Sep 22, 2012 |
My wife makes cakes and she is amazing. No kidding, she makes Betty Crocker look like a rookie donut maker. She has this nuclear grade creativity packed into her brain which explodes every time she gets near flour and eggs into some unbelievable work of sweetness infused art. She has even started a small business and is now known in our community as “The Expat Cake Lady” (click and go check out her awesomeness). Here’s the kicker . . .
She loves it.
She comes alive when she’s making cake. Every part of it, from the brainstorm to the delivery excites her, energizes her and gives her a sense of satisfaction unlike anything I have seen in our 16+ years of marriage.
It’s her thang.
Not just her thing. It’s her thang. You have to say it with some enthusiasm and a little bit of attitude. Go ahead. Say it.
“Thang.”
Ironically, a year ago she had no idea. In fact one of the most frustrating dynamics of living in China for the past six years has been the absence of a thang. Statistically speaking her story is the most common one told among expat wives.
According to the Brookfield Global Relocation Trends Survey (a crazy-amazing resource for culture vultures and stat hounds) apart from finding work with another company, the NUMBER ONE cause of failure for International business assignments is . . .
(drumroll)
Spousal Dissatisfaction
A whopping 17% of assignment failures come as a result of a spouse who is not happy. Next on the list is “other family concerns” at 11% taking the “family issues” category up to 28% Know what the lowest on the list is?
(drumroll again)
Remuneration (pay etc.) at 2%.
Do you see the picture that the stats paint? Husbands (80% of expat business people are men which is lower than it has ever been) get a good job offer in some foreign country. The company has a nice brochure that promises, good pay, a nice expense account, a nice apartment, a nice personal assistant, a nice driver in a nice car, the whole nice enchilada. It’s just for a few years. It’ll be an adventure. Who wouldn’t want to go?
The wife signs on.
When they arrive, everything that was promised is true. Nicer home than you had in your country. Money to spend. Driver. Maid. Everything.
But . . .
The husband has a job that keeps him moving and busy while the wife is the one navigating this new culture. He has personal assistant’s for the sole purpose of speaking a language that he can’t. She has a personal assistant who doesn’t understand a word she says. He is surrounded by people, he has a project and a purpose. She’s on her own with nothing that really drives her.
He has a thang. She doesn’t.
Lot’s of wives give up a career and find out that working is not an option in their host country. Other’s never noticed how much they took the everyday resources of their home for granted. It’s not nearly as easy, and sometime’s it’s flat out impossible, to do what they have always loved doing. It’s harder to get around, harder to communicate, harder to raise kids, harder to do life.
That was us (apart from high pay and perks). I have always had my thang. I’m starting a business. I’m teaching. I’m training. I’m meeting people. I’m making relationships. I’m managing projects. There is never a lack of purpose or a lack of challenge. My wife on the other hand was on her own.
She wanted to find her thang. She tried. Multiple times.
Learning Chinese. Helpful but not her thang. Teaching English. Not her thang. Cooking, sewing, scrapbooking, photography . . . all things that she is amazing at but not her thang.
Then she stumbled on it. She traded favors with another expat mom who already knew what her thang was (go here and check out her awesomeness too). Her friend would be the photographer for our daughter’s insanely creative, birthday, spy extravaganza birthday party (also a product of my wife’s nuclear brain) and my wife would make a cake for her daughter’s insanely creative Alice in Wonderland extravaganza birthday party.
This is what happened . . .
WHAT?!! Who makes a cake like that?!
Just like that . . . a thang was born.
One year later . . . a week rarely goes by when someone doesn’t call and say, “hey, it’s my kids birthday. Can you make a cake?” The wheels start turning and the lights go on. She draws it all out, gathers her stuff, destroys the kitchen and what comes out is absolutely jaw dropping.
And I just sit back and smile because my wife has found her thang and frankly there’s only one thing I can think of that would be a better thang than making cake.
What? Aw geesh – get your head out of the gutter.
I was talking about making steak.
Next Up: 8 Questions to Help You Find Your Thang
Sep 20, 2012 |
It’s pretty common for expat parents to worry that their decision to live cross-culturally is going to turn their child into some kind of freak. There’s a fear (sometimes faint and sometimes paralyzing) that they’ll miss out on the social experiences during their formative years that make other kids . . . well . . . normal. In China those fears are compounded because Chinese culture can be so vastly different from our own. Will our kids be socially inept, out of touch or relationally challenged? Will they miss out on the things that make the cool kids cool? Will they turn Communist?
Some concerns are more valid than others but if you’re worried at all it’s well worth it to process that out personally or with your spouse (if you have one). It can also be a great characteristic to model for your kids. Generally we make the mistake of thinking we need to hide our fear so we can be strong for our kids. On the contrary, being transparent about what scares you may just free them up to do the same.
But I’m playing the optimist today. Call me Mr. Positive. Seriously. Call me that.
Right now . . . for this stage in our lives . . . I am loving that we live in China and here are five reasons why:
1. We feel safe here.
Sounds weird, I know, but we genuinely worry less about our kids safety in China than we do when we’re at home. China is no perfect safe haven where bad things can’t or don’t happen and it would be horribly naive to think that bad people don’t live here. However (and there are several dynamics to this) there are considerably less random, senseless acts of violence, especially against children. Our kids may be stared at, photographed, picked up, tossed in the air, have their hair ruffled and teased just to get a reaction . . . but the longer we live here the more we realize that the vast, vast majority (albeit unbearably annoying at times) would never think of harming our children.
That helps.
2. Our kids live diversity instead of just learning about it.
I was 18 years old before I flew on an airplane, 19 before ate my first Chinese food (if you can call it that) and 20 before I ate Mexican food (Taco Bell). I went to school (K-12) with a total of five people who had different skin color than me (only three more than are in my family now). Before I went to college I had three friends whose first language was not English. My daughter will be nine this month and at last count we have friends from 32 countries. More than two thirds of her friends speak multiple languages and we always sing Happy Birthday in English, Chinese and Korean. One of her favorite snacks is seaweed and she has eaten grasshopper, starfish, chicken feet and scorpion. She’s a gross food rock star.
So proud.
3. We love the International School.
My kids stand out. They’re different. They’re foreigners. They don’t speak fluent Chinese and this is China. They travel . . . A LOT. They don’t know how to answer the question, “where are you from?” They don’t feel rooted. They say, “goodbye” . . . A LOT. They miss their grandparents. They think skype is more normal than a telephone. And here’s the kicker . . . they go to school with 400 other kids who are exactly like them. You’re only weird if you’re different and at their school they’re all in the same boat.
Superbonus – My daughters Kindergarten teacher still takes her out for fun days three years later.
Outstanding.
4. Justin Beiber doesn’t live here.
No disrespect. The little guy seems nice enough but I for one am thrilled that the fever hasn’t hit the mainland China expat community. It’s not that kids here don’t like Justin Beiber or Hannah Montana or Spongebob. They do. However, their 3rd grade social status and entire self worth doesn’t at all rely on how devoted they are to Beiber mania. It’s not uncommon here for expat families not to have a television and it wouldn’t even mean imminent social death for a kid to say, “Who’s Justin Beiber?”
sidenote: My apologies for what I’m certain are outdated pop culture references. I’m sure we’ve moved on and there are new sensations sweeping the popular world but that kind of proves my point doesn’t it?. I have no clue who they are . . . and I don’t have to.
Nice.
5. The “real world” is a WORLD.
For every single bit that our kids are missing growing up where we come from, they are gaining three bits that will equip them for life in their globalized future. They may be missing the grind of an American election year but they’ll be able to name world leaders, identify flags, and capitals and political systems from nations all over the world. They may not know who won the last Superbowl but they will know who won the last World Cup.
The world is getting smaller and the challenges in it are not. It’s very cool to watch our kids learn so much about a world that we didn’t even know existed when we were their age.
Incredible.
Some days the fears get the best of me. Sometimes I don’t even want to be here let alone raise my kids here.
But today — I’m soaking it up.
Sep 17, 2012 |
Wait — Click here if you haven’t read part one (of step 4) yet.
I had two hours and thirteen minutes to study 1500 possible questions that I hadn’t seen in 4 years for a 100 question test that I must answer 9 out of 10 correctly or I would completely waste 3500 RMB and 48 full hours of my life. My blood pressure was about 450 over 225 and my chances of success were slightly above zero.
However, chances of success if I didn’t try were exactly zero so I determined that if I was to fail I would fail in a blaze of glory. I mentally recalled every inspirational, underdog, 4th quarter, give me all you’ve got speech from every great sports movie I had ever seen. Hoosiers . . . Rudy . . . Rocky . . . The Bad News Bears . . . that hockey one with Kurt Russell. I can do this! I am a champion! When this day is over I will hold my head high, stare the system square in the eye and say, “nana nana boo boo!”
I ran like Forrest Gump to the nearest taxi and said, “Dead Chicken! take me to the closest net bar” (pretty common for foreigners to mispronounce “taxi driver” and say “dead chicken”). After some confusing deliberation we drove until we saw a roadside Wang Ba (internet cafe). Internet Cafe actually sounds so . . . how do you say it . . . not filthy. This one was the opposite of not filthy. It was a long, dingy, smoke filled room with about 50 PC’s lined up side by side on tables that stretched to the end of the room and back. There was one computer that was not occupied by a twenty three year old gamer. “I took it.”
The quest began. In my mind it would be a quick Google search to find all 1500 questions and start cramming information into my brain’s temporary file (which I hadn’t used since college). Not the case. After 38 precious minutes the only articles I had found were funny blogs about how ridiculous the test questions are. I already knew that but I was getting some great blog ideas. Not so much helpful.
1000 kilometers away Flight was searching too. She sent me the Chinese test which I copied and pasted into Google Translator. Just a quick word about translation. It is an art, not a science. Translated individual words all stuck together do NOT always equal translated sentences. No disrespect. Google Translator is a tremendously powerful, incredibly helpful tool but in my adrenaline fueled frenzy there was little time for English translations that still needed translating into better English.
For example – Here is one of the Chinese test questions, digitally Englishized . . .
“With fog horn can cause other attention; hear the other vehicles honking should be honking responded.”
To or Wrong?
Here’s another one . . .
“Driving at night, to avoid overtaking, where overtaking transform the car to indicate the distance light forward.”
To or Wrong?
With less than a hour left I finally found an English practice test. I was getting about 60% wrong. And then it was time to go.
Doomed.
There were at least 200 people in line to take the test ahead of me. The line came from the second floor, down an outdoor stairwell and wrapped around the parking lot. Thankfully it was only raining a little bit. I stood for about 45 minutes and finally made it to the bottom of the stairs when the guard at the top of the stairs noticed me and waved for me to come on up.
“You want the English test.”
“Uh. Yes.”
“You don’t have to wait in line. Go on in.”
Feeling like a complete idiot for standing needlessly in the rain for nearly an hour I went in and sat down among another 200 people. Turns out the outside line was just people waiting to come inside and wait some more. A lady turned around and said, “You want the English test?”
“Uh. Yes.”
“Go on up. You don’t have to wait.”
Now feeling like a complete jerk who gets to move to the front while all of these other poor, soaking wet souls wait for what could be days I spoke to the other guard.
“Um. I want the English test.”
“You want the English test?”
“Uh. Yes. I want the English test.”
“Ohhhh. You don’t have to wait. Go to that desk.”
I went to that desk and pushed my way through the crowd.
“You want the English test?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“Give me your papers.”
So I did.
Pause . . . and I kid you not . . . this happened.
“We don’t have an English test.”
“I’m sorry. What?”
“We don’t have an English test.”
There was a brief silent moment. Like the moment when Rocky gets blasted and falls face first to the floor. You know the moment I’m talking about don’t you? The crowd is jumping, the referee begins counting and you see Adrian screaming “GET UP! GET UP!” But it’s still silent. It’s the decision moment. Go against all of the odds and pull yourself up with your last remaining strength or stay down and give up. No one would blame you . . . but no one would make a movie about you either.
I got up.
“I’m sorry. What?”
He started speaking slower, louder and using sign language. “WEEE (pointing at himself and the other people at the desk) . . . DO NOOOT (waving both hands back and forth) . . . HAAAAVE (receiving motion) . . . AN EEEEENGLISH (pointing at my mouth and nodding condescendingly) . . . TEST.”
“Yes. Yes you do have an English test. I have taken the English test. Right here in this room four years ago! I took the English test! I KNOW YOU HAVE AN ENGLISH TEST! Seventeen people just asked me if I wanted to take the English test! YOU! YOU yourself asked me, ‘Do you want to take the ENGLISH TEST?! To which I replied, ‘YES!! YES PLEASE MAY I TAKE THE ENGLISH TEST?!!’ And NOW?!! NOW you tell me you don’t have an ENGLISH TEST?!! WHERE IS THE ENGLISH TEST?!!”
“We don’t have one.”
I called Flight. She spoke with them and explained to me that the English test is only for the first timers but since I was recovering a lost license there is no English test. My test would only be 50 questions which should have been wonderful news but evidently it was not common for English speakers to lose their licenses and so no provisions had been made for that.
“Can I just take the hundred question test?!”
“No. You must take the 50 question test. In Chinese.”
With absolutely no hope of success I planted myself (politely) and decided I wasn’t leaving until closing time. My reasoning was maybe they’ll get so frustrated they would buckle and just give me my license. Miniscule chance but still higher than me passing the Chinese test.
Several of the guards and other employees gathered together to discuss the problem of the foreigner who wouldn’t leave. They finally came to the agreement that if I had a translator they could take the test with me. I didn’t have a translator and even if I could find one there was no way for them to get there in time. Still no hope.
A young lady who had just finished her test asked me (in English) if everything was ok. The guard saw it as a golden opportunity.
He excitedly asked her, “You speak English?”
She said “yes.”
“Please, please help us get rid of this guy?” I’m paraphrasing
She agreed to translate the test for me.
We sat down at the computer with a webcam pointed at my nose . She translated the first question . . .
“Ok. This one says, um, ‘All drivers must obey all of the traffic rules.'”
Seriously? I started to click “Right.”
“NO NO NO NO!” She stopped me.
I looked at her.
“Don’t look at me! Don’t look at me! Look at the camera!”
I snapped back to attention afraid to move.
She scolded me. “It’s wrong . . . Policemen, firemen and ambulance drivers don’t have to obey.”
I was trying not to look at her but as my nose flared in disbelief I chose to take her word for it. She was right.
Like I said, translation is an art, not a science and even though her English far exceeded my Chinese it was quickly obvious that she was neither an artist nor a scientist. However, together, we missed two questions and that’s all I have to say about that.
I got my license back.
Every great triumph embodies an inspiring moral. Something that looks good on a poster like, “Believe in yourself and anything is possible” or “When you get pummeled to the ground always get back up.” However as I walked away from the DMV that day, too shell-shocked and humbled for “nana nana boo boo,” I felt there was a deeper, far more meaningful lesson that I had learned and learned well . . .
Never.
Ever.
No matter what.
Should you ever . . . ever . . .
. . . lose your license in China.
——-
If you missed the rest of the epic adventure click below to catch up:
Driving in China Step One: Insanity
Step Two
Step Three
Step Four – Part One
Sep 6, 2012 |
It has now been more than four years since I first got my license in China (click here, here and here to catch up) and three years since I lost it. I dropped it somewhere in the middle part of the United States of America and haven’t seen it since. I’ve barely missed it but recently a car owning friend was looking for a licensed driver to look after his wheels while he was out of the country. It didn’t take me long to sign up for that deal. Ok, so maybe I don’t actually have the physical, picture on the front, carry it in your pocket, hold it in your hand, present it to an officer version of the license anymore but it was enough for me to know that I am in the system somewhere and if push came to shove surely we could prove that I’m kind of legal.
Meanwhile I asked Flight (my assistant) to call the Bureau of Chinese Driver’s Licenses to find out how I could get a new license printed. After she called she shared the most dreadful news imaginable.
“It’s easy.”
I’ve heard those words in China before and they have yet to be true. I was hoping that this time would be the exception.
It was not.
“All you need is a copy of your registration card, a copy of your passport and some one inch pictures. You can take it to the office and then they will give you your new license in three days. It should only cost about 100 kuai (around $15).”
“Wow. Great. That’s it?”
“Yep that’s it. Also you need to have your passport translated into Chinese and have that translation certified by a certified Chinese translator. That will cost 80 kuai per page.”
“Ok. Still not bad. Let’s do it.”
“Yep. Also, because your passport has changed since you got your license you will need a letter from the U.S. Consulate that says your old passport and your new passport both belong to you.”
Less excited but still more than willing, “Ok.” (Upon investigation I found out that the Consulate charges 325 kuai per page)
“And it’s probably better to have that letter translated into Chinese and certified by a certified Chinese translator too (another 80).”
“Got it. But that’s all I need right?”
“Yep. Then you take it to the office where you got your license and they will give you a new copy in three days. It’s easy”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Yep. It’s takes about three days.”
“No, no, not that part, the part about the office. Did you say the office where I got my license?”
“Yep. You have to go to the same office that you went to the first time.”
“That’s a whole other city!!. That’s 1000 kilometers from here. Surely they’ve got it in a computer somewhere.”
“Let me check” . . . (calls the Bureau) . . . “Nope.”
It took a few weeks to actually break down and make the decision but daily access to a car under the dark cloud of what would probably happen if I got caught driving it finally tipped the scales. I rounded up my paperwork booked my flights (about 1800 kuai) and packed my bags for a two day trip. I had Flight double check to make sure there was absolutely nothing else I would need.
“Nope. It’s easy.”
When I arrived in my old city it took one full day to get the letter from the Consulate. I took the evening to catch up with some old friends and prepared to go to the licensing facility at the crack of dawn. It takes about an hour and a half to get there by taxi (85 more kuai) but optimistically I booked my return flight for that afternoon because . . . well because it should have been easy.
I had a translator lined up to go with me but at the last minute she had to cancel. It was just me against China. Not exactly a fair fight.
Game on.
I arrived and went directly to building A where they told me I needed to go to building B to get my physical test done. I said I don’t think I need a physical because I’m recovering my lost license. They sent me anyway. At building B they told me I didn’t need a physical because I was just recovering my lost license and sent me back to building A where they said “Of course, you need to go to building C.” So I did.
Building C was a solid line of thirty some desks and windows. I was sent to window 17 where they took my papers and sent me to window 15 where they stamped my papers and sent me to window 16. I’m not exactly sure what they did at window 16 but when they were finished doing it they sent be back to window 15 where Officer Grumpy Pants barked at me and said something I couldn’t understand. He then sent me back to window 17 where the girl pulled up the information from my previous license and showed it to me. I got excited.
“Yes! Yes! That’s me. Now print it out and I can go.”
Turns out she was trying to show me the note attached to my information which I could not read. I called Flight to translate and handed the phone to girl 17. She walked around for a bit and finally gave me my phone back. Flight said, “Jerry, because you have not done the yearly physical test you must take the written test again.”
I nearly puked. “I can’t take the test. I haven’t studied for the test in four years. There’s no way I can take the test. When can I take it?”
“Next Tuesday.”
I’m pretty sure I did actually puke at least a little. “Next TUESDAY?!! Are you kidding me?!! It’s Friday! I can’t stay until Tuesday!! Is there any way I can try to take the test today?”
I passed the phone back to window 17. They talked and she passed it back. Flight said, “You can also take it next Thursday.”
We double checked everything and there were no loopholes. No way around it, my entire trip was a complete waste of time and money. I sat and sulked for about 20 minutes. I went back to try begging at windows 17, 16 and even officer Grumpy Pants at window 15 who said something about how the government in Beijing would throw him in prison if he made an exception just for me. At least I think he said that. He may have actually said that Beijing would launch missiles at my hometown if I didn’t leave immediately. He may have also said the weather is nice in Beijing this time of year. I’m almost positive he mentioned Beijing.
Completely dejected I walked out. Half way between building C and building A my phone rang. It was Flight. “Jerry. Go back in and give the phone to the leader. Let’s explain the whole situation and see if you can take the test today.” I thought we did that already but she thought it was worth a shot and I had nothing to lose. I couldn’t find the leader so I gave it to the girl at window 17 and she talked to Officer Grumpy Pants. They returned my phone.
“What did they say?”
“They said sure, no problem. You can take the test this afternoon.”
I had not been so confused since puberty . . . I was 100% full of every possible emotion. I wanted to punch Officer Grumpy Pants square in his nose but I also wanted to kiss him square on his face. I was completely excited that there was a remote chance that this trip would not be a complete waste of two days and more than 3000 kuai, yet I was painfully aware that passing the test with less than three hours to study was virtually impossible, even for smart people (see Step 2).
I sprinted to building A to register for the test and they sent me back to building C to get the test registration paper from the girl at window 17. I ran back to building C, got my paper and jogged back to building A where they sent me to building B to take my physical test which I did now, in fact, actually need. I walked briskly. The ladies in building C were happy to see me again. They shoved me through the line (thankfully not taking off points for shortness of breath) breaking their previous record (step 2 again), and sent me back to building A. I crawled through the doors and successfully registered to take the test at 2:00 pm.
It was 11:47.
But that’s another story.
To Be Continued . . .
Sep 5, 2012 |
There are few moments more petrifying in a teenage boys life than those spent attempting to pass the driving test. Not the written one. Those moments are painful as well but they are nothing compared to the heart thumping horror of buckling up (or heaven forbid . . . forgetting to) next to the the beady-eyed, frozen-hearted, expressionless, clipboard wielding examiner. Every move is cautiously calculated and every word is fearfully over evaluated.
For example, he says, “Ok. Ready to begin?”
Obviously a loaded question and most likely some kind of psychological warfare tactic strategically designed to break your will and crush your spirit but, even though you see right through his dirty little scheme, your mind races uncontrollably. “What do you mean by ‘ready to begin?’ Of course I’m ready. Why would I not be ready? I’m forgetting something aren’t I? What am I forgetting? Seat belt? On. Radio? Off. Seat? Adjusted. Mirrors? Perfect. WHAT ARE YOU SEEING THAT I’M NOT?!! If I say ‘yes’ and I’m wrong you’ll flunk me but if I say ‘no’ you’re going to expect a reason and I DON”T HAVE A REASON!! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?!! PLEASE, PLEEAAASSE DON’T FAIL ME”
Smiling like a used car salesman you try to outfox him . “Oh, I think I’m just about ready. Are you ready?”
He squints and stares through your soul for a split second and then glances down to his clip board. “I’m not the one taking the test.”
He makes a mark.
It’s twenty minutes of absolute terror that culminates in the five most blood curdling words in a 16 year old’s vocabulary . . . “Ok, parallel park right here.”
You can understand why I was overjoyed when my friends told me that a road test was not required to get a Chinese driver’s license. Especially considering that I had never actually driven in the chaos that is Chinese traffic. Consequently my overjoy was matched with overtrembling when I discovered that because my license in America allowed me to drive a fifteen passenger van, my Chinese license would (by declaration of Chinese law and possibly Chairman Mao himself) have to be the same. The bigger problem was that there is no license classification for a 15 passenger van in China. The closest equivalent is a 21 passenger mini-bus which I would, in fact, be required to drive, for the first time in my life, through China traffic, in the presence of the Chinese version of my most dreaded arch enemy from the most traumatic 20 minutes of my teenage life. I felt fears that I had not felt in 20 years as I envisioned the examiner (now a Communist) asking me to parallel park a manual transmission bus between two BMW’s on a steep incline.
I arrived at the DMZ . . . wait, no . . . DMV with Mr. Wang who would serve as my translator and his 8 year old son Andy who came along for the ride. We sat in a big room with 50 other people waiting to take the driving test and watched horrible videos of actual car crashes with real people being thrown and dragged and as far as I could tell, killed. They were similar to the videos that we saw in high school when the county coroner came and tried to scare us into driving responsibly. We loved those videos. At least the boys did. The girls all screamed and hid their faces which, truth be told, was the only reason we boys loved it. The whole gory event was proof positive that any attempt to publicly manipulate 16 year old boys into doing anything responsible was a hopeless endeavor. Twenty years later on the other hand, it seemed to be working. I was feeling more responsible (and more nauseous) by the moment.
We waited for about two hours until myself, Mr. Wang, Andy and one other man were last in the room. This man and I were the only ones being tested for the mass transit vehicle which I was now calling “Gargantua” in my head. At last our names were called. We all boarded the vehicle and, in answer to my prayers, the other man was chosen to drive first.
What happened next was both frightening and glorious.
I do not believe this man had ever driven a manual transmission vehicle (stick shift) in his life. In fact, it is entirely feasible that he had never driven any vehicle in his life. Have you ever been in a car when the driver both releases the clutch and stomps on the accelerator all in one immediate motion? You know how the entire car bounces up and down, jerks forward in several quick bursts tossing the passengers around like they were dice in a Yahtzee cup and makes a horrible sound like — KACHUM KACHUM KACHUM CHUM CHUM CHUM? And then it dies?
Yeah. We did that. Only it was a bus.
I had no idea you could make a bus bounce like that. My eyes were wide and glued to the examiner who made a mark on his clipboard. Then we did it again . . . KACHUM CHUM CHUM CHUM . . . dead. And again KACHUM CHUM CHUM CHUMM MMMM . . . finally he achieved forward motion and proceeded out of the parking lot into oncoming traffic . . . where he stopped. I kid you not, he stopped the bus in the middle of the lane blocking oncoming traffic. He began to look around and I recognized that he had forgotten to put his seat belt on.
“Ahhhh, nice catch my friend. You might lose some points for, you know, stopping a BUS in the middle of the road but at least you’re remembering to buckle up which everyone knows is the unforgivable driving test sin and an automatic fail.
Turns out he was just a little cramped, so he moved his seat back and then KACHUM CHUM CHUM CHUM . . . killed it . . . KACHUM CHUM CHUM CHUMM MMMM and we were off again . . . without a seatbelt. We drove down the correct side (mostly) of the road for about 20 seconds and the examiner had seen enough. He asked him to stop on the side of the road and told us to trade places while he marked his clipboard. As I remember it I was in a slight state of shock. My mouth was wide open, my head was tilted slightly to the left and I was grasping to make even a tiny bit of sense out of what had just happened. Before I crawled into the driver’s seat I looked to Mr. Wang.
“Mr. Wang” I said, “did he pass?”
Mr. Wang looked at me as if I was a complete moron. “Pfft . . . yeah, of course.”
From that second forward I felt great. I leapt to the driver’s seat and in a single motion, buckled my safety belt, adjusted my mirror and looked the examiner square in the eye and said with tremendous confidence, “I’m ready.”
I drove in a straight line for about 15 seconds and he asked me to pull over. He turned to Mr. Wang and said, “Wah, he’s good.” That was it. Test over. No trick questions. No BMW’s or inclines and absolutely zero parallel parking.
I passed.
It was a golden moment for both me and Mr. Wang and the perfect ending to a needlessly stressful event.
Aug 18, 2012 |
Theoretically speaking, getting a driver’s license in China is simple. Like falling off a log, taking candy from a baby or shooting fish in a barrel. It’s a hypothetically stress-free, three step process:
1. Get your paperwork in order
2. Pass the physical
3. Pass the written test
Piece of cake.
However, like simplicity and the metaphors we use to describe it, sometimes things go wrong. Taking candy from a baby, for example, is not intrinsically complicated but what you are left with is a screaming baby and a scorned mother. Falling off a log requires very little effort but fall into some poison ivy or a den of rabid wombats and it gets messy. Shooting fish in a barrel, frankly just seems unnecessary and loaded with potential consequences that get more and more severe the easier you make it. For instance, shooting fish in a barrel with a sling shot and marshmallows is still a bit challenging but carries a pretty low risk of injury. Shooting fish in a barrel with a bazooka, on the other hand . . . so easy but such a bad idea.
Simplicity is relative. It’s all about the variables.
The Paperwork
Completing the paperwork for your Chinese license is genuinely simple . . . like jumping off a cliff or kissing a piranha. In most Chinese cities the paperwork is the same. Copies of your passport, visa, and so on plus six head shots of yourself in mid blink with lettuce in your teeth. I find that some of your darker greens, like a spinach or a nice arugula (slightly wilted) work best. Then you’ll need to have both the front and back of your valid driver’s license from your home country translated into Chinese by a certified translator who may or may not speak English but possesses an official certified translator stamp and is therefore more qualified than other Chinese people who are much more qualified. It also costs money.
Pretty cut and dried.
The Physical Exam
Literally nothing could be easier than completing the physical exam. It’s as easy as turning your head . . . or coughing. That’s just a joke. Nothing like that. In fact, I’m convinced that the sole intention of the nurses at each station is to work together to beat their collective best time which I think is about 48 seconds. Time starts when the nurse at station one stamps your form, hands it to you and points at station two. The rest of the exam goes something like this . . .
Station Two Nurse: (speaking quickly and snatching my paper) Press your forehead here and look into the goggle thingy. Do you see something?
Me: Uh . . . yes.
Station Two Nurse: (stamps the form and passes it to station three) Ok. Next.
Station Three Nurse: Put these headphones on. Do you hear something?
Me: Uh . . . yes.
Station Three: (Stamp. Pass to Station Four) Ok. Next.
Station Four: What are you about 185 centimeters tall?
Me: 187
Station Four: (Stamp) Ok. Next.
Station Five: How much do you weigh?
Me: Uh . . .
Station Five: (Stamp) Ok. Next.
Station Six: Put your arms out in front of you and squat (Stamp). Next.
Station Seven: (Showing me the color blind thing where the orange dots make a number in the blue dots) (Stamp) Can you see this?
Me: Yes
Station Seven: Next.
Station Eight: Sign here.
Me: (signing)
Station Eight: (Stamp) TIME!!
Station One: Forty eight point six.
All Stations: (disappointed) Awwww!
No needles. No cups. No rubber gloves. Easy as pie.
The Written Exam
The written test is not easy. Scratch that. Anything is easy if you know the answers. Knowing the answers to the written test is not easy. I suppose metaphorically speaking it is easy like Quantum phyiscs or speaking Klingon.
When I took the test there were a possible 800 questions to study from. Now there are 1500 (it’s projected that by next year there will be over one zillion). When you take the test a computer randomly selects 100 questions of which you must answer 90% correctly. No pressure. The questions are broken into four major sections (all examples are actual test questions):
1. Common Sense Questions: These are the questions that everyone should know before they are allowed to even ride in a car. Unfortunately, only about 10% (or 150) of the possible questions are in this category.
Example: When driving at night, the driver’s observation ability is visibly poorer and his visibility range becomes shorter than driving in the daytime. (Translation: It’s harder to see when it’s dark than when there is light)
Right Wrong
2. Flash Card Questions: These are questions that are impossible to know apart from rote memorization. 70% (1050 questions)
Example: If a motorized vehicle driver violates the provisions on the parking and temporary stopping of motorized vehicles of the law and regulations on road traffic safety, the driver is subject to a fine of __________ if he is not present at the scene and his vehicle obstructs the flow of other vehicles and pedestrians
a) 10 yuan ~ 20 yuan
b) 20 yuan
c) 20 yuan ~ 200 yuan
d) More than 200 yuan
3. Road Signs. 9%
Examples:
4. Lost in Translation Questions: The English translation is much better than it has been in years past but any time you move from one language to another there are issues. Don’t fight it, you can’t go back and argue later. Even if it’s wrong and they say it’s right, they win. It sounds better in Chinese. 11%.
Example: When a motorized vehicle crosses an overflowing road or bridge, the driver should stop and look at the situation, and passes through slowly before he makes sure that it is safe to do so.
Right Wrong
So the basic formula is memorize every single word of the 1500 questions whether you think they are correct or not. Then take a wild guess when you forget things like how many meters you should stay behind a truck hauling live chickens if it’s raining, or if it’s snowing, or sleeting, or hailing, or you’ve been drinking, or you’ve been sucked up into a tornado or . . .
Easy like Sunday morning.
In all seriousness it is extremely gracious of China to allow foreigners to drive on their roads especially when we say such horrible things about their drivers when they drive on ours. They are certainly under no obligation to make the test easy and they have gone out of their way to make it accessible. I, for one, am both thankful and thrilled.
And if you’re considering getting your license in China you should go for it. It’s not easy but it is completely doable and if I can do it then you should breeze right through it. Just be prepared to pull your hair out along the way. In the city that I lived in it took about an hour to an hour and a half (depending on traffic) to get to the license facility. It also took me six trips.
- Trip one: Turn in my paperwork and register for the test. They told me there was a problem with the certified translation of my American driver’s license and I would need to redo it.
- Trip two: Same as trip one
- Trip three: Take the test — Passed.
- Trip four: Go to pick up my driver’s license. They told me I needed to take the driving test because my American license allowed me to drive a 15 passenger van so my Chinese license had to be the similar (21 passenger mini-bus). Registered to take the driving test.
- Trip five: Waited to take the driving test but found out at closing time they forgot to turn in the registration from trip four.
- Trip six: Driving Test.
But that’s another blog.
Here are some actual helpful links for those of you preparing to take the test. Hope this makes it easier. Like poking yourself in the eye with a fork.
1. Study, take a practice test and more
2. Another practice test with nearly all of the questions
3. Basic Info about getting your license
4. Great PDF with helpful info especially if you live in Beijing
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