Hello readers,
I was about 18 years old when I started the process of obtaining my drivers' license in France and I felt it to be an excruciatingly long and complicated process.
In France, you must use a professional driving school but there is also an option called conduite accompagnée, which allows learner drivers to gain additional practice outside of formal driving lessons under the supervision of an experienced driver. Since I lived in the suburbs of Paris, I was fortunate that my parents owned a car and were willing to help me learn and gain driving experience.
I was still living at home when I turned 18, but by the time I reached 19, I would need to move to Paris, as my parents were planning to retire and relocate to Brittany. That gave me one year to get my act together and make the most of the extra practice my parents could provide.
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Looking back, I'm surprised the whole experience didn't permanently damage our relationship. Spending hours in a car with a stressed mother or a critical father was far from easy. We have always been a close family, but I don't think we ever argued as much as we did during that period.
Whenever I had free time, I was expected to take lessons with my driving instructor. Unfortunately, he wasn't much of a teacher. More often than not, he used our lessons as an opportunity to run his own errands while I chauffeured him around. One day, as we approached the outskirts of Paris, he said, "We usually only take very skilled drivers into Paris, but we're going to turn around here."
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Obtaining a driver's licence in France involves two stages. First comes the theory exam, known as le code, which requires memorising a booklet filled with road signs and traffic regulations. Once you pass that and your instructor believes you're ready, you can take the practical driving test.
I failed the theory exam more times than I'd like to admit. Each failed attempt cost me around €30, and every setback pushed the driving test further out of reach. Eventually, I passed the theory exam and completed 25 hours of lessons, along with countless hours of practice (and arguments) with my parents. At last, I was ready for the practical test.
As a final exam of her own making, my mother took me to the Arc de Triomphe and its infamous roundabout with 12 exits. Her reasoning was simple: if I could make it around without causing an accident, getting honked at, or having a panic attack, then I was ready for the real test. Somehow, after a few internal meltdowns, I managed to complete the circuit.
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Unfortunately, by then, the auto-école (driving school) where I had completed all my training had shut down and gone out of business.
My mother quickly found another driving school and arranged for me to take the test as early as possible. Before accepting me, however, they wanted to assess my driving skills. After a short drive around a few blocks, with my mother sitting in the back seat, which did absolutely nothing to reduce my stress, the instructor concluded that I needed another 25 hours of lessons before I could even consider taking the test. He then informed my mother that we would need to purchase an entirely new training package.
I've always known my mother to be polite, patient, and diplomatic. But I had never seen her so furious. She told the instructor that the situation was un scandale - a wonderfully French expression of outrage - and politely but firmly informed him, "Thank you, but no thank you. We'll go elsewhere."
By this point, the process had stretched well beyond my original one-year deadline. When my parents eventually moved to Brittany, my mother came up with a new plan: enrol me in a driving school near their new home. During the summer holiday, I could dedicate as much time as necessary to finally pass the test before returning to Paris.
Thankfully, the new instructor was far more reasonable. After evaluating my driving, he estimated that I needed only five additional hours of practice before I would be ready. And a week later, I passed the test with flying colours and finally received the famous little pink card that granted me a newfound sense of freedom.
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Ironically, I was one of the first among my friends in Paris to get a driver's licence. Most people living in large cities simply don't need one thanks to the convenience of public transport. As a result, I quickly became the designated driver whenever we went away on holiday. It was a title I wore proudly and felt quite honoured that people would entrust me with this responsibility.
Of course, it was slightly less enjoyable when everyone else could enjoy a drink while I remained sober behind the wheel. And only recently have many of those same friends begun obtaining their licences, now in their thirties. For people who grew up in rural areas, where learning to drive often starts the moment someone turns 18, this probably sounds completely absurd.
If you're currently battling your way through the French driving tests, don't lose hope. The road to a licence can be a bumpy ride, full of French bureaucracy, but sooner or later you'll reach your destination!
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