Tinder in Punta Cana
After realizing that sex in the Dominican Republic is mostly a matter of price—and after being offered taxis, drugs, or prostitutes at least seventy times in just five days—I fled the pushy sales mentality of the locals. Both men and women approached me about prostitution, sometimes repeatedly. To escape the situation, I checked into an adults-only resort to kill time before my flight home.
Out of habit, I tried Tinder there. And sure enough, in the DR, it seems like an easy game. Among the many quick matches, one woman caught my eye—she posed with a car in her photos. “A woman with a mid-range car probably isn’t just after money,” I thought, and arranged to meet her at a bar.
When she arrived, she was attractive, a bit curvy, with wavy hair and an outfit that didn’t suit the tropical heat: white pants and a black top. We ordered beer and fries, and she started talking: about her three kids, a house on the other side of the island, the struggles of running a small business—and how she was currently living in her borrowed car. “The car isn’t even hers,” I realized. “Another misjudgment.” I had assumed that women with cars in poor countries must be well-off.
She told me about her attempts to pick up rich tourists in clubs, the harshness of life on the streets, and other precarious situations. “No thanks,” I thought, stood up, paid, and tried to call an Uber back to the resort. But she reacted aggressively: “That’s it? Come to my car!”
Against my better judgment, I got into her car—not out of interest, but a mix of surprise and discomfort. I wasn’t attracted to her anymore. She suggested going to a motel for $100, and her pushy attitude reminded me of cold LinkedIn pitches. Finally, out of pity for her poverty, I gave her $10 and ordered an Uber—without any sexual contact.
On the way back to the hotel, I thought: “After what felt like 70,000 dates, this was the first time I had to pay just for the company.” That isn’t the deal in online dating. I classified the encounter as a Tinder scam.
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