How to Drive a Car in Phnom Penh (Part II)

"The traffic code is aiming to provide the prestige and effectiveness regarding to protect the traffic safety, keep public orders/security of the national society, prevent the public properties, lives and advantages of people and State from eventually damages. Globalization, is targeted to educate all people to obey the rules and mobilize them to share in strong opposition to the guilty acts which will breach to the traffic regulations."

Have you ever heard anything crazier?

I think not.

This was on the first page of my little driving manual, right under "the purpose" (as if there needed to be a purpose for a driving manual). This darling booklet included four pages of "rules," four pages of signs, six pages of diagrams, and five pages explaining car parts and various dashboard lights. The English is horrible. Many of the rules and explanations don't even make sense. I rediscovered this when cleaning out recently. I acquired my license in July. It was almost worth coming to Cambodia, just for this experience.

I finished drivers ed in April. However, because of scheduling and visitors, it wasn't until July, I presented myself to my driving school and announced my intention of passing the test. I was given this manual and a photocopy of the written road test, and told to memorize it. This was exam prep, Khmer style. So for about a week, I laid on the cool tile on my apartment floor and memorized the eight page test.

The following week, I drove my moto 45 minutes north of the city to a random outpost where driving tests are administered (ironic that I would have to drive myself so far north, given the reason). I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. One never knows. Asking for specifics is ludicrous. I finally located a Korean looking man, and followed him, knowing I needed to find other foreigners. I was one of three non-Asian in a group of 30 foreigners. We were herded into a room and given the written exam. It was about 80% of what I had memorized. I was the first one done in under five minutes. After waiting over an hour for the result, I was informed that I had failed.

Having failed, I could not take step-two, the road test. I was honestly baffled. No matter how scores were weighed, it seemed unlikely I had failed it considering I had memorized 80% the answers. I suspected this is the step where one greases hands. But I was too proud for that. Maybe I can't drive, but I can memorize.

So I went back the next week, driving in the pouring rain 45 minutes north to this random outpost. There were only about 15 other foreigners this time, including a very old American guy with his super young Khmer "lady-friend." This time, the test was exactly the same as the one I had committed to memory, word for each horribly translated English word. It didn't matter. The test proctor told the very old American guy sitting three feet away from me the answers, pointing to the correct multiple-choice answers on the page.

After passing the written part, we walked through the rain to the driving course for the road test. It had been several months since I had last driven a car and my brain was scrambling to pull up indicators. But I reminding myself that no matter what the outcome, this experience could only become infinitely more hilarious. So with great confidence, I climbed in the ancient white Toyota Corolla (the door barely latched shut) in the pouring rain. Three "proctors" roamed the course while I was driving, barking out orders and corrections. It went well, until I had to make a three-point-turn. That was a failure. It got worse when my parallel parking attempted ended up on the curb.

It was hilariously embarrassing, and the original conclusion was that I failed. But after negotiations between the woman from my driving school and the three proctors, they agreed to let me pass (this is where having relationships and connections in Cambodia truly matters). Incidentally, the very old American guy drove the course backwards (obviously not the sharpest crayon in the box). He passed. Several weeks later, I went back to the driving school to pick up that precious piece of plastic that gives me legitimacy to continue driving.

I had only ever requested that the experience of learning to drive in Cambodia be hilarious. It was just that, completely hilarious, rendering me completely satisfied. The final golden lesson from my darling little booklet is as follows (direct quotation): Be careful in driving is driving art leading us to have always life.