There are no streetlights on the highway, cars passing me have doors falling off, windows shattered, plumes of black smoke oozing out of their tail pipes, and my law abiding white-skinned self gets pulled over in my nondescript silver rental car. Welcome to the other side of racial profiling.
I've been living as an outsider for the past four years, one year in southeast Asia, two in Bolivia and now here in the Dominican Republic. In all my outsider experiences, this one, by far, is the easiest, being so close, physically to the US, and so "Americanized". Maybe because of that, this is my first time living abroad that I decided to rent a car and drive. To be fair, there were no car rental places in Burma, and Bolivia, well, there aren't really that many passable roads...
So, I sucked it up and mustered up a bunch of courage and rented a car. I have to be honest, I don't think I'd ever have gotten the guts to drive here if I didn't have two friends come visit, flying in to two separate airports on opposite sides of the country... damn I have to rent a car.
After obsessing and dreading the actual driving process, I convinced a friend to drive with me to the airport, well, actually, I just let him drive the car, to slowly immerse myself into this bucket of cold fear I had created. I picked the rental car up from my school parking lot and headed to my apartment and waited til he came over for the night drive to the airport.
Most locals with cars have windows so tinted you can't really see anything inside the car, but the rental windows are clear as can be. Sitting in the passenger seat with my light tattooed skin, we don't get 10 minutes down the road before we're being pulled over. We both look at each other and think, typical. The underpaid, unappreciated, corrupt cops of 3rd world countries can smell a foreigner from a mile away and we're being profiled.
Like good law abiding citizens, we're wearing our seat belts and pull right over. Oh, crap, I just remembered, that I picked up the rental car papers from my school's office and they are in my backpack at home. Damn. Having done nothing wrong, we were still pulled over and asked to see our papers. Well, sir, I have a problem. My papers are at home. This is my first time renting a car, I'm an idiot, would you like to follow me to my house to get the papers? Luckily I didn't have to use my broken Spanish to communicate and my friend did all the talking, however, after a few rounds of arguing, we settled on a 500 peso bribe. About $13. Cha-ching. Profiling WORKS! Pull over the stupid gringos and they've probably done something wrong and bam, bribe.
Needless to say, we went back to my house before continuing the drive to the airport. Now with all the papers in hand, we were ready for the next stop.
The next morning, with my Colorado friend in tow, it was time for me to really try out this driving thing. Maps are difficult to maneuver here, since roads don't have signs, names or directions, so it's a good thing I invested in that smart phone and I have a GPS. We get on the road, and I'm instantly ok with the driving thing. In fact, I love it. Weaving from lane to lane, who am I kidding, just straddle the lanes. Need to do something crazy? Just put on your hazards. According to another teacher the hazards mean - "hey, I know what I'm doing is wrong, but I won't be doing it long". Ha, I love this. Red lights are just suggestions and you can drive through entire neighborhood intersections without seeing a single stop sign. Awesome.
We're making good progress, chatting, enjoying the countryside of the DR, our white skin shining through the windows of our rental car, when we come to a section in the road where there is a few military-ish, police-ish men standing on the side of the road with rifle/shotgun looking things. As we approach the area, one of the men standing in the double yellow lines lifts his rifle, points to us, and motions us to pull over. Here we go...
I'm ready. I've got my Colorado license (I know, I haven't lived there in a long time, but no one will ever know), my rental car papers, and I'm seat belted in. No problems.
I roll down my window, smile in my prettiest gringa smile and spit out the best broken Spanish I can manage. Hola, como esta? Donde vamos? Vamos a Punta Cana. Uh, oh, maybe I shouldn't have told him that we were headed to Punta Cana. That is the tourist trap of the entire island and well, where people with money to spare would head. Crap.
Here's all my papers, officer. Yes, I am from the US. What? Wait, I don't understand? What? Chicken? Food? Eat? Your're my friend? Money? You want me to give you money to buy chicken to eat? What?
I make eye contact with Kelly, huh? This can't be happening. He wants us to give him money so that he can buy lunch? Chicken? Oh, hell no.
Sorry, sir, I am a teacher and I don't have a lot of money - bye.
And we drive off - I wish I could say that we peeled out, but I don't think the miniature little Nissan could have handled that.
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