Here’s What You Need to Know about the Police in Mexico…
Mexico's "El Portrero Chico", as seen through the lens of my drone. I paid a bribe to a cop just twenty minutes earlier.
vfk I had to pay a bribe on my third day in Mexico. Here’s how it happened, and here’s how to avoid it:
For those of you new here, a bit of backstory: I was on the road from September 2021 to December of 2023, riding an aging motorbike all the way from New York to the bottom of South America, all before selling the bike and flying home.
I crossed into Mexico in October 2022 after a little over a year, and it took less than 72 hours before I had to pay "una mordita" - a "little bite" - to a cop.
I’d been staying in the spare bedroom of the mother of a friend of a friend of a friend in Monterrey, a sleepless city some two hours south of Laredo, Texas. After two days of eating street tacos and training jiu jitsu, I rode north of the city to Hidalgo on my fully-loaded, foreign motorcycle. The suspension, recently rebuilt, floated and then clunked as I passed over a set of train tracks. Off to the roadside, I saw a cop car. Less than 30 seconds later, I'm getting pulled over by said cop. I pulled my helmet off.
"You hit that car you passed over there.” He says in Spanish.
It behooves me to reiterate that, in that moment, it’s my third day in Mexico - my third day in Latin America. And in spite of 3+ years of classes in high school, and a few jobs working in restaurants and on landscaping crews, I speak roughly ZERO Spanish. But I’m confident, and decide, "Hey, let's try this out."
So I say, in very broken Spanish, "I'm sorry, I don't understand. I didn't hit anyone.” Then he starts saying the magic words.
Papeles.”Papers."
Pasaporte. ”Passport."
He was a short man with a paunchy gut. His uniform was pressed neatly, thought the heels of his khaki pants frayed - a sign of his constant efforts to fight his stature. His hands hung in front of his gut, fingertips tented together as he spoke.
I opened my top case to hand over the registration, my passport, even the orginial title for the motorcycle. He glances over the papers with indifference, like a hunter tracking a buck and only finding does.
He then asks, "Seguro?" And I got confused. Why would I buy security?
He pulls his phone out and translates it.
Seguro = Insurance.
That's when I realize, "Fuck me sideways. I forgot to buy that at the border." I’d bought the TIP, the $40 temporary import permit that allowed me a potential six months in the country. The only other document I needed, was basic liability insurance. Coming from the US, I knew you could at least get your a car towed by driving without insurance.
I knew I was caught, so I pull my phone out and type into Google Translate, "I'm sorry. It's my third day here, and I forgot to buy insurance at the border. I can buy it right now on my phone.”
He reads it, looks at me through slanted sunglasses.
"Ok, VAMANOS.” He says. He turns on his boot heels, taking a step towards the car... And then opens the back door to the police cruiser. At the same time, another police car pulls over. The man exiting the car is taller, his navy blue button down tucked neatly into pressed, black pants. The only thing making it clear he’s a member of “La Guardia Nacional” is the patch on his chest and two silver pins pressed into his shirt collars. The two men embrace with a handskae and a smile. Words pass between them, but I don’t hear.
Scenes flash in my head in a fraction of a moment; I’m suddenly shirtless on the yard in a Mexican prison, desperately awaiting calls from home while trying to survive as el gringo; my older brother hugging me in Dallas before I left, saying, “If you get kidnapped, I’m not paying a ransom.”; the thick, smoky air of the booking room down at a mysterious, sinister, concrete-walled police station. I knew, surely as I knew how to ride the fucking motorcycle, that I was about to go to jail in Mexico.
He reaches into the back of the car and pulls out his leather satchel from the back seat. From that, he produced a notebook.
"Es un infraccion." An infraction.
Okay, I think. I can do a ticket.
Nerves and anxiety do funny things.
"It's 100 US DOLLARS.” He continues.
And in a moment of clarity, like the lights turning on in a dark hallway, I realize I'm being gotten good. Conned. Bamboozled and taken as the gringo who doesn’t understand how things work. I think to fight it, but it's a fair infraction - I did forget to buy insurance, and admitted to it. I considered the fact that prolonging the interaction means a potential confiscation of the bike, my documents - hell, whatever this guy and his partner want.
So I say, "Okay - let's go to the station. I'll pay it there." He says something I couldn't understand, but judging by the attitude in his voice it was something like, “It'll cost more at the station.”
I start to think of all the times people have told me about bribes in Mexico; the stories of adventureres past who I’ve followed throughout my years of planning this adventure. Ted Simon. Ewan McGreggor and Charley Boorman. Dave Barr (no relation.) I decide to try my hand at it all.
I say, "Can we just take care of it here?"
He looks left. Looks Right. Then says, "It's my lucky day." He beckons me to the other side of the police cruiser.
I pull a USD $20 out of my jacket pocket.
"$75." He says.
I say no way, and pull another 20 our of my pocket. He still has my documents. And again he refuses.
“$70.”
Finally, I pull the last bit of pesos I have in my pocket out - 60 or so. He plucks it from my hand, stacking 60 pesos onto $40USD for a total of roughly $43. I felt the tension ease. He was satisfied.
And then, in perfect English, he says, "Thank you very much. Now you go."
The whole bit of Kabbalah cost me USD $43, and it's that I will share with you now:
In most countries in Central America, you're required to have, at minimum, liability insurance, much like the USA. The only country I can recall not needing ANY insurance on the way to Ushuaia was Ecuador.
In situations like this - manufactured traffic stops sourced in the fact that you, future traveler, will simply look foreign - Cops will call in officers as “backup” as a form of intimidation. They will confiscate your documents, your passport, even your motorcycle if you give them a reason to do so.
It’s going to be scary. After all, you’re no longer in your home country - the place where people are “innocent until proven guilty.” In most Central and South American countries, it’s the opposite.
All that said: here’s the advice - the “tried and true” method of evading the oft-mentioned Mordita.
1.) Know your rights: In Mexico, it is expressly illegal for cops to ask for bribes. Any cop being caught soliciting during a traffic stop will get fired, and potentially arrested for doing so. For many members of la policía, that job is not worth losing over a few pesos.
2.) Get a GoPro: To piggyback off of number one, a GoPro can be your best friend during a traffic stop. I’ve had more than one cop abandon an obvious bribe attempt once I pointed out the recording camera. Video evidence isn’t something they want kicking around.
3.) Never speak Spanish: My advice? Even if you speak Spanish, no you don't. The goal with any police officer is to try waste as much time as physically possible. DISCLAIMER: Obviously, this is assuming you know they're going to try and get a bribe. If you’re at a military checkpoint - one that you know is a checkpoint - feel free to exchange pleasantries in your tongue of choice.
4.) Have Copies. Multiple Copies: I never offer my orginal documents. I hand over copies, and if they request the originals, simply say (in English), that they’re burried deeply in your luggage, and then take your sweet time in finding them.
5.) Never Keep Cash in a Single Pocket: A one-way trip to having all your money taken is pulling out a stack of cash. You should be hiding your cash all over the place; some in each pocket of your jacket, some in your luggage, some in a money belt UNDER your T-Shirt (ideally, this is where you’ll also keep your original vehicle documents), etc. This gives your the opportunity, like I did, to pull out a $20 from one pocket, another, and another.
6.) “Vamos a la estacion.”: Any “fine” an officer quotes you can be paid at the police station, and you should insist on doing so. They’re required to give you a “boleta”, or a reciept for your payment. If an officer can’t provide a reciept, you can assume it’s an “unofficial payment.”
Riding my motorcycle through Mexico involved two of the most culturally enriching, scenically beautiful, and symbolic significance of my entire journey. It’s a wonderful country that, especially in the US, is a victim of reputation. I’ve camped outside in parts of the country on the “Do Not Travel” list from the US State Department; floated a river below 200ft. waterfalls; had one of my teeth cemented back together in a dingy dentist office in Mexico City. Hell - even had a gun pulled on me while riding over a volcano.
The reputation can be scary, especially that around the Federales (the infamous Federal Police only existed from 1999 to 2019, after which they were succeeded by the National Guard), but I encourage you all to look past it. Mexico has rules, just like everywhere else. Know the rules, know how to navigate them, and know what you’re capable of.
Get out, take some risks, and go explore!