Decided to spend the winter in Mexico in order to save money.
This was back in the mid 80s, so may or may not have relevance today, before the mexico tourism brigade jumps on me.
At any rate, the dumb part was that I did it driving an old conversion van, crisscrossing the country. Mexico isn't small, somehow it just looks the size of a US State, but it isn't. And the roads were often horrific. Distances between gas stations (which were state owned, and thus rare) were large, fuel quality was bad, and the various branches of police and military were all dubious about a "tourista" (mexican slang for what we call montezuma's revenge) pulling over to the sides of the road to camp out.
Among the many adventures:
The discovery that the one paved road we could find leading over to the coast (Punta Muldenado) had given way, completely collapsed, with an 8 foot gap 6 feet deep. Backed up to find a dirt road workaround. In retrospect, dirt roads are maintained by the folks who have to use them, while the paved roads are maintained by the state, and thus only the biggest ones are maintained at all. Sometimes I feel US roads are going the same way.
Pulled up to a Pemex, to find it was closed. Decided the next one was only 20 miles away and I could reach it. 20 miles as the crow flies up a mountain range... I ran out of gas as I crested the top. Managed to push the little bit of up slope remaining, and coasted the "ten miles" down the other side, which meant going at unsafe speeds because there were ups and downs and I needed the momentum to make it over the ups.
But the funniest one, regarding this thread, was when I got a flat, and had the tire changed at a nice clean tire station (Tegucigalpa? I forget). Drove along happily and the road started to whine at me, and then to vibrate. I looked around at the completely nowhere all around me, and managed to find a "vulcanizadora"; one of the many mom and pop type tire repair shops marked by an old tire half buried at the side of the road. I pulled in, and went into a sort of a barn looking for the proprietor, maybe ten minutes to find an old gent, we came back out to find his 12 year old had my wheel assembly half torn apart. Turns out the kid is the mechanic, the dad just handles the money. But the "real" tire shop had not tightened down the lugs, and they were half worn away, and the wheel was also half cut through! Papa and I went on a wild cab ride to find the list of parts the kid needed, he did the whole job with one flathead screwdriver and one pair of vice grips, his only tools.