La Mordida
We are about an hour and a half outside of La Paz, driving back home after spending our winter in Baja.
As usual, we are a couple of hours behind the schedule, but finally on our way.
Monty, our hundred-pound Golden retriever is wedged in the space between the driver’s and passenger’s seats. His favorite place. Pulling a small trailer behind our Sprinter van, we are cruising at a comfortable speed. Jim is driving, listening to his music. I am finally settled in, and writing a poem or something which is reflecting my pensive mood.
“There is a cop behind us.”
I hear Jim say in a too-quiet voice (it doesn’t help I have my noise-canceling headphones on)
Unconcerned, I say nothing.
“His lights are flashing!” He says much louder.
I raise my eyes from my iPhone and look in my side mirror while removing my headphones.
“Should I pull over?” asks Jim.
“Yes Jim, you should definitely pull over!” I say wondering why he is asking me such an obvious question.
I start looking for a possible spot to do just that.
“How fast were you going anyway?”
“I don’t know, 50, 55?” I believe him because he is a cautious driver.
“Okay, no worries, let me talk to him. Whatever you do, do not pull out the money from your pocket! (Jim has this habit that I dislike. He always carries a thick wad of money in his bulging pockets).
I tell him I have some money in my wallet. From our experiences, I am prepared for exactly such an occasion.
“ Shit!” Says Jim under his breath, “he’s got the black book with him.” I try to tell him again not to worry.
Jim rolls down the window.
The officer looks friendly enough when he greets us. With the black face mask not covering his nose, he announces we were driving over the speed limit. With my own face mask on, I send him a smile with my eyes and in my friendliest possible Spanish, I ask him what the speed limit is. He tells us it is 80km/hour, which is just around 50 miles/hour.
“We were just passed by another car,” I say, pointing at the cars speeding by.
Righteousness immediately clouds my reasonable part of the brain: “ And how do you know that? How do you know we were driving too fast? Sir?” My words come tumbling out too loud.
Not knowing the Spanish word for radar, I point a finger at him mimicking the gun, trying to ask him if he has a speed gun. Of course, my reasonable part of the brain is defeated.
The officer walks to my side, shaking his head. I shrink into the seat. “Fuck!” I whisper.
“What can we do officer?” I am asking him in my best possible nice girl voice.
“I have to write you a ticket for driving over the speed limit. You have to go back to La Paz to pay at the police station.” He says knowing well, that we are not going to drive all the way back to La Paz.
“Today is Sunday. Everything is closed!” I feel my voice rising again with indignation.
I am a terribly slow learner.
“Yes, it is Sunday.” He answers, a twinkle in his eyes. “I can call the office though.”
“Pinche Cabron,“ I luckily just think those words to myself, but my eyes don’t lie.
“You know we are not going to drive all the way back to La Paz. How much is the ticket?”
I hate corrupted Mexican cops. I really do.
“For thousand pesos.” He says without a blink. He is well-rehearsed.
I want to punch him.
“You must be making some good money off the Gringos today.” The words escape me again before my rational brain has a chance to override my blabbering mouth.
“ You are insulting an officer of the law. I can have you arrested. Would you like me to arrest you?” asks the officer in a very serious voice. A part of my rebellious self wants to throw myself on the ground and scream: “Yes, Yes - go ahead and arrest me!” But I look over at Jim and he’s just sitting there wondering what the hell is going on- he understands the word arrest, and he does not look amused.
“I inhale slowly, deeply, and on the exhale I say, now truly remorseful: “ I am sorry officer, I should not have said that. It has been a stressful day packing up and leaving. We love your country and we are sad we are leaving. We are trying to get to San Ignacio before dark because it’s dangerous to drive at night and...” Blah, blah, blah.
“Do not argue with or insult the cops no matter what country you are in.”
“ Yes, yes, very dangerous to drive in the dark. Lots of cows,” says Miguel, whose name I have learned during our match, which I should have known I would not win.
Jim keeps asking what the hell is going on. With my look, I am trying to reassure him, that I got this. He isn't so sure of that any longer.
“Listen, officer,” I say resigned to pay La Mordida (the bribe) and get the hell out of there,
“ I don’t have four thousand pesos, (at the current exchange rate it comes to around two hundred dollars). I pull out my wallet. In it there, are two red 100 peso notes and a small bundle of 20 peso notes, all together probably totaling around 400 pesos.
“This is all I have left. Sir. End of vacation. No more money .” I wave my empty wallet at him. I wrap the cash in a piece of paper and hand it over to him. “I am very sorry,” I add. I give him a fist bump. He can’t help himself. He returns a fist bump and says: “ Have a safe trip.” He turns on his heels, making a crunching sound in the gravel, and walks back to his car.
“Let's just get out of here,” I say quietly.
We pull back onto the highway, both sitting in silence for a long time.
The moral of this story:
1.) Do not put more cash in your wallet than you are prepared to part with when you are pulled over by the Mexican police.
2.) Do not argue with or insult the cops no matter what country you are in.
It seems to be my specialty. Somehow I am still here and not rotting in some dark dungeon, eating prison food and writing on the walls with my nails over and over: “I shall not argue with authorities.”
When will I ever learn that?
We arrive at San Ignacio just as the sun is setting. I make us both a strong drink, and Monty is happy to get out of the van to go for a swim in the freshwater lagoon.
Enjoying dinner and a stiff drink at San Ignacio
