I got my Oregon drivers license on my sixteenth birthday. I had practiced for nearly a year, first in parking lots and later on the road. At times, learning to drive was fun; at times, it was frustrating.
There was just too much to take in. I remember having to switch seats with my dad once, as I was so scared that I refused to even attempt starting his stick-shift truck on a hill, with a car stopped close behind us.
Another time, I was concentrating so hard on the rules of the road, trying to recall the distinction between a school bus's yellow flashing lights and its red flashing lights, that I forgot about the road in front of me and smacked right into the back of an already-stopped pickup truck.
Driving practice was scary, stressful, and sometimes startling, but by the time my sixteenth birthday rolled around, I had put in enough hours to pass the test without any real trouble.
The freedom I enjoyed from that day forward was fantastic. When dad, having just gotten home from work, was disappointed that we were out of ice cream, but mom was too busy preparing dinner to go grab another carton, I volunteered to take the car, and was able to get to Safeway and back - with an ice cream flavor of my choice - in 15 minutes flat.
And, when I wanted to go to prom with a few girl friends senior year, but no one else knew how to drive yet and all of us were too embarrassed to be escorted by our parents, I could volunteer to take the suburban, and transport our friend group to the venue and back, in style.
Now, I find myself
ten years later. I am no longer sixteen, but twenty-six years old.
For the last two years, living in Yanggu, I have walked a fair bit and hitched rides with friends from time to time, but have largely relied on the little blue-and-white bus, that comes by about once an hour, to get me into town and back home again.
Riding the bus is interesting. You see lots of people that you wouldn't see otherwise, and sometimes overhear amusing conversations as well. It keeps you patient, always having to plan and wait, and doesn't give you much of a choice but to live slow.
As you may be able to imagine, though, riding the bus has its hardships, too. Picture waking up late one morning and getting ready as fast as you possibly can, only to rush down the stairs, swing open the front door, and see the bus just passing your apartment. With the next bus not coming for another hour, you are left with no choice but to call a cab, which will cost you 7,000 won - as opposed to the bus, which would have been only 1,100.
Similarly, after work, you might walk the twenty-minute path into town and decide to pop in a grocery store while waiting for the bus, which doesn't come for fifteen more minutes. Suddenly, you look at your watch. Having been immersed in comparing prices and expiration dates on the various brands of milk, you lost track of time and now will have to either: 1) pay 7,000 won for a taxi (again), 2) carry your liter of milk as you walk home (which takes just under an hour), or 3) sit on the bench at the bus stop and wait 60 minutes for the next bus home.
Having experienced both the benefits and the frustrations of relying on public transportation to make my way around this rural region, I decided that, if possible, I'd really like to relive that fantastic freedom that I'd felt at age sixteen.
So, I began to look into purchasing a vehicle.
Before purchasing a vehicle, I would have to acquire a Korean drivers license. Exchanging my U.S. license for a Korean one would only require me to pass the written exam, but would also demand that I send away for an apostille, which costs upwards of $245.
Hoping to avoid that cost, I decided to take route two and simply go through the process of getting drivers license from the beginning, the same way any Korean person would.
I figured that, since I've been driving for ten years now and have even rented a car and driven around Korea a handful of times, it wouldn't be too tough. So, I caught the 7:00am bus out of town, arrived at the nearest "DMV" shortly before 9:00am, and got in line.
After watching an hour-long safety video, I waited in another line to take the written test. The questions had been translated into English. Some were a bit vague. Others were quite obvious. Others still, I didn't have a clue about. I guessed my way through and came out with a whopping 66% - that's 6% above the minimum passing score of 60%.
With a blue stamp, indicating that I'd passed, on my paper, I waited in line again and registered to take the "functions test." I was to take the test on a bright yellow, manual transmission, four-door passenger car at 1:00pm. Again, I waited. I hadn't eaten anything since the coffee and pretzel I'd had for breakfast, but figured I could last. After all, how hard can a "functions test" be?
When they call your name, you get in the car, alone. A GPS tells you what to do. The "functions test" consists of: starting the car, turning on the windsheild wipers, turning on first the headlights and then the brights, turning on either the left or the right blinker, putting the car from neutral, into a specified gear, and then back into neutral again, starting to drive down a straight, 50-meter course, but suddenly stopping when cued to do so, quickly turning on the emergency flashers, and then continuing down the rest of the straight, 50-meter course. Sounds simple enough, right?
Well, the problem was that I didn't exactly know what the "funcions test" consisted of before I took it. I expected that an examiner would sit in the passenger seat and tell me what to do. I did not expect a GPS to give me the directions one time, in Korean, and then start counting down from five seconds while I struggled to figure out if this was one of those cars like my mom's where you pull the knob down to activate the wipers, or if it was like my dad's where you twist the knob forward. It was like my mom's. But I didn't figure that out until I'd already spent my five seconds pushing and pulling and twisting the knob in all directions, accidentally washing the windshield at one point as well. The GPS boomed, "MINUS POINTS!"
Next were the headlights, which I succesfully turned on. But, the word for "brights" in Korean sounded to me like the word for "hunting," so I had no idea what the GPS was talking about and failed to turn my brights on. "MINUS POINTS!" the GPS shouted again.
I think I may have turned on the correct blinker successfully but, after that, I had to put the car from neutral, into reverse, and back into neutral. I did not know the word for neutral nor did I know the word for reverse, but I did know that I was being instructed to do something with the gears, so I shifted into every gear I possibly could in five seconds. I didn't make it into reverse before I heard, "MINUS POINTS!"
Finally, the GPS instructed me to begin the straight, 50-meter commute forward. I started. The GPS exclaimed, "Emergency! Emergency! Emergency!" at which point I stopped and put my flashers on. I must have been too slow. A voice came out, loud from the speakers at the top of the buildling where the test administrators sit. "YOU HAVE FAILED," it bellowed, and an instructor on the ground quickly escorted me out of the vehicle.
Talk about sad. I got in line for the last time that day and asked when I could schedule a re-test. They answered that I had to wait three days before retaking the "functions test." It was Thursday, so I booked for Monday.
Over the weekend, I watched YouTube video after YouTube video and familiarized myself with the process of the "functions test." On Monday, I went to the testing site again and, to my surprise, found a friend waiting to encourage me on my second attempt!
We rehearsed the steps once more before my name was called. I got in the car, ready to demonstrate my knowledge of vehicle "functions" with a newfound confidence. The GPS only shouted at me once, for turning on my left blinker instead of my right, but hey, I've been known to make that mistake with English directions as well!
When I'd reached the end of the 50-meter course, unfastened my seatbelt, and gotten out of the car, I looked toward the speakers at the top of the building where the test administrators sit.
"Congratulations on passing! Have a nice day!" it beamed - words, which, in light of the circumstances, entered my ears like music.
Having passed the "functions test," I was then qualified to take the road test. The road test is about 5 km, or 3 miles. There are four courses: A, B, C, and D. I got course C. It consisted of pulling away from a curb, turning right at an intersection, driving straight down a two-lane road, and making a U-turn. Fortunately, none of those prospects appeared too nervewracking, when I reminded myself that I had essentially been training for this for the last ten years of my life.
What I hadn't been training for, however, was parallel parking. After returning to the "DMV" parking lot, I would have to parallel park for the first time - ever. Fortunately, there was time to watch a few quick YouTube videos, and it turned out alright!
Ten years after getting my drivers license, I was granted a second drivers license - this time, on my second try, in a foreign country, driving a bright yellow car.
Happy to have passed, but having no means by which to commute to work, which started the day after that day, I rushed to a used car lot, test drove four different vehicles, and chose one. I handed over the money I'd been saving and was able to drive the car home that day and get it cleaned up the next!
I ended up with a 2006 Hyundai Verna. It has a diesel engine and something like a chain instead of a timing belt, which apparently never needs to be changed. When I got it, it had just about 100,000 km (62,000 miles) on it. And, not only is it my first car in Korea, it's my first car ever! So, as you can likely imagine, it's all quite exciting.
I'd like to thank my mom and dad who taught me to drive in the first place, and my friends who supported me on the long road to getting a second license.
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Thank you for reading :)