I've told this story before, but in my juvenile, demented mind, its worth repeating over and over for the moral of the story.
In 2006 i had a 2003 Suzuki GSXR1000 in pristine condition that i bought for US $4,000. That should have been the first red flag. I had an Austrian father son team that i raced around the island with. No, we weren't in any actual "sanctioned" races...you know, with a race track and all. The island is our race track. Always has been.
I was living in Bonao at the time. I drove up to Puerto Plata on the weekends to meet the race "team." They also owned two 2004 Suzuki GSXR 1000's. I was waiting on the Malecon for them. I walked across the street to the ocean side to take some pictures of the stature before it got stolen. When i came back to my bike, three grown, overweight, obese Dominican men were standing around my bike. they had badges around their necks, with G2 written on their jackets. They asked me for my papers. I smiled politely and took them out and handed to them. They asked me for the "Aduana" (Customs) papers. I didn't have it. They told me to give me the ignition key, get on the back of a scooter that they were driving, and follow them to their "Office" where they would presumably check that everything was in order. Convinced that i had all my papers in order, i obliged.
So, there we were--me sitting on the back of a scooter with my ass hanging off the back, and two grown men sitting in front of me, crushing a scooter--thre three of us weighed way over 600lbs. I alone weigh 195lbs. We were all craning our necks, trying to look out in front at my motorcycle being driven by a third obese guy. I took a picture of it with my cell phone while we drove through Puerto Plata. I still have it somewhere. It was absurd. But, of course, absurdity is part of everyday lexicon and life down here. So, i just went with the flow. I had a "get out of jail free" card on me if i felt in danger or felt that i needed it for any reason.
10 minutes later we're pulling up to a three story apartment building directly across the street from the Prison in Puerto Plata (it's on the outskirts of the city). Two guys are pushing my motorcycle into the living room of an apartment. I walk in and am introduced to a variety of G2 officers and prostitutes that are hanging out on plastic lawn chairs and a beat up sofa that looks like its been purchased at a garage sale in downtown LA (lower Alabama).
The chief looks at my papers and asks for the "Aduana" paper. I tell him that it must be back in Bonao. He says that the motorcycle will have to stay there until next week when he can verify if the Aduana has been paid. I ask him if there is not some other solution to the problem? He says no. I say, ok, excuse me while i make a call. I walk into their kitchen and call my cousin--who happens to be my "Get out of motorcycle jail free card." It's Saturday and he is apparently at the river with his family and friends drinking rum. he doesn't answer. This is not good. He always answers when i call. This means he's either drunk, swimming, having sex, or all three.
Ok, plan B. I Call my other cousin. He is about as close to a get out of jail free card as the first cousin, but he lacks the necessary titles to scare anyone initially, but can make a few quick phone calls and accomplish whatever he wants. The phone rings and rings. No answer. Guess what, it's Saturday, which means he's either at the river with our cousin, up in the mountains at his second home with his girlfriend, in santo domingo at his other home with a different girlfriend, at a Cabana with another girlfriend, or at home with his wife trying to get out of the house in order to go meet one of his ten girlfriends.
Ok, plan C. I call my other cousin who is a gynecologist in Bonao. He's got some pull with women, maybe he can help with police. I explain to him the story, he asks to speak to the chief; i hand the chief my phone. The chief laughs, nods up and down, laughs some more, and then hands my phone back to me. My cousin tells me to hand him some money and be on my way. Ok, that's easy. I had a lot of money on me. I was planning a three day motorcycle trip, so i brought probably too much money with me...because, let's face it, you never know when you are going to run into an absurd situation or emergency in the DR.
I hang up the phone, and ask the chief how much he wants? He laughs, then laughs some more, then says come back on Monday. I don't want to come back on monday. I got friends waiting on me. I got a motorcycle trip waiting on me. I got races to do, and people to frighten to death--namely myself. I call my cousin back, and explain the situation. he asks to speak to the chief again. I hand him the phone. he laughs, he nods his head up and down, and then he hands me the phone back. My cousin says to me---and i quote, "You idiot. did you just offer him money in front of everyone in the room?"
"Yes."
"Dumbass, go outside and offer him the money privately, quietly. How stupid are you?"
"Very."
"I know."
I hang up the phone and ask the chief if i can speak to him in "Private." Sure. we walk into a bedroom--which has two army cots inside and is very, very cramped; were standing no more then 4 inches away from each other--facing each other--almost kissing; were trying to maneuver a little in order to give each other some breathing room. This is a scene straight out of "Midnight Express." i pull out some money and offer it to him. He laughs and refuses it. I pull out more money, he laughs and tells me to come back on Monday and pats me on the shoulder. I don't want to come back on monday, i have people waiting on me.
We go back out into the living room where there are, i don't know, maybe 7 or 8 people--both men and prostitutes (you got to love the DR), all hanging around like a bunch of burnouts who just skipped school and our waiting until 3pm before they can emerge from their parents basement and start walking around outside. A G2 officer says to me that both they and the girls are thirsty. Ok, for what?
"Beer."
ok, i hand the girls some money and they run off and buy some beer and phone cards for themselves. 15 minutes later, the G2 cop says they are thirsty again. Ok, i hand them some more money. They run off and buy more beer. Meanwhile, i've called my first and closest cousin a millions times without any answer. He's either passed out, sleeping, out of the country, or dead! But he's my only hope of getting out of their before Monday.
Inside, the beer is flowing, the girls are laughing, a few are dancing and showing everyone their boobs (my money is going to good use: sexual debauchery of the finest kind), i'm getting drunk--i can't handle alcohol. I don't really drink. Now the G2 are getting drunk, everyone is laughing. it's high school all over again! It's an impromptu party at someone's else expense. Perfect. An orgy is going to break out at any moment...at my expense. Oh well, I got to pee. I excuse myself and go to the toilet. There is no toilet seat. Good. I can just pee without thinking about lifting any seat up. A girl walks in and is giving me a reach around and asking if i want anything. I politely decline. I have gonorrhea and i don't want to give it to her yet. She's seems like a nice girl. But she's not taking no for an answer. i politely tell her no again, and then put my gonorrhea back into my pants and go back into the living room where the party is going on strong...at my expense. They want more beer. But of course you do! "Go get more beer, i tell the girls, and hand them some more money."
Suddenly, i cannot drink anymore. I'm nearly drunk, i thank everyone for a good time, and tell them i'll be back on Monday. I leave. As i'm on the back of a motoconcho, heading towards the malecon, my phone rings and its my Austrian friends. They're on the way to me right now to get my bike out. I tell them don't bother. It's not happening! They laugh. They got their own "get out of jail free motorcycle card with them." We meet and go back to the apartment. I don't want to go inside. there is probably an orgy going on right now at my expense. I've got venereal diseases, and this does not jive well with me when i cannot participate in a beaver fest that i paid for with my own money.
A man, Eduardo, who i have never seen before in my life, gets out of the back of my Austrians SUV (I had forgot, i had called them earlier in the day to explain what happened). We walk inside the apartment, everyone stands up and greets Eduardo. He and the chief go back into the back bedroom and 5 minutes later, my Suzuki GSXR1000 is being pushed outside into the front yard.
Moral of the story: Dominicans love beer, they love to party, they love money, they love sex, and in the DR--getting something done in a timely fashion--is about who you know, not what you know.
Love Frank