How I Survived the Driving Test for Foreign Residents in Japan
Cherishing the humbling experience
A friend of mine is leaving the US Military and will lose his SOFA status privileges, forcing him to obtain a Japanese Driver’s license. His sense of foreboding reminded me of the unforgettable experience I endured to qualify for my driving certification in Japan.
Three decades ago, I observed several friends and associates receive their Japanese Driver’s License with an eye test and a smile.
(I wasn’t so fortunate.)
The pressure of a growing foreign resident population in Japan and, more importantly, a visible increase in traffic accidents involving foreigners forced Japanese traffic rules to change.
Little did I know that when legal and practical reasons forced me to abandon my International License and apply for my Japanese Driver’s License, it would become a three-day nightmare.
The preparation for the application and subsequent test was simple.
I sent copies of my license to the Japan Automobile Association for official translation. On advice from a friend, I also obtained an official record displaying my driving history from the Province Of British Columbia, Canada.
The Tokyo Motor Vehicle Testing Center receptionist accepted and reviewed my paperwork, and the trouble started. “You must prove that you lived in Canada for six months after receiving your license. Do you have a 1976 passport?”
My first Passport went through a washing machine back in Canada and wasn’t worth keeping. I decided to stay quiet while the receptionist and her manager discussed the issue. After about fifteen minutes, they decided to sign off on the paperwork and send me to stage two.
Japanese government bureaucracy is no different or better than the ones that regulated my life in Canada. I can confidently tell you that I breathed a sigh of relief when the civil servants at the Yokohama Driving Regulatory Office ruled in my favor.
The next step was an eye test, which took less than fifteen seconds. I looked through a window, and the woman wearing a blue uniform shirt asked one question: “Which way is the arrow pointing?”
I answered, “left.”
“Correct. Now, what color’s this pencil?” the officer asked.
“Red,” I replied.
“Correct,” said the Police Woman, who stamped my official test record before sending me to stage three.
The start of the driving test process seemed easy, and with unwarranted confidence, I walked down the corridor and entered the written test hall.
The security was impressive. Two policemen came in with a locked box and pulled out a test for each applicant. The protocol reminded me of thriller movies involving classified data or the movement of portable weapons of mass destruction.
The tests were designed in a true-and-false format and consisted of ten questions. The applicant beside me wrote hers in Japanese, the fellow to the right in Chinese, and I received the English version. It included queries phrased in Japanese English that left you guessing. “Don’t you drive ahead of an Emergency Vehicle through an intersection when you’re in a hurry?” Yes or No.
We all made the minimum requirement of seven correct answers and passed the test. The Policemen congratulated us and immediately assigned us a date and time for our Practical Driving Test. We were all to report the following day, Wednesday, at 8 a.m.
Prior to our dismissal, we were given a test map and general rules pertaining to the practical driving test. The list included rules such as “follow all instructions of the testing officer. Accidents will result in failure and immediate termination of the test, and excessive driving errors will result in immediate failure and termination of the test.”
There was other information with further rules and helpful hints in the package that I should have read more carefully.
The following day, I rose early, feeling excited and nervous. Ironically, I drove to the test location as I continued to “take advantage” of my International Driver’s License.
Was it legal?
Call it a grey area, and it was a long time ago.
The traffic was alright, parking spots were plenty, and Gordon (me), the Eager Beaver, arrived first in line to receive his test number. I received test number one, which meant testing first, passing, and returning home early.
(What a misconception.)
I found out several important facts about the testing procedure my first time through it.
Everyone except for number one gets a back-seat view of the course before taking their test. Number two rides with number one, Number three rides with Number two, and so on. Everyone else came early and walked the course, which always stays the same for foreign drivers.
Who knew?
I was the only one who didn’t know the course by heart. It was an interesting road test focused on Japanese driving rules that differed from North American driving rules. Also, the course has two obstacles that look worse than reality.
Have you seen the San Francisco road they call the world’s most crooked?
Yes, the test road was much worse than that.
Road test candidates could test in a standard or automatic transmission vehicle. I selected the automatic transmission vehicle, and the ease of driving with both hands on the wheel made little difference.
Everyone fails the first time.
This precedent, which might have been considered a version of Japanese “tough love,” seemed to be the most crucial rule not found in the guide sheets handed out by the Test Center. Three out of 15 candidates successfully received their licenses after Wednesday’s Test. Gordon (me) failed because the Testing Officer’s hat flew off when my test vehicle’s back tire ran over the curb, and the car bounced.
(Remember the crooked road. It got me.)
I hung my head in shame and embarrassment and listened to the Policeman’s lecture to the twelve foreigners, the “failures.” The Policeman’s explanation (in Japanese) was comprehensive and well-presented, covering every weak area of each candidate. It lasted half an hour, and in retrospect, the attentive candidates certainly benefited from the wisdom.
After the lecture, we were all handed the next test appointment. You guessed it right: the next day, Thursday at 8 a.m.
We arrived at the course the following day at about 7 a.m.
We?
A camaraderie actualized among some of the tested who failed; we had found a common denominator of tenacity, which united a few foreign community members during the test process. We walked the course together, reviewed course maps, discussed common mistakes, and watched the early birds (keeners in the lineup) take their tests.
Riding in the back seat of the government vehicle while another foreigner took the test was educational, if not intimidating and frightening. The young man taking his test (while I rode in the back seat) was intensely nervous and drove dangerously.
The young guy’s test terminated with a minor accident. He hit a plastic hanging pole meant as an obstacle for trucks. Returning to home base in one piece and starting my driving examination was a relief.
The results were much better in my second test.
The crooked road seemed far more manageable. Once understood, the rules were obvious and easy to follow, and the course didn’t present any surprises. The Testing Officer congratulated me on a clean test. In fact, the individuals who became friends during the three-day ordeal faired well. Only Kaoru, Mohamed, and I received a Japanese Driving License.
Kaoru was Japanese, but we gave her honorary foreigner status because of her time in Seattle and positive attitude. Studying driving abroad is less expensive and more convenient, especially when spending extended time in the United States. (Kaoru was a bright and impressive woman, and I introduced her to my company’s HR department, who hired her on the spot.)
It was Mohamed’s and my second try and Kaoru’s third. Mohamed was from Afghanistan. He said, “Driving through Afghanistan villages is dangerous because of unruly children and goats. Landmines buried on mountain roads left over from civil wars can also be a hazard.”
It was a taxing and time-consuming experience. However, we have become better drivers, and this is especially true when driving around Tokyo. The system worked. It made Japanese roads a safer place to travel.
As importantly, the test allowed us to make new friends, and I received another terrible license picture to show for the experience.
I checked my first Japanese driving license photo against later versions over the years and realized there was no improvement. (My terrible image could quickly and convincingly be used to depict a serial killer.)
Some things will never change.
