Crusing the Carriageways

So it is official now. Joseph and I are both licensed to drive in the Republic of Singapore. Getting there was a journey in and of itself. All expats are required to obtain their Singapore license after one year. It's not something any of us look forward too. Getting a license involves taking a written test, while we are exempt from the driving test. I often wonder why this is so since driving on the right side of the road and car are a new thing for more than half the world. Joseph passes the driving test first without anything noteworthy. As far as I know, his driving here, albeit way too fast for my tastes, has been impeccable. I, on the other hard, have considered myself fortunate in having avoided several serious mishaps. I'll attribute the incongruity in our driving to three things: One, Joseph has driven here and in the UK before. Two, he is luckier than me. And three, he wasn't pregnant and suffering from extreme fatigue when we first arrived.

Probably the scariest thing I did was flip a quick right from our guard gate where we live around the corner onto the main road; only "rights" are supposed to entail crossing traffic in two directions like our "lefts" in the states. Big oops. There was a bus coming straight towards me and I had about 2 seconds to figure it out. Easy--pull over onto the shoulder and let the bus pass. Problem--there are no shoulders in Singapore. There are no shoulders because it is illegal to break down here. (Okay, that might not be true, but I wouldn't be surprised. There really are no shoulders on the roads here; and by law your car has to be checked out every year and reported to the government. It is illegal to drive cars over a certain age--like 10 years or something like that.) So I quick put the car in reverse, slam on the gas and literally rewind that whole move, flipping back around the corner into the still open (luckily) gate. My heart rate is probably visible at this point. All the other incidents are similar in that they involve wrong right turns.

So the day of my test I am feeling pretty confident. Joseph already took the test and passed. True to our natures, I had prepared and stressed about it at least 3 times more than him, so I figure it shouldn't be a problem. I arrive at the Land and Transport Authority. Every parking lot is gated and requires payment to park--the grocery stores, the malls, doctors, everything. Consequently, every car has a little machine installed in the right corner of the windshield with a cashcard in it. Somehow, this machine and the gate "talk" to figure out how long you were there so the appropriate amount will be deducted from your cashcard. The card usually beeps on entry and the gate opens for you to proceed to find a parking spot. Well, I pull up and there is no beep. No card in the machine. I'm irritated because Joseph must have snatched it out for his motorcycle that morning so he wouldn't have to run get his in the house. My test starts in 5 minutes. I wave a guard down and ask him if I can please pay with cash or something else like a credit card maybe because I just realize I have about $1.50 is all in my purse in change. Cash okay but no cards. All parking lots are not created equal in Singapore. The ritzy shopping areas on Orchard Road cost about $4 an hour to park, while the cheaper local places are $1 an hour. I was banking on this being a cheaper place and within my $1.50 limitation so I nodded and he opened the gate. Next mountain (or molehill), getting a parking spot. Parking spots here are about half the size of a spot in a Costco parking lot and parking in them in an art form. Singaporeans always back into spots. So whenever you see a car parked what I call regular, it might as well have a sign on it that says, "an expat parked here." I find one of my usual spots, the furthest away, because it is next to an empty spot and that is the only way I can safely park my Toyota Picnic.

I run into the building about 2 minutes late. I have my registration slip with me and my "green card" my non-resident identity card that is required to rent a movie, get my hair cut, buy lotion at the department store, etc. (Ob several occasions I forgot it and that is not fun.) I thought I was good. Apparently not. When I present my registration form and my card, the man asks for my passport. Um, I don't have it with me because I don't carry it everywhere because it isn't safe. I must see your passport or you can't take the test. I proceed to get a lecture about how your green card is always supposed to be with your passport. He points to some fine print on the back of my card that says "must stay with passport" or something like that. Well, I have my US license, and my green card, and my registration, and well, here is my whole wallet you are welcome to anything in there that might allow me to just take this test. The same lecture is repeated, the same finger points to the same small print on my green card. Then silence for what seemed like a long time while I await judgement. Okay, I can take the test this time but next time remember to bring my passport and always keep the green card with . . . what he doesn't understand is that there won't be a next time. I read the driving manual 3 times cover to cover. I pass rows of eyes starring at me as he takes me to my computer. I just love causing scenes.

I wish that was the end of our discussion on the issue, but unfortunately I had to suffer through fragments throughout my test--at least 20 of them. They were to my back though as he paced the room monitoring everyone and always took occasion when he came upon me to mumble as he walked by, "you need to bring your passport, you need to keep your green card with your passport." At least I was free to roll my eyes or shake my head while my desire to get out of there greatly increased with each fragment. Consequently, I was one of the first few done with the test. After I collected my form from him, the last thing I hear trailing down the hall behind me was "next time you need to have your passport."

$1.40 to park, I passed the test, and really I am grateful to Mr. Driving Test Official for letting me take it probably when he wasn't supposed to.

Expat Vocabulary List:

petrol: gas for the car.
wind: human gas.
plaster: a band aide
rubbish: trash, garbage
queue: a line, i.e., there is a long queue to get tickets to the movie.
carriageway: a highway
holiday: a vacation. We will take our summer holiday in the United States.
toilet: a bathroom. Please take your child to the toilet before bringing him to class.
baby cot: crib. We will need a baby cot in our room.
straightaway: immediately, or right now. Are we going to eat straightaway?
Good, because I'm hungry. (Maggie said this the other day.)
carpark: parking lot. If the carpark at the church is full you must go elsewhere to park and walk forever to get there. (This is often the case, especially if you are running late.)