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Some time back, I took a budget vacation to Belize, Central America. I was full of zest in my twenties. Belize was going to celebrate its independence from Great Britain. I had to be there. Four busses and four days away from Los Angeles, my birthplace. I wanted to travel by road.

Perrera Architectural had let me go from their typing pool. It was summer and I wanted adventure. I’d surprise my family. They’d think my mode of travel ridiculous. They knew I loved to fly. I cleaned out my bank account and began my journey. For an hour-and-a-half ride into Tijuana, Mexico, I paid sixteen U.S. dollars. Twenty minutes later I paid twenty-two U.S. for two-day’s ride to Mexico City. I was in the front seat on the Greyhound.

The smell of myrrh and wild flowers. The rain came like music to my ears. Tropical breeze turned to little gusts of wind. I felt nostalgic, at peace, and slept. In the morning I had tea, fried beans, and eggs for three U.S. dollars. On the outskirts of Mexico were thatched roof houses here and there. Tropical fruit trees already ripe and heavy, laden with exotic fruit sat along the way. At immigration, a very solemn and speechless uniformed Mexican officer examined my documents with ease. He seemed a bit disappointed. His office was over-stacked with very dusty transistors, stereos, and TVs.

Mexico’s main bus terminal reminds me of Grand Central Station. I felt like a small fish in a vast sea. I had no time to leave the terminal to shop.

I had a third bus to catch to Chetumal, the point nearest to Belize, and it would take a day and a night to get there. At an airline counter, a ticket agent came and greeted me as though he knew I had American dollars. My ticket to Chetumal was fifty-five dollars U.S. In every way American dollars were craved—no one wanted to keep their Mexican coins.

A student speaking as much English as I spoke Spanish asked if he could sit with me. I’d been to Chetumal before, but I declined going to a hotel when my comrade asked If I’d sleep in the market square’s park. My final bus to the Mexican/Belize border had departed for the day.

We circled the market square and took to the busy streets with bazaars that sold practical items. There I shopped for the perfect gifts I wanted. One hammock, hand woven, two sandals, a knapsack, hand woven, my skirt and a child’s dress along with the cost of my evening meal, totaled thirty-one dollars U.S. The night air was warm and humid, but was tempered by a squall. At the Mexican/Belize border I had to walk a very lengthy bridge. There was no transport.

Sixty-four West Street was near downtown Belize and the sea. Once done with immigration, I washed and changed. I emerged fresh, but my jeans were loose. I told my driver I’d lost four pounds and rode four busses, which took me four days to travel from the U.S. to Belize.

From the Belize border of Santa Elena through the districts of Corozal and Orange Walk, we would arrive in Belize City. Calculating my expenses from L.A. to Belize, totaled three hundred thirty dollars U.S. For my two weeks stay, I’d spend one hundred fifty dollars U.S. I had arrived.

Next, I heard my name, and feet running down from the verandah. It was good to be home. I’d spent a total of $330 on fare, food, gifts, and miscellaneous items. I saved about $320 U.S., but I really missed flying.