Part I. The theory exam
Today’s blog entry is the first of two segments that are going to take you down memory lane into what, for most of you, was the distant past. Think way, way, way back to when you were just learning to drive a car. Of course back then you were excited with all the possibilities that being able to drive would offer – riding into town and cruising the streets with friends, road trips out to the state parks, parking with a girlfriend off Myers School Road. But let’s not forget the hassles associated with those exciting times - learner’s permit, eye test, written exam, then culminating with the actual driving exam in the little enclosed circuit behind the police station. Let’s be honest. It was all a bit stressful. At least that is how it was for me. 25 bloody years ago!
Well, guess what? I recently had the pleasurable opportunity to relive those youthful days. To re-experience the excitement and anticipation. To once again officially learn to drive.
I started this exciting process in July and I had until November 15, 2007 to complete it. That is when my US driver’s license would expire.
First, let me tell you that driving here in Holland is a complete and total nightmare. If you are not sitting in a 20Km traffic jam on the A2 (inevitably somewhere in the vicinity of Utrecht) then you are stuck in a 50 car backup on a main thoroughfare right here in Haarlem while a Leen Bakker truck is triple parked for 30 minutes to unload new merchandise into the store – which by the way is a perfectly legal thing to do over here. Bicycles, pedestrians, mopeds, motorcycles, horses, trucks, tractors, trams, carts, etc. are all considered road users and there is an obscure and complicated set of rules that dictate right-of-way and proper procedures for each of these users under every imaginable set of circumstances.
Needless to say, there is an entire industry built up around helping people to navigate these rules and successfully obtaining a Dutch driver’s license. It’s a two part process. First you have to pass the Theory Exam then you have to pass the Practical Exam.
For someone who has driven 25 years, three of which have been right here on the mean streets of Holland, it should be a simple proposition, right? I already had it all figured out…
The first thing that I did was to call the largest driving school in the region – Sprang & Tempo, for advice. I see their cars on the streets all the time and thought that they would be the best choice. They listened to my situation (in Dutch) and set up an appointment for an evaluation drive later that week, saying that they needed to assess my skills before they could advise me on what I should do.
“Ok,” I thought. “I’ll dazzle them with my 25 years of experience and they’ll recommend that I go straight to the exams. 1, 2, done in a week.”
Well, it was embarrassing enough when the neighbors saw the “Loser” car pulled up in front of our house to pick me up (the school cars all have a big “L” on the roof and are the frequent butt of jokes by us, er, licensed drivers), but it was even worse when I saw who I had for an instructor. I had been driving longer than this kid had been alive.
It quickly turned ugly. Our one hour session was filled with this little punk chastising me for everything from lingering with my right hand on the gear shift a bit too long to turning the steering wheel while the car was not in motion. When the session was over he explained to me that it was obvious that I knew how to drive, but that I needed to learn how to pass the exam and these were two very different things. He recommended that I take 6 one-hour lessons before scheduling the practical exam. I was flabbergasted and spoke up in protest. He repeated his point, saying that I would never pass the exam in the manner that I had just driven. It was that simple.
But even more importantly, I must first pass the Theory Exam. It wasn’t even worth moving forward until I had obtained that certificate. On that point I agreed. He said that he would send me the Rules and Regulations Manual and Self-Study Guide, including 8 practice exams in the mail. “Please call us back when you have the certificate.”
Three days later all of the material arrived. I was pleasantly surprised to see that he had found an English version of the traffic manual and quickly dove into the 168 page text.
I could go on for hours about that damned manual and all the ridiculous levels of minutiae that are contained in it, but for your sake I won’t. Suffice it to say that I read every page and memorized what I thought were the important points - like braking distances, right-of-way rules, and speed limits.
After another three days of studying I sat down to take my first practice exam. The exams are 50 questions each and you are allowed to miss up to 6 questions and still pass.
By the time that I answered the last question on my first practice exam, I knew that I was in serious trouble. There had been at least 8 completely obscure questions in the exam covering everything from the flag configuration on a Military Convoy to the difference between stopping on the side of the road to get cash from an ATM machine versus stopping to deliver a package. Well, at least the “normal” questions had gone pretty good, right? The ones about right-of-way and highway merging and speed limits on country roads were straight forward, weren’t they?
I turned to the answer key and started checking my answers. Holy Shit! 14 questions wrong!
Not only had I missed the obscure questions (as predicted), but I had also brutally learned that there is a major difference in how the Dutch view an exam versus how we Americans view it. The questions on this exam were specifically designed to trick you into making a wrong choice.
This is best illustrated with a question about the age/height/weight of children in a car seat. The exam picture showed a little kid sitting in a car seat, strapped in and smiling like a dork. The text told me that he weighed 25 kilo’s, was 5 years old and was 1,2 meters tall. The question was simple: May he ride like this? (Or in the annoyingly simplified Dutch used for the exam - “Mag dat?”)
Well, first off you couldn’t pay me to care less about the rules for little kids in car seats and in my opinion it has absolutely no bearing on the ability to operate a motor vehicle, but that issue aside, Sure! The little rugrat was fine in his little car seat! The age doesn’t matter, the weight was under the 36 kilo limit and the height can be up to 1,3 meters so he was good-to-go.
But I was stunned upon checking the answer…..Nooooooo. He was not good-to-go because the picture shows that the child seat is in the front seat of the car, not the back. WHAT!!! Just bloody ASK me if the thing has to be strapped into the front or the back seat!!!! Don’t mislead me with age/height/weight stats!
Needless to say, I didn’t schedule the real exam for that week. In fact, it took me three weeks to learn the trick nature of the questions in the practice exams and be able to pass them consistently.
But by the day of the real exam I thought that I was finally ready. I took the train into Amsterdam Sloterdijk station and leisurely walked the 15 minutes to the exam center, clearing my head in relaxed preparation. Thank god I was ½ hour early because when I got up to the window to announce my arrival, the receptionist nicely took my information and asked for my two passport sized photo’s that I would need for my certificate in case I passed the exam. When I explained that I hadn’t been told about this and didn’t have any photos with me, she kindly pointed to a sign on the wall, conveniently in both English and Dutch –“No photos, no exam. No exceptions!”
Son of a … The receptionist looked at her watch and said. You might be able to make it if you hurry. There is a photo booth at the train station.
I ran my ass off back up to the station. I was in my jeans and dress shoes and it must have been the hottest, muggiest day that we had all year here in Holland. By the time I got to the station I was sweating like a fatted calf at a prodigal son homecoming party, but I still managed to smile for the camera. My nerves were fraying as I had to stand and wait for the little machine to process and spit back out my pictures. At 12:20 I started running back to the exam center. I made it at 12:28 and just deposited my pictures with the receptionist when they called us into the exam room.
Still sweating, I sat down with 11 other people and was instructed on how to use the computerized system. Although I was pleasantly surprised to see that I wasn’t the only old-fart taking the exam today, I was completely frazzled at that point and was sure that it would not be the last time that I sat in this exam room.
It was yet another surprise that the exam was timed. You only had 45 seconds for each question. 45 seconds to examine the obscure details of each picture, looking for road signs, blind corners, and pedestrians. No answer in time equals a wrong answer.
It was a very long 30 minutes.
At the end of the exam the other people started talking with each other while we all waited for the results. I sat quietly. Listening. It was the 5th time for the woman next to me and the 3rd for the guy behind me. This was not sounding very encouraging.
When the examiner came back out, she had the results in a small stack of papers in her hand. She started walking among the rows, issuing apologies as she went. There were four people in front of me and she issued four apologies. “I’m sorry. I wish you better luck next time.”
Then she stood in front of me and with absolutely no change in expression or tone she said, “Congratulations” and handed me my certificate, complete with the disgusting sweaty picture attached. I had missed three questions.
Only four people passed the exam that day, which I came to find out was a typical percentage. But this expat American, who just recently learned that he had been driving illegally for the last 3 years, was one of them.
Stay tuned for the next installment – The Practical Exam, featuring the gay instructor, the air traffic controller, and the echoing words “You’re confusing the traffic! That’s the absolutely worst thing that you could possibly do!”
This extremely unlikely city has been portrayed so often in photos, art, and film that it is impossible to hear the word “Venice” without conjuring a finely-honed image in your head. One might think that it is not even necessary to visit because it is already so familiar. But as our water-taxi made its way through the Grand Canal en route to the Rialto Bridge, passing palaces, gondola’s and the trademark candy striped boat moorings, that sense of familiarity was surprisingly coupled with exotic excitement.
Once the goods are in the city, they are off-loaded to these carts and hand wheeled to their final destination. Not a single car, golf cart or scooter! Fantastic!
...and one of the nicer final destinations for those goods was the Rialto Market.
Once you muscled your way through the crowds surrounding the tacky tourist booths, a classic European market could be found.
And being a city surrounded by water, fish was one of the main fares on offer. Once again the food in Northern Italy exceeded our expectations. It really doesn't get any better.
Anyone who has played one of those infamous first-person shooter computer games set in Venice or been to the Belaggio in Las Vegas will recognize this water color. Who'd of thunk that they would actually have gotten it right?
The obligatory sunny terrace with beer photo. Hmmmm....which beer is Beth's?
The obnoxious "pigeon man". He kept feeding the little buggers (which is why we had to have a cover on our peanut in the last photo). 
I hesitated to post this photo because it carries such a strong pop-culture connotation of religion, but the sun cutting through the colorful trees spilling light onto the approaching intersection was too perfect to pass up. Take what you want from it...as long as it helps you choose your own path.