Autoescuela: Part 3 (Yes, it is still on-going)

Last Spring...

After a few weeks of intensive studying, May 27th finally arrived. This was the date I was given to take my theory exam (exams are only given once every week or two). Being a nervous, type-A person, I couldn’t sleep the night before. All I knew was that we were going to the neighboring town, Denia, and I needed to bring a pen and my NIE card. I arrived outside the Autoescuela in the pueblo just before 8am and piled into the school’s tiny car, shoulder-to-shoulder with four late-teen boys and our instructor who’s probably the same age as me. Talk about feeling awkward, the only female non-Spaniard squeezed into this car while they all spoke in light-speed Valenciano. I was doing everything I could to follow the conversation in case some useful tip about the test was reviewed, but it all went over my head and I changed my focus trying to relax and breathe. We arrived at the Denia building in about twenty minutes. Since I didn’t know what was going on, I followed the group like a lost puppy dog. Eventually, our instructor told us to follow him down a long hallway where we then stood for probably 30-45 minutes as more autoescuelas arrived with students.

Test center in Denia

I stood in this hot, crowded hallway reviewing test questions on my phone. I was the only person nerdy enough to do this, but it helped distract me. It's always extremely uncomfortable not knowing what to expect, and I often find myself waiting as patiently as possible for someone to clue me in. My instructor eventually told me that the examiners would be calling off student names until the test room was full. If my name wasn’t called I’d have to wait at least another hour before the next round of testing started. Needless to say, I was ecstatic when they called my name after the first forty. At least, I would get this thing over with sooner than later (pass or fail)!

I didn’t realize until after the test, talking with the boys from my school who had also taken the exam, that we all received different tests and different questions (there are upwards of 300 possible questions). I finished my exam with only one true doubt. The other somewhat doubtful questions I confirmed with my instructor that I had chosen the correct answers. We sat and had coffee in the cafe (I love that most municipal buildings in Spain have a cafe), and I can’t describe how relieved I felt to be done. In addition to this relief, I felt optimistic that I passed because I wasn't given any of the really complex questions.

After a LONG four days of waiting to find out the results, I learned that I PASSED!!! Woohoooo! I only had one “fallo” and needed to have three or less to pass. THEORY TEST DONE. Check.  I proved that I had learned the “normas de la circulación” and I was sure this was the biggest hurdle in obtaining my “carnet de conducir” (driver’s license). When I told other students and friends that I already knew how to drive and had driven more years of my life than I hadn’t, their response was always, “Then the “practica” will be super fácil (easy) for you!” I would have started the “practica” or what we call the “behind-the-wheel” classes immediately, however, we were leaving for the US in twenty days and it made more sense to wait until we returned in September.

Fast forward to September

After we had settled back into Javea, I returned to the Autoescuela to visit with my instructor and let him know was ready to do the “practica.” I told him that I wanted to get through this as soon as possible because I needed to be able to drive my kids to school legally! So what is a practica? Well, a practica is a 45-minute behind-the-wheel driving lesson that costs €31 each time. You aren’t told how many practicas you’ll need to complete before taking the exam because it depends on how fast you learn to drive. I've heard of some students who went 3 times per week for 8 weeks (spending almost €1500 to get their license all said and done). I assumed that I would probably need 3-4 practicas because I needed to get comfortable driving the school’s Mercedes hatchback (which is what is driven for the exam) and I wanted tips on what the examiners are looking for. Typically during these lessons, you go over to Denia to practice because, like the theory exam, it is where the practical exams are done. Because it takes 20 minutes to go over the mountain to Denia, and 20 minutes to return, the lessons are done with another student and you each drive for 45 minutes.

On September, 24th my theory instructor took me around Javea for the first time to assess my abilities, which I thought were fine. I learned to drive at 16 with an automatic, but later in life, my husband taught me how to drive a manual. The instructor gave me several critiques, (ex. how to downshift before round-a-bouts and exactly where to stop after various signals) but he didn’t give me the impression that I had any grave deficiencies. We couldn’t find a time that worked for me to take another lesson until the following Thursday evening. I knew next that this next lesson would be in Denia with a partner.

Autoescuela car

Thursday evening I arrived at the school and I was quickly rushed off with a woman instructor to whom I wasn’t introduced, along with a boy also doing the lesson. The woman handed me the keys and told me I would drive first. Neither she, nor the boy said anything, which felt uncomfortably formal, but I just obeyed her instructions and drove. In Denia, she told me that I needed to stop using the clutch so much and to make fewer gear changes. She gave me a few other little tips, and then it was Pablo’s turn (finally introduced myself to break the ice). Everything seemed to go smoothly. Denia is a very busy city, however, with lots of pedestrians, cars, trucks, bikes, motos, one-ways, roundabouts, plazas, and train tracks which is a lot of information to manage at once.

When we returned to the school, parked, and got out of the car, the ‘Jefe’ (boss) of the school, probably in his sixties, was smoking a cigarette outside. He had taught a few of the theory classes, so I had interacted with him before, but I’ve always struggle to understand his fast-paced, colloquial Spanish. I smiled and said “Hola” and what I thought was going to be a casual “¿Qué tal? ¿Como estas?” small talk conversation went a completely different direction. Through his smoke, he started laying into me first on how I need to come at a scheduled time every day for practicas. Second, how there are SO many things that I have learned incorrectly including five very basic things such as - not changing gears correctly, using the clutch too much, not stopping, braking too hard, and I didn’t catch the last one because I was so shocked that this was happening. I asked, “Well, what do the examiners look for?”. His response was that I had so many issues with basic driving skills that I’d fail the test before even being evaluated on how I actually managed all traffic norms. And he had never even been in the car with me! How could he start lecturing me about how I don’t know the basics of driving a car!? Then, he sensed my disbelief, staring at him speechless, and kept going and going with a condescending smirk on his face until I finally interrupted him and quite forcefully said, “Fine. I will come every day at eleven. I will be here Monday and will come every day next week if I must.” Then, I turned around to walk home so infuriated that I couldn’t stop myself from crying. He had completely caught me off guard. Was he for real? I’d driven a manual car for years. How could I be that bad? I couldn’t help but doubt his evaluation which would ultimately lead me spending €€€ in lessons.

These are situations where I have full empathy for anyone who has immigrated or immersed themselves in a new culture. You are completely vulnerable. As someone who has voluntarily immigrated, I want to respect the cultural norms, and if these driving examiners truly are so thoroughly picky, then I will happily put forth the effort to meet those standards. But if it is a grand exaggeration by someone looking to make money off a foreigner who doesn’t know better or has the power to walk away, it feels really sh*tty.

The next Monday

I arrived at the school and was told I would have a lesson the jefe today. It was only me- no other students so Jefe (that’s what we’ll call him) tells me to get in the car and we literally start from scratch. He proceeds to show me how ‘suave’ my left foot must press the clutch, my heel never leaving the floor as if I’m skiing. We do this for almost five minutes where he is grabbing my foot to show the movement (unfortunately my high-traction hiking shoes were of no help for making super smooth movements). Next, I was shown how to ONLY let the big toe of my right foot touch the brake and then smoothly press the gas. Only my big toe?! That didn’t feel right. So we practiced that for several minutes. Then, it was time to learn the proper grips for each gear. He told me that my hands are to rest on the wheel with fingers together and thumbs on the seam of the leather. Keeping that grip, I must cup my hand to guide the stick shift to the left and then up for first gear using the heel of my hand. To go into second, I must point all fingers down (touching) and tap into neutral, then re-cup my hand to guide the gear to the left into second. For third, now it is a tap with the heel of my hand to neutral and then another heel of hand tap to third keeping my four fingers touching..and on and on… and NEVER should or could I grab the stick shift. It must be only be done with these specific grips.

I tried to let go of continuous thoughts of “Is this for REAL?!” and just imagine that I was learning how to paint, because what Jefe was teaching me was not just how to do something, but rather an art of how to do something. I realized in this moment that if I wanted to have a Spanish driver’s license I would have to become an artist, because to him, there was only one proper way to paint.

So, during this lesson we drove around and he barked instructions, criticizing my every move- no exaggeration. He’d critique how I pressed the clutch, then I’d focus on that and forget the proper grip for third gear, so he’d grab my hand and force it into the proper position. Then he’d critique how hard I pressed the break, and I’d forget something else. As I’m trying to manage all of these new details and resist defaulting to my old habits, he would then start explaining theories behind the traffic norms. It was usually met with silence because I couldn’t focus on translating his Spanish while trying maneuver properly and mind all of the signals. So then he would explain it to me again but using some analogy that left me even more bewildered. One was about the fleas of a dog on a mountain, one was about a water faucet, and another about how to spend money during the weekend. After forty-five minutes of this, I was actually convinced that I was a horrible driver - and perhaps plain stupid?

Typical streets in Denia

Tuesday

The next day, I showed up in my Vibram barefoot-soled shoes so I could be more "suave" (how desperate is that). I had a lesson with Jefe and Pablo, a student who seemed to have pretty good control of the vehicle. He solicited fewer criticisms than me in our 90-minute journey together anyway. Maybe it’s because he could talk soccer with Jefe, and the same language. As for me, I was reprimanded continuously- especially for checking my blind spot. Apparently, this safety measure I was trained to do every time I change lanes in the US, is a dangerous practice in Spain. Let me tell you how difficult it is to drop these habits when you’ve been doing them for nearly twenty years!!! I also grabbed the inside of the wheel once, which warranted a threat of getting my hand cut off (I think jokingly?). I was relieved when my turn was over and Pablo had to drive us back over the CV-736 to Javea… until I realized that I was now sitting in the back of a driver’s ed car with a kid learning to drive on a treacherous mountain road, with no shoulder, and a measly 24-inch railing. All I could think was, My kids need a mom! (See video I found on vimeo below)

Wednesday

Back in the car with Jefe and Pablo and Jefe breaks the ice with:

“So Jayneefair. Eres un guiri.” - You are a “guiri.” So I ask “¿Que significa guiri? -What is a guiri? Is it a bad thing?” He says - It is what we call Ingleses (English). So I said- Well, I’m not English, I’m American. Which he says doesn’t matter: You are a guiri.

So I googled it later that day:

Guiri is a catch-all phrase for both foreign tourists and Northern Europeans, used more often than not in a joking, affable way. I guess it is the equivalent of Mexicans calling Americans Gringos. Maybe Jefe and I are having a friendly conversation, I wonder? Lord knows, I’m trying to make Jefe like me.

I feel less afraid to ask questions now that we’ve had some time in the car because I’m used to getting mocked if I do something dumb. So at one point Pablo stopped immediately in front of a stoplight, which meant he had to really duck his head down to see the light change. I clarified with Jefe that during the exam you should stop further back. He confirmed that I was correct (after giving Pablo a hard time) and said something to the effect of, ¡Only if there are chicas on the corner with skirts on should you duck your head to look!

Thursday

Today was my turn to drive the mountain road from Javea back to Denia: CV-736. My mom practically had a heart attack when we took her on this road last January. I had watched Pablo drive and tried to keep up the speed of 50 km/h like Jefe instructed, but the sheer cliffs and endless curves make me feel nauseated. Note the road at minute 2:30 in the video above. At this point I came around a curve only to see a huge truck that has crossed a good foot into my lane, coming right at me. Naturally, I let off the gas and steered the car slightly right (SO WE WOULDN'T DIE). At that moment, Jefe grabs the steering wheel and directs the car directly ahead towards the truck, like it’s a game of “chicken”. We pass each other without colliding, but I’m not sure by how much because I closed my eyes. Jefe, then lectures me, “Jayneefair...you need to understand the rules of the road: si no me respetas cuando me conduzco, no voy a respetar cuando conduces tu” (if you don’t respect me, I’m not going to respect you). I tried to explain that I simply wanted to avoid death and he said something to the effect of if you die, you die… and I didn’t catch the rest because I couldn’t follow the language and was still in shock that my driving instructor was telling me to drive this way! He explained that if I move over in these situations, the truck will take even more of my lane, so I need to show him that it’s my space and he can’t take it. Lord help me. I can’t make this up people! Totally different mentality.

Monday (again)

Today we talked about fishing and seafood. So another layer of being completely overwhelmed driving - remembering grips, signals, pedestrians, traffic norms, and having a casual conversation in another language.

To me, the most hilarious part of these lessons is when we stop to change drivers. Jefe has a cigarette and quizzes us on car parts and functions. One day, he showed me how to open the hood of the car. Then he points to the inside and says “tell me everything you know”. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself because Lord knows I couldn’t explain much in English let alone in Spanish. Clued in by a picture on a cap, I successfully deduced where the “aceite” (oil) went. “¡Muy bien!” and then he asked me what else I knew. All I could think was you look at the sticker on your windshield so you know when it’s been 3000 miles and then you take it to Valvoline. But I knew that answer wasn’t going to fly.

At the end of the lesson, Jefe told Pablo and I that we would be taking the exam October 20th (next Thursday). He told us that we would fail if we took it now, but if we came every day until the exam, MAYBE we would pass. Thanks for the pep talk, coach!

Streets of Javea

Tuesday

Today I told Jefe I needed my lesson later in the day, and he obliged, so we drove across town to pick up my new compañero, Marcos. Marcos, a very energetic and friendly young man, got behind the wheel. After having several days of Jefe laying into me about every little detail, I knew after only a few minutes riding with Marcos, that he was going to get an earful. And what an earful he got!!! It wasn't suggestions of ways to improve or constructive criticisms, it was insults and mockery like “Marcos, are you dancing the flamenco?! Why are slamming your foot to the floor?!” This went on and on and on, and I actually, for the first time in days, felt light. I finally realized that maybe I wasn’t such a horrible driver (or a stupid person), but that Jefe was just a tyrant. It didn’t have to do with just me. Poor, poor, Marcos. After he finished and it was my turn, he retreated to the backseat like an abused puppy, crestfallen. I have to give him credit because he tried to defend himself at one point, but it was pointless. Jefe was right, and he was wrong. I felt compelled to hug the poor thing and tell him that everything was going to be OK.

Wednesday (fiesta day - everything closed)

Thursday

I arrived at school early and decided to run an errand at the bank. As I walked back towards school I recognized a woman who had attended some of the theory classes. She is old enough to have a daughter that is also going through the license exam process. When she recognized me, she rushed forward and grabbed my hands and asked me how I was doing. When I told her how overwhelming this experience has been she couldn’t agree more, saying how nervous she gets, gesturing to show her heart pounding out of her chest when she’s driving. I learned that she’s from Columbia and has never driven before in her life. I can’t imagine starting from scratch, although maybe it’s better than trying to unlearn years of bad habits. I told her how strict Jefe was with me and she said that she refuses to go with him because he is "tan fuerte". It felt wonderful to have my feelings validated and she gave me good luck kisses. Maybe we’ll be able to celebrate surviving this together...someday.

There have been heavy rains, and today it was good to practice driving in these conditions. Jefe told a story about a friend of his who didn’t break before a huge rain puddle and accidently drenched an old woman crossing the street, something he didn't realize until after the fact. The woman, got his matricula (license plate) and then marched to the police to file a denuncia against him. He had to pay the equivalent of €6000 today in pesetas as a fine. These are the crazy Spanish stories that you here and make you think twice about writing off the consequences of seemingly minute things - like reducing your speed before a giant puddle.

Friday

Me trying to hold it together

So here were are. There are no practicas today because of theory exams so I’ve turned to blog therapy. Pablo and I have three more days of practica before exam day €ha€hing,€ha€hing which hopefully will increase our odds in this game. My kids keep asking me when I’ll have my license, and friends must be tired of listening to me rant about autoescuela. It’s been a huge weight on my shoulders (since it's up to me to be the sole driver for our family) and has often made me doubt the whole experience of living in Spain because it reminds me that I am just a foreigner, and always will be.

Reflecting on this experience and talking with others has helped me realize that from the beginning I have had an "attachment" to getting my license, a right that I felt like I deserved because I've had it all my life. But life doesn't owe me anything. What I perceived to be a really frustrating, annoying, and depressing experience didn't serve me. It serves me much better to view this experience as the spiritual practice of letting go of the end result and simply focusing on what I can control. Did I show up? Did I do my best? I can do that at least. And when I think only about showing up and doing my best, I feel at peace. And I'm a much better driver when I'm at peace.