Column: the Italian driving license

'Steve! deaf vai?I turn to see Roberto's head sticking out of the door window of his car.

'Devo prendere un'altra maledetta marca da bollo!' ('I still have to get a cool value stamp', ed.) I yell angrily. Only after that I am amazed that he is already here waiting for me while I am probably still busy for a while. Why didn't he pop into town for a drink and a newspaper?

That morning Roberto took me to the branch of the Italian health service, the ASL, in the provincial capital of Voghera. Here I would undergo the compulsory medical examination to obtain an Italian driver's license. I had been smart enough to renew my driving license in the Netherlands just before our emigration so that I could continue for 10 years, but those 10 years were now really over. I had to believe it, the Italian driver's license.

My husband had already replaced his driver's license a year earlier, and I remembered his groaning and groaning during the lengthy bureaucratic process that involved. It was so complicated that he'd forgotten how it all worked (or had he repressed it?) so I couldn't turn to him for advice. I was left to my own devices and decided to gather as much Internet wisdom as possible before I got into the administrative... roller coaster (roller coaster) went down.

And now it had still gone wrong. I had actually transferred € 10,20 to the Ministry of Transport and € 32 to the Motorization (Rijkswaterstaat), with the pre-printed checks available at the post office, the receipts of which I even had with me, but unfortunately.

'Manca la marca da bollo,' the medic said to me very nonchalantly after she went through the papers I had put down in front of her, satisfied as a student convinced that he has done his homework well. A value stamp of €16 was missing.

Oh no, I thought, now I have to come back one more time to go through the procedure again! But luckily, the dottoressa was lenient. If I had that right now stamp we could immediately start the real medical examination. Pfff.

So I galloped excitedly out of the building and passed Roberto who had already positioned himself in the parking lot. You can only buy value stamps at certain cafes and bars, so I had to go there. Good that Roberto was there, because now we could go and search by car.

Within fifteen minutes I was back at the doctor. The investigation could begin. I prepared myself for blood pressure readings, a cold stethoscope, knee hammers and the like, but no, it became a questionnaire. After I obediently answered all questions about possible medical abnormalities that are insurmountable for driving with 'No.', the medic asked me to put a hand over my left eye and look at the sign on the wall.

The obligatory sign with rows of increasingly smaller letters that I had long seen hanging. There were so few letters on it that I could have memorized them if necessary. But I had my lenses in and could make out the three letters in the middle line perfectly. The middle letters were enough. A sharper view is in the Italian traffic apparently not necessary. Just the other eye, with the same letters (!), and you're done. Was that all?

New. The doctor got up and asked me to follow her. We entered the empty room of which I had already wondered what function it could have while waiting my turn in the corridor. The few very elderly elderly who, supported by one of their children, had shuffled along the corridor ahead of me, had skipped that room. Was I subjected to a test that was only intended for non-elderly road users?

On a table was a kind of briefcase with some electrical wires hanging from it. The lie detector! The ASL did not trust my answers and now I would be exposed. Or not? The briefcase turned out to contain a heavy-steel device that reminded me of the device the British used to crack the German Enigma code during World War II.

The doctor handed me rickety headphones and also an antique stopwatch. I had to wait until I heard a beep and then press as fast as I could. It was a test of my reaction speed! I, good student that I am, did my best. Afterwards, a built-in printer started spitting out the results. The doctor looked at the result and smiled with satisfaction. I passed with flying colors. The briefcase closed again.

But why didn't those very elderly customers have to take that test? Maybe because they only came to renew their driver's license, while I went for my first Italian driver's license? And wouldn't they have had to take the eye test too? Did I really want to hit the road in this knowledge?

It didn't matter anymore, I passed and was able to go to the Italian ANWB, the ACI, with all the paperwork plus the fresh medical certificate. While waiting for my final driver's license, I received a provisional certificate of driving proficiency with which I could go ahead for a month.

Two weeks later the postman brought me a green envelope containing not my driver's license but a traffic ticket. The first voucher in 5 years! Driven through a red light on the provincial road at Stradella.

Sixty euro fine and… 6 points deducted from my Italian driver's license. A driver's license I never even had my hands on!

A few days later I read in the Province of Pavese an article about the region's most infamous traffic light. The traffic light on the provincial road at Stradella. I have again.

Want to read more fun stories about life in Italy? You can find it in the three parts 'Italiaanse Status' by Stef Smulders, available at bol.com.