About '75 (I'm bad with dates), me and my then girlfriend decided to move to Belize.

The land was cheap, the official language was English, they had no army.
We were young idealistic hippie types and I figured I had enough money saved
up for many acres. I loaded my masonry tools in a duffle bag and we boarded
the southbound train for Mexico City in Nogales. She was a beauty, a bit frail,
but ready for the adventure.
The train was old, you could lower the window if you didn't mind the
smoke from the engine. The scenery was spectacular, the journey long.
I remember the jungles of Nayarit and the beauty around Guadalajara.
Then the long drive into Mexico City, with well over 10 million people.
We spent the night in the huge train depot. I let her sleep, while I stayed awake
all night with my bayonet while the groups of young guys roamed.
In the morning we were able to get a bus to Oaxaca. Leaving Mexico City
we passed Popocatepetl, a volcano of 17,800 feet. The bus driver was a
maniac, taking chances on the mountain road.
Oaxaca is fantastic, a beautiful old city. We stayed in a rooftop apartment
across from a 300 year old church. We were halfway there.