an inversion of L’Étranger. Albert Camus was born just across the sea from here in Algiers, to a mother of Spanish origin and a father who died on the battlefield at Marne. I admired Camus, not only as a writer but as a human being. He put himself on the line: the goal line; where every little mistake leaves you open to the derision of the crowd. In Catalan, my own surname means ‘goalkeeper’.