17 1/2 Big Steps

Nursing sunburns and sipping margaritas, we lazed away the afternoon on our private patio overlooking the beach at the Playa Del Rey Hotel. The sun cast shimmering rainbows on the sea and scorching rays on the hot white sand and on sunbathers sprawled on bright colored towels. Young, bikini-clad mothers watched their Norte-Americano children play in the surf while, down the beach, native children, delving for clams, pawed the wet sand like rat terriers digging for prey. Grimy buckets filled, they disappeared back into the slums of the city. Bored with the beach, with margaritas, tired of nursing sunburns, we decided to walk up the narrow, sandy trail back of the hotel-used mostly by service vehicles and the comings and goings of hotel employees-to the Playa Mazatlan where we could enjoy a cool drink while browsing the indoor shops. We might even venture further north where the beach was not yet spoiled by hotels, houses and tourists. We set out barefoot, carrying slip-ons and a bottle of water which we sipped from time to time. We had walked about a hundred yards when we came upon a makeshift sign. On a rough board, nailed to a post, which leaned precariously in the sand, a crude black arrow pointed north. Scrawled beneath, in English, were the words "171/2 Big Steps."