I’ll be the first to admit that my driving record is not the best. The first time I ever sat behind the wheel, I made it all the way to my high school’s parking lot before slamming the gas pedal into a senior cheerleader’s front bumper. Things did not get markedly better from there.
To alleviate the tender spot my “creative” driving put on my parents’ auto insurance, Mom and Dad made me take Driver’s Ed. As you may know, this is a class you can take in plenty of high schools around the U.S. You can take it to obtain your permit or your license, or even to lower your insurance premium (hi). If you don’t take Driver’s Ed, you’re probably taught how to drive by someone in your family. And of course, if the family and the school don’t offer instruction, you head down to the DMV for lessons.
Getting your license is not only convenient, but also pretty cheap; you usually only pay for the price of making the plastic card. And besides, it’s an absolute necessity for the vast majority of the country. How else will you get to school, get to work, get groceries, go out?
Not so in France. They’ve got an entirely different system here, and the more I research it, the more I understand why French people don’t place driving and getting your license as such a priority.
In France, you cannot be taught to drive by your school or by the DMV. Schools don’t offer driving classes — most everyone I’ve asked has reacted as though I asked where I could find the school’s pet unicorn. And there isn’t a DMV, as in, there is no government department dedicated solely to vehicle licensure. You have to go through the prefecture, or the general government office.
(By the way, the idea of learning a trade At high school is equally bizarre to them as learning to drive at high school. If you want to learn about automotives, horticulture, agriculture, plumbing, or electrics, you have to wait until you graduate high school and then apply to a trade school. So in this sense, Crockett and Boone offer more opportunities than all high schools in France.)
You can’t get a full license to drive a car until you’re eighteen, which is also the year you are allowed to drink and vote (they get everything at once here, not spaced out between 18 and 21). But if you want to start driving at eighteen, you need to start the process at sixteen. On average, it takes about two years and two thousand euros to obtain a full license. This includes the time it takes to study for and pass the tests, the twelve months of accompanied driving, about a year of lessons, and all the money you need to pay for the tests and the lessons.
Because, oh yeah, you have to pay for the services of a private driving school. That’s the only way to learn. These are not government agencies, but rather accredited businesses that teach you to drive in the same way a scuba shop can teach you how to dive. Two thousand is the low range; a friend of mine told me she shelled out four thousand euros over two years to get her license.
In the States, nobody is technically making you practice or study before you take the written and practical exams for your license. It’s a bad idea to not, but you aren’t legally required. In France, these lessons are mandatory. The idea is to ensure everyone on the road knows exactly what they are doing. To their credit, I’ve yet to see a wreck or a fender bender.
These “auto-écoles” can be found anywhere. I pass by two on my walk to work. They usually have two or three cars painted in bright colors to warn other drivers and advertise their business. Being French, they don’t keep long hours, so if you work or go to school, you may only get about an hour of training tucked in right at the end of the day. They’ll help you study, and I think they can administer the written tests — although those are still made and graded by the government.
So you see, it’s a long, expensive process that you have to undertake on your own time. There’s very little social impetus, since your friends aren’t usually doing it alongside you. You don’t need it to get around, since buses and trains connect all the cities, towns, and villages. Your family may not even own a car, so once you get your license you’ll have to spend even more money getting your wheels (and insurance!).
It’s a chicken and egg situation. The French don’t care for driving, so they make it easier to avoid it. Because it is easier to avoid driving, the French don’t care for it. With us in the States, it doesn’t matter if you like it or not, your better get used to it if you want food and a job.
I’m not sure which system I prefer. I love the freedom of having a car, but is it really freedom if I’m trapped without it, with no other way to get around? I love that I can go anywhere I want with it, but is the effect on the environment worth it in the long run?
As I type this, I can see through my window that it is simply pouring the rain in Lyon, so today I’m dreaming of driving to work in a dry, warm car — instead of walking to work with my umbrella. But maybe tomorrow we’ll have the sun back.
Cordialement,
Allison
Flan in France 