Carlos Barria / Reuters

Li Anhua and his wife Shi Huaju wait for a taxi as they embark on the first stage of a 50-hour journey home, in Shanghai on Jan. 27, 2013.

Like millions of migrant workers in China, Li Anhua and his wife Shi Huaju make the annual trek home for the Chinese Spring Festival, travelling for 50 hours by train and bus to see their two children after a long year of separation. Reuters photographer Carlos Barria, who accompanied the couple on the journey this year, takes up the story:

There was not much emotion left after crossing central China on a 50-hour train and bus journey. Just a soft touch on the face and a forced hug was all that Li Jiangzhon and his sister Li Jiangchun got from their parents after a long year of absence.

They are just one story among millions of Chinese migrant workers who have left their loved ones behind to look for a better future for themselves and their families.

Carlos Barria / Reuters

Li Anhua smokes a cigarette in the couple's cramped room in Shanghai as he packs for his Spring Festival trip on Jan. 27, 2013.

Every year millions of migrant workers travel to their hometowns during the Spring Festival, a massive movement of people that is considered the biggest migration in the world in such a short period of time. Public transportation authorities expect to accommodate about 3.41 billion travelers nationwide during the holiday, including 225 million railway passengers, according to Xinhua news agency.

Carlos Barria / Reuters

Li Anhua (2nd L) and Shi Huaju (C) wait in line at a train station gate in Shanghai on Jan. 28, 2013.

They left their home on a cold Sunday night. Ahead of them: 50 hours of hard traveling conditions and cold, followed by the reward of spending 30 days with their children. Li and Shi have been doing this trip every year for the last twelve years, following the birth of their son Li Jiangzhon. Back then, the couple decided to leave the boy with Li Anhua’s mother in a rural village in Sichuan province, around 1,200 miles to the west.

Preparation for the trip began early this year. They managed to buy their train tickets online (116 CNY each, or about $19), which saved them the headache of fighting for a place in hours-long lines, as in previous years, among a swarm of workers and bulky packages.

They got good seats: a place for each of them, which is considered very lucky. Many migrants can’t get a seat on the train and have to travel standing or curled up in any free space they can find.

Carlos Barria / Reuters

Shi Huaju leans on her husband as they travel on board a train from Shanghai on Jan. 28, 2013.

Carlos Barria / Reuters

Migrant workers play cards as they travel on a train near Huaihua, in Hunan province, on Jan. 28, 2013.

Carlos Barria / Reuters

Li Anhua stands next to his food cart as a student eats dinner in a suburban area of Shanghai on Nov. 26, 2012.

Li and Shi met twelve years ago, after they migrated to Shanghai and took their place among the millions of Chinese migrant workers that play a key role in today’s second largest economy. After working for a few months in a restaurant, they decided to work together as street food vendors in the suburbs of Shanghai. Every day, they push a wooden cart with two wheels to street corners where students from a local university buy their food.

Life is hard on their combined monthly income of 2000 CNY ($320) — just enough to send a little money home and for them to rent a room just three meters by three meters in an old apartment far from the city center. Shanghai is one of the most expensive cities in China.

Carlos Barria / Reuters

Shi Huaju reads a text message on her mobile phone as she boards a bus for the next stage of her journey, in Chongqing on Jan. 29, 2013.

After the long train ride and a three-hour bus journey, the couple picked up a taxi in Luzhou and started the final 30-minute leg of their trip. At a dark intersection on a dirt road, the taxi suddenly stopped. Li looked around but he couldn't remember the way to their house. He couldn't recognize the way with all the new construction around. He said, "This factory area was not here last year." Finally a small sign indicated the road to Dayan village.

As the taxi stopped in front of a three-story building a little girl screamed, “mammy, mammy,” and the couple got out of the car. For her and her brother, their most cherished present of this Chinese New Year had arrived.

Carlos Barria / Reuters

Li Anhua hugs his daughter Li Jiangchun as he and Shi Huaju arrive at their home town of Dayan, Sichuan province, on Jan. 29, 2013.

See more pictures of the journey in a post on Reuters' Photographers Blog and more stories by Carlos Barria on PhotoBlog.

Marcos Moreno / AFP - Getty Images

Would-be immigrants row in an inflatable boat off the Spanish coast on December 3, 2012.

Spanish emergency services and the Moroccan navy intercepted three inflatable boats carrying sub-Saharan migrants across the Strait of Gibraltar on Monday, Agence France-Presse reports.

Thousands of Africans attempt to reach Europe from Morocco every year by crossing the narrow straits, often in leaky boats, with many dying.

Marcos Moreno / AFP - Getty Images

A would-be immigrant is helped to get on board a Spanish emergency services (Salvamento Maritimo) boat off the Spanish coast on December 3, 2012.

Marcos Moreno / AFP - Getty Images

Would-be immigrants use their own cell phones to call relatives and other immigrant boats after being rescued by Spanish emergency services in the Strait of Gibraltar on December 3, 2012.

Marcos Moreno / AFP - Getty Images

A would-be immigrant prays after boarding a boat of the Spanish emergency services in the Strait of Gibraltar on December 3, 2012.

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Photojournalist Andrea Bruce writes: "After covering the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan over the past 10 years, I found it important to bring attention to the similarities in the cultures involved in these conflicts. I believe that getting people to relate to each other in different countries and from various religions is the first step to empathy during war. I hope photography can help cut down stereotypes and cliches." To this end, Bruce photographed Afghan-Americans who left comfortable lives in the U.S. to work in unstable Afghanistan.

Andrea Bruce / Alicia Patterson Foundation - NOOR

Aman Mojadidi, 41, artist.

"Afghanistan definitely didn’t seem like home per se but it was very much this place where my family was from, and I still had this very strong kind of sense of having an Afghan identity … it makes me kind of understand more my American identity. It's funny ... [it took] growing up in the U.S. to feel Afghan and it took living in Afghanistan to feel American.

"I think probably by far one of my favorite ones [art projects], yeah, was the pay back, which was basically a fake checkpoint set up on the street in Kabul where we offered money back to some vehicles rather than asking for bribes … trying to take something that a lot of people spoke about all the time, which was the corruption, the bribes that they have to pay and all this kind of stuff and turn it into, you know, an art work and kind of flip it on its head."

Andrea Bruce / Alicia Patterson Foundation - NOOR

Hassina Sherjan, 51, girls' school founder and administrator.

"I really believe in what I’m doing, and when you really believe in what you do, you hardly get frustrated. I started clandestine girls schools in '90s. We have 3900 students in nine provinces. I don’t really see it as an Afghan thing or an American thing. You just do what you need to do.

"As the elite who left when everything became rough, we have a responsibility to come back and do something here. Not to just be comfortable and make money but to do something. To really make a difference. And a lot of us can. There are a lot of Afghans abroad who are educated, who have done a lot of work, who understand education building, who understand governments ... but nobody is coming."

Andrea Bruce / Alicia Patterson Foundation - NOOR

Koukaba Mojadidi, 35, an architect for International Organization for Migration in Afghanistan working on building a womens' center and police training facilities.

"I grew up in Jacksonville, Fla. Which was really boring, most of the time. Very safe, very quiet. We never struggled. Upper middle class, living on a river. Pretty fortunate. 

"Both of my parents are from Afghanistan. The minute I came into my house, I was living in a different set of rules, a different context. And the minute I left my house, I was living in the real world. Having to consider both cultures at the same time, all the time. For instance, we couldn’t socialize with a lot of Americans. My parents were really into keeping our heritage alive, our culture alive. There are are more differences than similarities, in my parents' minds.

"Everything in your life before you are 18 revolves around how you fit in in school, and learning how to establish yourself as an individual ... and at the same time you are balancing western ideas of your culture. Individualism (in the US) contrasts deeply to the idea of Afghan culture which is all about being a collective and being together and being close and feeling what that other person is feeling, and being emotionally enmeshed in everyone’s problems."

Andrea Bruce / Alicia Patterson Foundation - NOOR

Mustafa Ali Nouri, 44, an architect for the International Organization for Migration in Afghanistan working to build a womens' center and police training facilities.

"In the end, home for me will always be Washington [DC]. The longest period of time in my life was there. I will always consider it my hometown. But I feel I have roots here. Emotions that I don’t know how to explain. You feel connected to the land. Doesn’t matter how dusty it is, or how terrible it might be in some ways. Even as an architect, the environmental mess, but at the same time there is something beautiful about this place.

"Because I am Afghan American, I feel I can see it better. I can see it in the eyes of the young people. They are craving to be a part of the world society. How can they go back to before 2001? You can not drag them. Either push them out or exterminate. But it is in their brain now. You can not kill that. They know now. They know what is out there in the world. They want to be. They want to have a society for themselves and for their children where they can have opportunities. They are the ones that give me a lot of hope."

Andrea Bruce / Alicia Patterson Foundation - NOOR

Tooba Mayel, 38, Gender Justice Advisor with International Development Law Organization. She monitors protection centers who work on legal and mediation cases. IDLO's work is currently supporting the work of lawyers and training programs for prosecutors who defend victims of violence, since violence and protection laws are vague or not implemented. Training and working with local authorities is vital during this time in Afghanistan, Mayel believes.

"Being an Afghan-American to me means that I am able to unite two different worlds under one frame of thought, mind and heart that exceeds boundaries and distances. As an individual that was raised under two cultures, where experiences and circumstances have taken me from conflict to freedom, from a poor nation to a rich one, from deep rooted traditions to new and modern ideologies, but more importantly the courage and the compassion to come back where vulnerable peoples fight for human liberties. 

"I have not only helped a country I call my motherland in its rehabilitation and progress, but also that same country has taught me to be sensitive to issues of human rights and not to take for granted the liberties that America has raised me with."

Photographer Bruce continues: "In the process of covering Afghanistan, I met many Afghan-Americans who said they sometimes feel caught between two different worlds. And they have felt the events of the past 20 years most harshly. When Sept. 11 happened, many saw great possibilities in combining their two homelands. Since then, some have wrestled with their identity. Others have become disillusioned. Regardless, all of them have spent a lot of time thinking about their two countries, and what dual-citizenship means to them in a time of war."

See more images from Afghanistan's current events in this slideshow, and more Afghanistan images in PhotoBlog. 

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Tubagus / EPA

Indonesian rescuers help a young survivor to get back on dry land at Merak seaport, Banten Province, Indonesia, Aug. 31. A boat carrying an estimated 150 migrants en route to Australia sank off Indonesia's Java island on Wednesday.

Australian rescuers called off their search for survivors on Friday after a boat reportedly carrying about 150 asylum-seekers sank off Java, Indonesia. The wooden fishing boat went down on Wednesday as it headed for a remote Australian island. 

In a statement, the Australian government said that 55 survivors had been recovered on Thursday, along with one body. An Australian navy ship and several merchant vessels were involved in the search.

Indonesian officials said that they would continue with their own search and rescue operation, according to the BBC.

Kris Aria / AFP - Getty Images

A survivor is carried off an Indonesian rescue boat at Merak seaport on Aug. 31.

The European Pressphoto Agency reported that the survivors, most of whom were Afghans, were being taken to Merak, a port on the western tip of Java. Gagah Prakoso, a spokesman for Indonesia's National Search and Rescue Agency, said that they would be handed over to immigration authorities there.

Since 2001, almost 1,000 people have died at sea while attempting to reach Australia on overcrowded and often unseaworthy refugee boats from Indonesia, according to figures compiled by Reuters.

AP

Survivors lie on the deck of a rescue boat upon arrival at a port in Merak on Aug. 31.

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Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

BP oil installations seen from the air.

Photojournalist Kadir van Lohuizen traveled from the southern tip of South America to the far reaches of Alaska on the North American continent to explore migration in the Americas. What he found both supported and defied stereotypes, which he reported on a website and an app for iPad called Via Panam.

Deadhorse, Alaska, lies on what its residents call “The Slope,” the coastal plain along the Arctic Ocean formally known as the North Slope. For a town with a total population (including part-timers) of only a few thousand, it has a very lively airport. Several large planes fly to and from Fairbanks and other Alaskan cities daily. Formally, Deadhorse is not a municipality, but an industrial zone. Its facilities and security are provided by privately owned businesses, not the government.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Arrival of workers at Deadhorse airport.

Deadhorse lies at the end of the Pan American Highway, in the extreme north of Alaska. The place owes its existence to the oil that has been extracted from the ground around since the 1970s - generally by international companies that lease the land from the indigenous peoples. Almost all of the residents of Deadhorse are migrants from “the Lower 48” (the contiguous  United States) or from Latin America.

At more than 586,000 square miles, Alaska is by far the largest state in the United States. It is also the least densely populated. Fairbanks, the second-largest city in the state after Anchorage, lies in the middle of the state. The Dalton Highway runs north from there, ending at Deadhorse and the oil fields at Prudhoe Bay, on the Arctic Ocean. The road was built in 1974, to support the construction and maintenance of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline. About 250 semitrailers travel the road daily to supply the oil businesses around Prudhoe Bay.

The work sites of the oil companies are mostly leased from the Iñupiat, the indigenous people of Alaska’s Northwest Arctic. The Iñupiat receive a considerable income from the leases, but not everyone is happy with the oil extraction. One Iñupiat-owned company, called NANA, is active in mining, the hotel sector, the oil industry, tourism, catering and security services. The profits go to projects for the 12,500 members of the Inupiat community.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Paulette McNab, 42, is from Indiana. When she was 20 years old she came with her father to Wasilla, Alaska and in 2008 she came to Deadhorse. 'I work as a housekeeper at the Prudhoe Bay hotel, where many workers stay. The people are really nice here and I love my work. I work 12 hours a day, seven days a week. Every month I get two weeks off and I go back to Wasilla where my daughter lives.'

The Trans-Alaska Pipeline runs nearly 800 miles, making it one of the longest in the world. It was built between 1974 and 1977, just after the 1973 oil crisis. There was considerable protest against its construction from environmental groups and native peoples, on whose territory the oil extraction takes place. Every day 700,000 barrels of crude oil are pumped through this pipeline from Prudhoe Bay to the southern port city of Valdez, just east of Anchorage. Oil is by far the largest source of income for Alaska.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

A tanning saloon at the Prudhoe Bay hotel which houses hundreds of migrant workers who work in the oil (related) industry.

Hundreds of migrant workers in the oil sector live at the Prudhoe Bay Hotel. They drive to their jobs daily at oil rigs or businesses connected with the oil industry. Life in Deadhorse consists of working hard, often four weeks on and two weeks off. There is no time for pleasure. Moreover, there is hardly any entertainment, and alcohol is banned.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Cameron Milroy, 25, was born in Kotzebue on the west coast of Alaska. His mother is native, his father Scottish - Irish. He grew up with his father in Oregon. When Cameron was 20 years he came back to Alaska and got a job with Nanan (a native oil company) in Deadhorse. 'I started as a cleaner, but now I am a 'level 1' truck driver. I enjoy the climate here.'

Slideshow: Migration in the Americas

K. van Lohuizen / NOOR

From Colombians fleeing war to North Americans retirees moving to Nicaragua, a photographer's journey from Chile to Alaska explores both the expected and unexpected patterns of migration in the Americas

Launch slideshow

Experience the entire journey, from Chile to Alaska, by exploring the slideshow at right, the Via Panam website or by downloading the app for iPad.

More Photoblogs from the Migration in the Americas series: 
Mom works in US while family stays in El Salvador
US retirees flock to Nicaragua
On the run from water in Panama
Bolivia hopes for windfall from producing lithium

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Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Samad and Dina Jabbo dance at a banquet organized for the Iraqi community in El Cajon, Calif. Samad, 40, his wife Dina, 37, and their daughters Monica, 16, and Milano, 12, and son Antonio, 7 months, arrived in the United States in June 2010 after living in Damascus, Syria, for four years. They are Christians from Baghdad and have green cards. They felt their lives were in danger when they lived in Iraq.

Photojournalist Kadir van Lohuizen traveled from the southern tip of South America to the far reaches of Alaska on the North American continent to explore migration in the Americas. What he found both supported and defied stereotypes, which he reported on a website and an app for iPad called Via Panam.

“Little Baghdad” is the nickname for El Cajon, a suburb of San Diego that is home to a high concentration of the 116,000 Iraqis living in the United States. The Kurds came in the late 1980s, followed later by Sunnis, Shiites and Christians. They live together peacefully, far away from the violence in Iraq, but life is far from easy. Many lost their social status and networks of family and friends when they emigrated, and they often struggle to find work. Xenophobia is also an ever-present obstacle.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Monica Jabbo opens her locker at school in El Cajon. She and her sister Milano love being in the U.S. but it's still a struggle for the family -- they have to finance day-to-day life and pay their rent, which is $1,200. Because Monica's father Samad is unemployed, the family has to rely heavily on government assistance -- $760 per month.

The United States admits thousands of Iraqis each year as refugees -- although that is only a fraction of the number that Iraq's Middle Eastern neighbors and some European countries have absorbed. Nonetheless, their numbers in the San Diego area rose rapidly after the American invasion of Iraq. El Cajon, around 15 miles northeast of San Diego, has almost 7,000 Iraqi-born residents out of a total population of 100,000. A further 3,000 have Iraqi ancestry, according to the 2010 U.S. Census.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

The Baghdad cafe in El Cajon, above, is a popular tea house frequented by many Iraqis in the community.

In recent years, Iraqi stores and restaurants have been cropping up across the city, the Arabic script signs above their doors quickly becoming part of the city's scene. But the growing Iraqi presence has also brought some unsavory characters: According to authorities, members of Iraqi criminal organizations from Detroit are now active in El Cajon. In late 2011, police raided an Iraqi club in search of drugs and weapons.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Mohammed Mustafa, 68, in his store in El Cajon. Mustafa and his wife Nasrin, 58, have eight children, two of whom live at home. They are from Dohok in Iraqi Kurdistan. In August 1988 they fled to Diyarbakir in Turkish Kurdistan, and in September 1991 they arrived in New York. They made their way to El Cajon in June 1993. Mustafa feels he has made a mistake by coming to the U.S. and not returning to Kurdistan, where the economy nowadays is growing. The family recently opened this 'Community Fashion' store but business is very slow, he says.

Many Iraqis in El Cajon say xenophobia is common, and some fear being the victim of a hate crime. It is not an unfounded worry -- a 32-year-old Iraqi woman was murdered in El Cajon in what appeared to be a racially motivated attack in March. Next to her body police found a note threatening her family. "Go back to your own country, you're a terrorist," it read.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Breakfast at home. Khattab Aljubori, 37, and his wife Suhad, 31, frequently speak to their family in Iraq through Skype. The computer is parked near the table so that they can have breakfast 'together'. The family, including children Ibrahim, 4, Awos, 3, and twins Mustafa and Fatima, 6 months, as well as Khattab's mother Nhanaa, 61, came to San Diego in November 2010 from Babylon, Iraq. Khattab worked for the U.S. in Iraq as a computer and info system administrator and was often threatened for being a U.S. agent. In the end it became so dangerous for him and his family that they sought asylum in the U.S. and were granted visas.

Iraqis in El Cajon make an effort to support their fellow immigrants. Each year the Iraqi community organizes a large celebration that brings everyone together. Local businessmen meet one another and newly arrived immigrants learn about life in America from their established countrymen.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Khattab with his family in a park in San Diego. While they lived comfortably in Iraq, they find it much harder to be successful in the U.S. and they say they feel they've lost their dignity. Khattab likes the U.S. but his wife wants to go back to Iraq. She says she feels locked up and misses her family. Finances are also an issue -- Khattab earns some money repairing people's computers but they depend on government support and sometimes find it difficult to pay the rent.

Slideshow: Migration in the Americas

K. van Lohuizen / NOOR

From Colombians fleeing war to North Americans retirees moving to Nicaragua, a photographer's journey from Chile to Alaska explores both the expected and unexpected patterns of migration in the Americas

Launch slideshow

Experience the entire journey, from Chile to Alaska, by exploring the slideshow at right, the Via Panam website or by downloading the app for iPad.

More Photoblogs from the Migration in the Americas series:
Mom works in US while family stays in El Salvador
US retirees flock to Nicaragua
On the run from water in Panama
Bolivia hopes for windfall from producing lithium

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•Sign up for the NBCNews.com Photos Newsletter

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Carmen Elena Rosales, 26, Irving Ernesto Rosales, 23, Nancy Jasmin Rosales, 15, and their father Ernesto Rosales Guillen, 47, at home in the community of Iberia in El Salvador's capital San Salvador.

Photojournalist Kadir van Lohuizen traveled from the southern tip of South America to the far reaches of Alaska on the North American continent to explore migration in the Americas. What he found both supported and defied stereotypes, which he reported on a website and an app for iPad called Via Panam.

El Salvador has been called the most Americanized country in Latin America. An estimated one quarter of its citizens live in the U.S. -- often illegally. A significant part of El Salvador's national income is made up of the money that these migrants send back, and American mores and customs penetrate the small Central American country.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Sonia Vanegas Munoz is a domestic worker in Beverly Hills. She earns $10 per hour. Vanegas Munoz hasn't seen her husband and children in six years.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Ernesto Rosales Guillen and Sonia Vanegas Munoz appear in a wedding picture that hangs in the couple's home in El Salvador.

The mass migration of Salvadorans to the United States began during the country's civil war in the 1980s and continues to this day, fueled by overpopulation and poverty. After the fighting there ended in 1992 many of the refugees were sent back to El Salvador, taking American culture with them. Many of the Salvadorans who remained in the U.S., whether legally or illegally, have also never broken ties with their homeland.

An estimated 2 million Salvadorans live in the United States. Many share housing in large cities like Los Angeles and Washington, D.C. In contrast to the Mexican or Cuban communities, Salvadorans are not conspicuously politically active, although in recent years the Salvadoran government has tried to get successful immigrants to invest and help build the country's economy. 

'No papers, no fear': Undocumented immigrants declare themselves on bus tour

Los Angeles and its suburbs are home to an estimated 1 million Salvadorans, the largest community from the Central American country in the United States.  The migrants, many without residence permits, often work as unskilled laborers, cleaners or nannies for American families. Because the migration had its origins in hospitable U.S. immigration policies in the 1980s during the Salvadoran civil war, the group has played a major role in the discussion over whether the United States bears some responsibility for the world's refugee problems.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

The gate of the home where Munoz works in Beverly Hills. She left El Salvador in 2005 because her family wasn't making ends meet.

Slideshow: Migration in the Americas

K. van Lohuizen / NOOR

From Colombians fleeing war to North Americans retirees moving to Nicaragua, a photographer's journey from Chile to Alaska explores both the expected and unexpected patterns of migration in the Americas

Launch slideshow

Experience the entire journey, from Chile to Alaska, by exploring the slideshow at right, the Via Panam website or by downloading the app for iPad.

More Photoblogs from the Migration in the Americas series: 
US retirees flock to Nicaragua
On the run from water in Panama
Bolivia hopes for windfall from producing lithium

Follow @NBCNewsPictures

•Sign up for the NBCNews.com Photos Newsletter

"In the US, money and beauty are the power, but I am looking for something else," said Kathy Aley, originally from Newport Beach, Calif., who moved to Nicaragua in 2001. "I left because of the greed and the selfishness in that country. I worked as an aerobics instructor for the school district, but I tore my muscles. I have two daughters in the US … they are 40 and 32 years old. I live here with my eight dogs, 10 cats and my parrot. Every morning, I jog the beach up and down with my dogs and parrot. They need the exercise."

Photojournalist Kadir van Lohuizen traveled from the southern tip of South America to the far reaches of Alaska on the North American continent to explore migration in the Americas. What he found both supported and defied stereotypes, which he reported on a website and an app for iPad called Via Panam.

 “I came (to Nicaragua) on holiday in October 2000 and while I was watching the sunset on the beach, I knew I had to move here,” said Kathy Aley, now 64, a transplant from Newport Beach, Calif. “I need the warmth and the slow life.”

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Captain Zatara, 53, and Katy, 41: "It was our dream to sail around the world and live and sail in the tropics. We bought our boat in Washington state in 2003. She is a beauty. We came to San Juan de Sur three years ago and we wanted to make some adjustments to the boat … (now) we are rebuilding it from scratch. In the meantime Katy runs a massage salon, so we earn some money. I think it will take another two years to finish the boat. We have five children, one is with us."

Central America is a growing destination for moderately wealthy Americans looking to leave the rat race behind. In their search for quieter and less expensive places, some have chosen to settle in Nicaragua — the poorest nation in mainland Latin America, but also the safest, according to The Economist.

One such quiet and affordable enclave is the tranquil bay of San Juan del Sur. In addition to safe harbor for retirement, the location also offers a break from recession and politics.

Nicaragua was recently named one of the most favorable retirement destinations in the world.

Below are some stories of Americans who picked up and moved south for their retirement years:

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Fred Goldfarb, 60: "I am from the San Francisco Bay Area. I always had a desire for traveling, and in 2006, I came with my girlfriend to Nicaragua. She didn't like it, so that is where our relationship ended. I had a company in the US and in 2007 I bought 350 acres of land. With my business partner, we build environment friendly houses to sell. In 2008 the market collapsed, we are selling less now than before. I built this house actually to sell, but for the time being I live here. I don't like the politics in the US and the cost of living is very high."

Tom and Patty Lowy (55 and 62 respectively), from the San Francisco area: In 2004 Tom bought land close to San Juan del Sur. "I paid far too much … now we live here, in our gringonized house," he said. "We brought the TV chairs from the US. I earned good money in the US -- $400,000 a year -- I was a retail broker and I saw the crisis coming. We wanted to leave, we don't like the politics of the US, the Patriot Act, the propaganda from the mass media and the misinformation. Here is a safe place, safe for a nuclear war. We watch US television, but most of our friends are Nicaraguan. We believe we should integrate."

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Beverly Gene Marte, 74: "Everybody calls me BJ here. I came 10 years ago and I am from Walminton, Calif. I came on a yacht. It was a long trip from Florida, via Cuba, Cayman Islands, Panama Canal. In Costa Rica the yacht nearly sank, it took two years to fix it. In the end I made it to Nicaragua. I don't want to live in the US anymore. Obama ruins the country. Now I have my monkey, Cindy. Years ago I was photo model and I also worked for the US coast guard. The sea is in my blood."

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

The tranquil bay of San Juan del Sur is pictured. Although Nicaragua hasn't had good relationships with the US over the last three decades, it is a popular destination for US citizens.

Slideshow: Migration in the Americas

K. van Lohuizen / NOOR

From Colombians fleeing war to North Americans retirees moving to Nicaragua, a photographer's journey from Chile to Alaska explores both the expected and unexpected patterns of migration in the Americas

Launch slideshow

Experience the entire journey, from Chile to Alaska, by exploring the slideshow at right, the Via Panam website or by downloading the app for iPad.

More Photoblogs from the Migration in the Americas series:
On the run from water in Panama
Bolivia hopes for windfall from producing lithium for batteries
Mom works in US while family stays in El Salvador

Follow @NBCNewsPictures

•Sign up for the NBCNews.com Photos Newsletter

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

A langouste diver in front of Carti Cohabita. Residents of the island are scheduled to evacuate in August.

Photojournalist Kadir van Lohuizen traveled from the southern tip of South America to the far reaches of Alaska on the North American continent to explore migration in the Americas. What he found both supported and defied stereotypes, which he reported on a website and an app for iPad called Via Panam.

Thousands of Kuna — indigenous people living in an archipelago off the northern coast of Panama — are facing a drastic lifestyle change because of rising seas.

Kuna Yala, or Kuna Land, is comprised of 365 islands and a narrow, 250-mile-long strip of land on the Caribbean coast. Thirty-six of the islands are inhabited.

In August, the first round of evacuations will force some Kuna to the mainland because of dangerous living conditions, affecting 65 families. Ultimately, all of the islands will be evacuated — affecting 36,000 people — and new dwellings are being built and funded on the mainland by the Panamanian government.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

This family has to evacuate to the mainland in August 2012.

The inhabited islands are chock full of houses built of reeds and palm leaves and no match for storms and rising water. Historically, flooding was comparatively rare, but residents now regularly contend with surging water.

Experts say sea levels rose nearly seven inches over the past century, and levels could rise another two feet by the end of this century.

The Kuna have lived on the Caribbean coast in autonomy for more than 80 years. Two centuries ago, most Kunas lived on the mainland, but they relocated to the islands following an epidemic. They make their living from fishing and farming. They grow manioc, pineapples and bananas in their small fields on the mainland, but their most lucrative crop is coconuts.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

One of the Carti community's two political and spiritual leaders -- and his entourage -- visit the main land where the first 65 houses will be constructed.

The Kuna form a tight-knit community, have their own language, and are well-organized. Decisions are made collectively in the Onmaked Nega — the assembly hall. Meetings are presided over by a saila, a political and spiritual leader.

The coming evacuation was debated at the hall, and was eventually approved after long discussion. Many residents are still afraid of being tricked by the state. Because they have no financial resources to build new accommodations for themselves, they ultimately agreed to the evacuation plans.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Multiple generations of this family live together on one of the islands.

Slideshow: Migration in the Americas

K. van Lohuizen / NOOR

From Colombians fleeing war to North Americans retirees moving to Nicaragua, a photographer's journey from Chile to Alaska explores both the expected and unexpected patterns of migration in the Americas

Launch slideshow

Across the water, on the mainland, lies a 4-year-old road — the only one in the vicinity. It used to be a 12-hour walk to reach the Pan American Highway, which connects to Panama City, the country's capital. Now it takes three hours.

As a result, many of the young Kuna have left for the capital city. Conversely many more consumer goods, like televisions and Coca-Cola, now reach Kuna Yala.

Experience the entire journey, from Chile to Alaska, by exploring the slideshow at right, the Via Panam website or by downloading the app for iPad.

More Photoblogs from the Migration in the Americas series:
Mom works in US while family stays in El Salvador
US retirees flock to Nicaragua
Bolivia hopes for windfall from producing lithium for batteries

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Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

The salt flats, or Salar de Uyuni, which covers 4,000 square miles of Bolivia.

Photojournalist Kadir van Lohuizen traveled from the southern tip of South America to the far reaches of Alaska on the North American continent to explore migration in the Americas. What he found both supported and defied stereotypes, which he reported on a website and an app for iPad called Via Panam.

Landlocked Bolivia hasn't had much in the way of resources that it can sell to the world, but that could be about to change. It's home to the world's largest salt flat, which also is estimated to hold half the world's reserves of lithium — a light metal that's crucial for today's modern batteries for cell phones, laptops and even hybrid and electric cars.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Workers at the experimental evaporation plant where the lithium is extracted bring tubes from the well to the basins. Workers are from different parts of Bolivia.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Bolivian President Evo Morales celebrates the inauguration of the experimental lithium plant.

President Evo Morales wants Bolivia to mine the site itself, albeit with some foreign help. If it can pull off the logistics, it would mean sending an army of workers from all over the country to a remote part of Bolivia along the border with Chile.

The area is the Salar de Uyuni, which covers 4,000 square miles and where the salt layer is at least 400 feet thick.

Bolivia started preliminary work in April 2011, employing 150 workers. But progress has slowed, in part because the site still lacks a stable electricity supply.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Due to heavy rainfall, much of the Salar de Uyuni is still covered with water. A tractor brings the workers to the experimental evaporation plant.

Slideshow: Migration in the Americas

K. van Lohuizen / NOOR

From Colombians fleeing war to North Americans retirees moving to Nicaragua, a photographer's journey from Chile to Alaska explores both the expected and unexpected patterns of migration in the Americas

Launch slideshow

Japan, potentially a major buyer, recently urged Bolivia to speed up the project and meet its goal of a 6-month test run before moving on to commercial production.

Bolivia also faces competition from lithium mines in neighboring Chile and Argentina.

Still, it did get a boost in July when a South Korean company said it would help provide technology and training of workers.

Experience the entire journey, from Chile to Alaska, by exploring the slideshow at right, the Via Panam website or by downloading the app for iPad.

More Photoblogs from the Migration in the Americas series:
Mom works in US while family stays in El Salvador
US retirees flock to Nicaragua
On the run from water in Panama

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•Sign up for the NBCNews.com Photos Newsletter

Abir Sultan / EPA

A relative of an Eritrean immigrant family looks at the damage in their burned apartment in Jerusalem on July 12, 2012.

Abir Sultan / EPA

The burned apartment inhabited by an Eritrean family in central Jerusalem, Israel, seen on July 12, 2012 after suspected arsonists set it on fire during the night. A 40 year old man was badly burned and two others including his wife, 24 years old and seven months pregnant, suffered from smoke inhalation.

Reuters reports — Unidentified arsonists set fire on Thursday to the Jerusalem home of Eritrean migrants, injuring three in what Israeli police said appeared to have been a racist attack.

Street violence has surged in recent months against Africans who cross, without permits, into Israel across the porous Egyptian border in search of work or asylum. Read the full story.

Related content:

• Anti-African street violence surges in Israel
• Israel okays funding to block African migrants

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