Getting a license to drive, Republican Herald, September 2011

Getting a license to drive
Published: September 25, 2011
http://republicanherald.com/news/getting-a-license-to-drive-1.1207606

First I was angry, then I was scared, now I'm simply exhausted. It was my decision, so I can't blame anyone else. I'm the one who decided on July 29 to enroll in auto-ecole - a driving school, an experience, an investment, a rite of passage and a necessity for any Frenchman who aspires to drive in France.

No parents taking Johnny out on the weekend for a lesson in the family car, no practicing with a licensed driver in an empty parking lot, no driver's ed in high school, auto-ecole is a requirement and pretty much the only way to get a driver's licence in France. Not a bad idea, some might say, but wait until I tell you the price tag. That's where the anger comes in.

In July, I handed over a check for 1,000 euros, the going price for a standard driving course, which equals about $1,365, and that does not include enrollment fees for the official state exams - a theoretical and a practical test. Many jobs in France require a driver's licence, but many Frenchmen cannot afford to go to driving school, which makes the entire process exclusionary and undemocratic.

In my case, I carry in my wallet a driver's licence issued by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, but it is not valid in France. Had I known, I would have exchanged it for a French license, a simple formality, when I arrived in France 24 years ago. There is in fact a treaty between France and Pennsylvania allowing drivers to drive for one year with their respective licenses before making the exchange.

Had I known, I might have felt less intrepid, foolhardy might be a better word, when, for three years, between 1987 and 1990, I crisscrossed the routes of southern France in one of the least powerful cars in the world, a "2 chevaux" - a "two-horsepower" - car, a sort of tin can with the rounded angles of a Volkswagen Bug, but without the solidity. For two of those three years, although I was not aware of it at the time, I was driving illegally.

When I arrived in Paris in 1991, I no longer needed to drive. In this city, public transportation is excellent and at rush hour pedestrians move faster than cars. As for parking, without a rented space in a private garage, a driver can spend up to an hour each day looking for a parking place, which he will pay for, and where he can leave his car for no more than 24 hours.

So what got into me? What made me cough up 1,000 euros to be able to participate in a perpetual traffic jam, which is pretty much what driving in Paris is like? I suppose like everybody else, I wanted the freedom a driver's licence brings. I wanted to be able to rent a car for the weekend and explore the back roads of France. I wanted to be able to legally sit behind the wheel in the country where I reside.

Six weeks later, I'm no longer so sure. Auto-école has done me in. More than a learning experience, it has become an obstacle course. French friends warned me, some even predicted I would fail (the French are not the encouraging kind). And when I sat down and began to learn by heart "le code," a 250-page book which includes all the rules of the road in France, I began to think they might be right.

Besides studying at home, I also had to go to my driving school, where, in a dark stuffy room with a flat screen TV, I took a series of practice tests, simulations of the official exam, 40 multiple-choice questions based on the voluminous code. Once we proved we could make five mistakes or less, we were ready for the real thing. For many students, it takes months to get to this point!

A week ago, my driving school (and not me, I had absolutely no say in the matter) decided my time had come, and a date was set for me to take the official exam. Unfortunately, that's also when the school discovered it had lost my file, which included a paper bearing a government seal, permitting me to sit for the exam. Without it, I could go no further and would have to wait weeks for another copy of the document.

Twenty-four hours before the scheduled exam date, my file was still missing. On the eve of the exam, around 8 p.m., I got a call telling me, miraculously, it had been found (and don't think my school is particularly incompetent. Nearly all veterans of auto-ecole have a tale of woe to tell). To make amends, the school proposed to drive me and another candidate to the exam center the next day. Less than one hour before exam time, I received another call telling me the ride had fallen through and it was up to me to pick up the paperwork at the school and guide myself and a young candidate, afraid to go alone, to the test center.

Our progress was like a high-speed chase in an action film. We raced into the Parisian metro, up and down stairs, on and off platforms, changing trains twice, to arrive at the outskirts of Paris, where, at street level, we made a wrong turn. Once I realized "my" mistake (the other candidate followed me like a puppy), we began to run along a heavily travelled boulevard until, just in the nick of time, we entered the official test center, after having undergone a thorough security check.

By that time my heart was beating fast and my mind felt empty. The very last to arrive, we waited while every other candidate, about 100 of them, was called into the exam room. When we entered, only two front row seats remained. The examiner gave us each a remote control which we would use to take the test. The test began. The room was cold and I was clammy after our run. Listless, somehow convinced I would be one of the many who don't "make it" on the first try, I answered the 40 questions about safety, speeding, the dangers of alcohol, etc.

Then we waited again, while each candidate handed in his remote and received his score: pass or fail. There were cries of joy and moans. The pressure to succeed is enormous, because failing not only means taking the exam again, but forking out more money to do so. Once more, we were last. The now empty room had become frigid. The examiner called us to his desk and was about to give us our results …. when the device that "reads" the remote controls broke down. More waiting. More suspense. More tension. I wonder what my blood pressure was that day.

And finally, the words we were hoping for, "C'est bon," it's good, you've passed.

That was three days ago, and I still can't believe it's for real. I have passed the theoretical test. Now the practical test awaits me, and I have a feeling it's not going to be easy. I'll fill you in on that one - and French drivers - next month.

(Honicker can be reached

at honicker.republican herald @gmail.com)