The Lighter Side of China: Rules of the Road

The Lighter Side of China began as a series of blogs written by author Scott Kronick that chronicled the experiences of living in China as an expat. Originally published on theBeijinger.com back in 2012, they have now been compiled into a book of the same name published by ACA Publishing Ltd. and available for sale at The Bookworm and online retailers amazon.cn, dangdang.com and Tmall.com.

To celebrate the publication, we are reposting a selection of Kronick's blogs. In this article, Kronick chronicles his confusion with taking a driver's license examination in China.

There are two words that describe modern driving in China and they are "total offense."

Getting behind the steering wheel, you immediately enter into the likes of a rugby scrum. You have to be ready to play your best game.

Whenever anyone asks me to explain how to drive in China, my number one tip is this: "Don't look in the rearview mirror." I often wonder why cars in China include rearview mirrors at all. They are the most useless part of an automobile if you’re a driver in China. Driving is all about what is ahead of you, not behind you.

If you’ve had the experience of trying to get your Chinese driver’s license, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

More than 15 years ago, all it took to qualify for a license was driving 100 meters in a straight line. Interestingly, this all changed around the time that I decided to get my license. The year was 2003 and I think Beijing city officials felt the 100-meter drive was just not enough. I envision these folks sitting around in a smoke-filled office sitting on felt-covered seats, with mugs filled with green tea leaves and brainstorming how they could mess with people like me. The topic: “How to make sure drivers have the real skills to navigate the potential Armageddon that takes place on the roads everyday.”

So what did they decide on? To issue a 100-question test to make sure people were smart and clever enough to drive.

On the day I was due to take the test, I was full of confidence. I certainly didn't study. "For heaven's sake, how difficult could a driving test be?" I said. As I left for the test in the early morning, my wife wished me luck. She was the one who had wanted me to get the license in the first place, so that we could drive outside of the city during the weekends. "Thanks," I replied, and encouraged her to pack the picnic basket as we would soon be on our way.

Wishful thinking! I arrived at the gray cement building where the test was administered, entered the classroom and sat confidently in a seat that reminded me of my childhood school days. Looking around the room, I saw only a few foreigners. Tests were passed out. We were instructed that we had one hour to complete the test.

As soon as I began skimming the test, panic rushed through my system. Not only did I not know the answers, I could barely read the questions. For those of us who didn’t read Chinese, the traffic authorities had translated the questions on the test into English. Obviously this had been done by a translator whose English was intermediate at best.

I remember that one of the questions was phrased as follows:

"Categorized according to the specification terms, carriers for agricultural use include ____________.
a) “Three- and four-wheeled vehicles;
b) Three-wheeled vehicles, four-wheeled ordinary goods carriers, four-wheeled vans, four-wheeled tank carriers, and four-wheeled automatic unloading trucks;
c) Three-wheeled, four-wheeled, and six-wheeled vehicles."

Or how about this one:

“True or false:
“When big trucks are loaded with goods, the height of the goods from the ground should be not more than 5 m, the width of the goods should not be more than that of the carriage, the front part should not stand out of the vehicle body by more than 1 m, and the rear part should not stand out of the carriage by more than 2 m or touch the ground."

And another was so absurd that it still resonates today. I don’t remember the exact wording, but it went something like this:

“If someone is injured with a bone sticking out of their body, you should:
a) Leave them be.
b) Move them to the side of the road.
c) Call an ambulance.

Needless to say, I failed the test. The instructor took great delight in announcing my results. "Ke Ingde xiansheng, ni zuo buliao!" (“Mr. Kronick, you did not pass!”)

My first reaction was embarrassment as all of the other exam-takers – both Chinese and foreigners – laughed at me. Then I felt ashamed because I had to explain to my wife and children that I had failed the exam. Afraid of failing a second time, I tried to convince my wife to try taking the test instead. She refused.

In the spirit of staying married and not losing face among my kids, I signed up to retake the test. This time, I bought the book that they sell to prepare for the test. The Chinese book, that is. Which I proceeded to have translated.
Fortunately, this method worked. Nearly a month later, I had my license and was ready to treat my family with some weekend relief outside of the city.

Nowadays, as I get behind the wheel, I prepare for battle, one that is more offense than defense. And I pray that I don’t have a fender-bender that forces me to get out in the middle of the street, clog traffic and to wait for someone in authority to judge whose fault it was even though they were not there. Because if that happened, I would certainly wonder, as I stood there in the middle of traffic, with drivers cursing me as they drove by, if the people I was waiting for were the same folks who sat in that smoke-filled office and developed that absurd driving test.

Photo: Gizmodo