Life, liberty, and the pursuit of the Italian driver’s license

It has been far too long since my last update. The last few months I have been putting myself to work mettermi al lavoro on a number of fronts to close out some rather important things that I have been avoiding. Most importantly, I decided to finally tackle the Italian driver’s license exam that I have dreaded since I arrived.

Once you commit to being a full-time resident in Europe, most countries do not automatically assume you are a seasoned driver from America and capable of driving on European roads. Actually, they are right. Driving in Europe is a whole different experience. Other than “STOP” and “YIELD” most signs, signals, and measures are different.

When you arrive in Europe and declare residency the clock starts ticking. You have 12 months to convert your driver’s license to a European one or you “technically” cannot drive.

Arriving with an American license as a tourist for a limited period is fine. But if you want to settle your residency here, well then your past driving history means nothing and one must start from the beginning.

I thought I had found a solution

During my stay in France during the pandemic, I declared residency and as luck would have it, France was one of the few countries that recognized “some” American driver’s licenses. It depended on the state that issued the license.

This saved me from starting all over just like a new French driver. I didn’t have to pass a written exam in French or take a driving test. It would have been a disaster for me. My French was terrible.

I had to jump through a number of hurdles, but finally after 12-months, my French driver’s license arrived. It was about the same time I decided to move back to Italy.

I knew that Europeans are free to exchange their licenses within the European Union. Problem solved, right? I could live anywhere in Europe now and never worry about a driver’s license exam…not so fast.

A few months after my return to Rome, I cheerfully walked into the equivalent of AAA in Italy, called “ACI-Automobile Club d’Italia“, threw down my French license, and asked about the exchange process.

The clerk behind the counter took one look at my license, and with a slight frown said, “Mi spiace signore, non può. I’m sorry sir, you can’t.”

She informed me that my American turned French driver’s license could never turn Italian no matter how much I tried. She then went on to explain what I was in for if I wanted to obtain an Italian driver’s license.

At 52 years of age, I feel like a kid again…sort of

I would have to start just like a brand new driver in Italy. I needed to take the written exam (in Italian), enroll in a driving school scuola guida for six hours of driving, pass a practical driving test behind the wheel of a car, all before I could officially drive as a license-carrying citizen.

But the fun doesn’t end there, in Italy there are certain restrictions put on new drivers that I would also have to adhere to if I wanted to drive.

Finally, you are limited to 100 kilometers per hour (kph) on the autostrada, or about 60 miles per hour. The actual speed limit is 130 kph.

You probably get the picture of what my first year of driving is going to look like in Italy. I’ll be the Hester Prynne of the Italian autostrada zipping along in something like a gas-powered golf cart with Sofia sleeping in the backseat as Italians zip past me at 130-150 kilometers per hour.

Is it all worth it?

I drive so very seldom in Rome and find walking is the safer and less stressful option. If walking is not convenient, I have an e-bike, or else the bus.

When I want to leave Rome, obviously the trains offer excellent solutions. And let’s face it, driving in Italy in general is not for the faint of heart. After 30 years of driving in LA traffic, driving in Italy’s major cities scares the shit out of me.

But I think having a car will continue to serve me here. My life may not end in Rome. I could easily see myself somewhere more tranquil and perhaps less connected with public transportation and using a car more frequently.

So after waiting several months to begin the process, and with the clock ticking, I registered for the written exam to obtain my learning permit il foglio rosa.

From there, I will take six hours of driving lessons with an instructor, and then I finally proceed to the actual driving test. That will be the final step in achieving the Italian driver’s license patente di guida.

Thousands of questions and dozens of conflicting answers.

Italy is full of English-speaking transplants who will lament for hours about the unfairness of the Italian written exam, the difficulty of preparing for the test in Italian, and the European system that requires you start as a beginner.

I remained optimistic and tried to not make it so daunting, that was until I received my first set of study books.

My mouth dropped open when the package arrived. I looked at the stack in horror, not knowing where to begin. There were Italian/English dual language books, Italian-only books, English only books, and study guide after study guide.

The actual written exam is a subset of 7,000 questions! The exam pulls 30 random questions from the 7,000. You can only make three mistakes, or else you fail.

I started with the smallest of all the books, and it became my daily routine. It was in Italian and I found that to be the best way to study and increase my vocabulary.

There’s an app that accompanies the book that provides an unlimited amount of quizzes using the same subset of 7000 questions. When I had free time, I was practicing voraciously. When Sofia and I would go for walks, she would hunt for other dogs while I took quizzes.

Ready or not, here we go

I found an office near my apartment that acts as a go-between for residents and the Italian equivalent of the Department of Motor Vehicles. That’s where I met Francesca. She would guide me through the process up to my exam.

When I find intermediaries in Italy, I usually take advantage of them. They are worth what you pay to avoid navigating certain administrative processes alone.

The first time I met Francesca and explained my unfortunate license situation, she whined along with me and offered up, “Che palle..no ha senso.” Which is basically, “What balls, that doesn’t make any sense.”

I would stop by the office every few days and keep her posted on my status. She told me when I was ready, she would book the exam, but it would be another month before my testing date.

Two weeks ago I stopped in and told Francesca to book the exam. I was feeling better about the test and knew in another month I could be ready.

Later that afternoon I received an email from Francesca with the subject line, “Sei Pronto? Are you ready?” My exam was scheduled four days later. Oh boy!

Perhaps I misunderstood something along the way, but I froze in terror. I wasn’t getting that extra month to prepare. I was getting three days to prepare.

Francesca warned me that in the summertime it could be very busy with students out of school. I might have to wait several months for a new date. She encouraged me to try, while at the same time telling me how horrible the exam was for Italians. Her advice was, “Non preoccuparti. Nessuno supera la prima volta. Don’t worry. Nobody passes the first time.”

Always take your shot

I decided to go for it and take my shot. Even If I failed, it would be a good dry run to prepare myself for the next attempt. My expectations of passing were low.

On the day of the exam, I arrived 30 minutes early. I found myself surrounded by a group of teenagers, definitely being the oldest person in the crowd.

There were there with their parents, grandparents, and friends waiting with them anxiously. Perhaps they needed their son or daughter or grandchild to drive out of real necessity. It was a big day for them. They were showing support for a number of reasons.

Then I thought about why I was there. I could pass or fail and my life wouldn’t change at all. It might be less convenient for a while, but it was nothing to stress over. I didn’t need to prove anything to myself or another, nor did the life of anyone else depend upon my ability to drive.

Ready as I will never be

The man who moderated the exam was a character that I won’t soon forget. He wore a burgundy colored polo shirt that ended well above his large belly. While he called us into the room, he puffed on an electronic cigarette and jokingly yelled profanities at the young kids who didn’t follow his instructions.

When the exam was over, we gathered in a circle around the moderator as he called out our names alphabetically and read each person’s result out loud. So much for private shaming.

About half of the participants had failed by the time he got to “L” names. The odds were 50/50 when he said, “Lombardo, ce l’hai fatta. Lombardo, you did it.”

I was shocked and asked him, “Devo rifarla? Must I redo it?”

He laughed and said, “Ma che cazzo non hai capito? Vatene! What the fuck didn’t you understand? Go away!” Much to my surprise, I passed.

I walked out of the office feeling happy, but took a minute to observe the others that returned to their anxious families and friends. Some celebrated and some cried while being comforted by others. I felt for them.

It made me remember the time I took my driver’s license test 36 years ago and how I felt. A driver’s license was that first taste of freedom and adventure at a young age. It was knowing that I was free to travel as far as my car would take me.

I hope you enjoyed my Italian adventures in obtaining my driver’s license. In the coming days, I’ll start my actual driving lessons, and I’m sure there will be plenty of laughs to talk about in the coming weeks. Thanks for following The Spaghetti Diaries. I hope you have a wonderful summer and find yourself on a road trip!

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