NEVER Take an Uber in the Dominican Republic

Let me just start by saying: I’m all for adventure. But there’s a big difference between zip-lining through a jungle and having your kids semi-held hostage by an Uber driver in the middle of nowhere in the Dominican Republic.

On our recent trip to the DR, we stayed at a resort up in Miches — about an hour and a half from the airport. It’s remote, peaceful, and exactly the kind of place where you go to unplug and pretend you don’t have 237 unanswered emails.

Noah (my oldest) and I took the hotel shuttle, which was perfectly uneventful. (Well, other than the shuttle driver pulling over, chasing two children, and then getting into a fight with what appeared to be their mother.) The same could not be said for my younger two kids, who landed later and didn’t have the shuttle as an option. So I, in a moment of temporary parental delusion, sent them an Uber.

Spoiler alert: NEVER. DO. THIS.

It All Starts With a Delay

The Uber was already sketchy before it even started moving. The app said the driver would be there in X amount of minutes, but X quickly turned into Y, and then Z. Fine, delays happen. But once the driver finally picked up my kids, things went downhill — and fast.

Just outside of town — aka the last place with lights, witnesses, and strong cell signal — the driver pulled over on the side of the road in a fairly remote area. He told my kids (via Google Translate, because he spoke no English) that he would not take them any further unless they gave him $90 USD. Cash. Right there. On the spot.

The Shake Down

To be clear, my kids aren’t fluent enough in Spanish to realize right way what is going on — they’re more Duolingo-level “I can order tacos” fluent. Jonah tried to negotiate and offered an extra $40, thinking this guy was just trying to hustle a tip. The driver refused. He wanted $90, or no ride. He would leave them outside of a town on a dark road.

At this point, I’m on the phone with them from the resort — pacing, panicking, and trying not to let my brain spiral into every Dateline episode I’ve ever watched. I told them: just agree, I’ll figure out the money. I’m assuming he’ll take the bribe and get back on the road.

Eventually, after 15-20 nerve-wracking minutes parked in the dark on a Dominican roadside, he drives.

Remote Doesn’t Even Begin to Describe It

Noah and I are at the resort and I am losing my minds. There’s still more than an hour to go and the road ahead? Jungle. Literal jungle. Flashbacks hit hard — I was drugged in the DR back in 2017 (something I’ve never shared about publicly), and here I was again, regretting ever setting foot in this country thinking things had improved. Spoiler: they haven’t.

I alerted the hotel staff. I told them what was going on. At 10:30 PM I asked them to call the police. Their response? “We’ll try to find the number.” Cute.

Fast-forward an hour later when I am begging for the police: I realize they absolutely were not calling the police. Why? Because, surprise again — they all knew exactly what this was. A known Uber scam. And they weren’t going to mess with the status quo. (Keep in mind I don’t know about this scam yet.)

The Arrival (and the Shakedown, Part II)

While my kids are en route with a possible extortionist, I’m running around the hotel trying to pull together the $90 in cash. ATM #1 declines me. ATM #2 finally coughs up enough. I’m now armed with $60 in USD and $33 USD in Dominican pesos, which I guess equals please-don’t-hurt-my-kids money.

And just when I think it’s over, the kids call again — “He’s lost.” Oh, now he’s lost? I had to get a hotel staff member to give him directions. Technically, I begged 3 staff members to speak with him and finally, one did.

When my kids finally arrive — hours later — I literally run to security to meet them. I’m shaking, crying, thankful they’re okay. We walk to the front desk… but guess who follows us?

Yep. The driver. Onto the property. Past security. And now he’s demanding more money. Loudly.

And Still, No One Helps

The money I’ve already gathered is sitting there, on the front desk counter, as he continues asking for more money. Security watches. Hotel staff watches. No one intervenes. In fact, they pull out a taxi chart and start explaining that I still owe him money. Except I’ve already paid more than the listed rate of $140 USD.

Also, did we forget what an Uber is? It’s supposed to be cheaper than a cab.

At this point, I’ve gone from scared to full-blown furious. I push the cash toward the driver and refuse to pay another cent. He still won’t leave. Security still won’t help. The front desk starts pointing at my daughter and blaming her, which, what? WHY?

After 10 tense minutes of refusing and stonewalling, the driver finally gives up and leaves. Not because hotel security removed him — oh no. Because I screamed at him until he realized I wasn’t backing down.

So, What Did We Learn?

If you’re thinking about taking an Uber in the Dominican Republic: Don’t. Do not for any reason ever step foot in an Uber in the Dominican Republic.

Here’s why:

• Many Uber drivers run cash scams and hold tourists hostage mid-ride.
• Most drivers speak no English, making negotiations (or SOS calls) nearly impossible.
• Locals — including hotel staff — often know this is happening and won’t intervene.
• Security? More like silent spectators.
• Only use verified hotel transportation or private transfer companies.

The Bottom Line

I truly believed the Dominican Republic had cleaned up its act in the last decade. And maybe in some areas, it has. But this experience reminded me — painfully — that scams like this are still alive and well, and tourists are still easy targets.

So take it from me: unless you want to recreate your own real-life Taken movie, DO NOT TAKE AN UBER IN THE DOMINICAN REPUBLIC. It’s just not worth the risk.

FYI: Yes, I have reached out to Uber. They don’t care.