On Tuesday it was time to move onto the first practical session of driving as part of my on-going quest to obtain a Malaysian Driving Licence. The regulations require me to undertake six hours of driver training at an official driver training centre and so with my passport in my pocket and my collared polo shirt very definitely on I drive off to one of KL’s many driving schools. The one that I was allocated to by the company that had arranged these things for me was conveniently 25km out the way and so took a long time to find.
I had managed to negotiate my six hours of training to be held in two sessions in an attempt to minimise hassle and also with full and detailed knowledge of how the concept and reality of time works in these regards. And so it was that I arrived in good time for my 4.00pm session. I had not been told who I was to meet only that I had to be at this certain location at a certain time and, to quote my driving theory trainer Mr E, “Do not wear those rubber pants or sexy clothing.”
On arrival I went into the office and chose counter three of five, mostly because the official at counter three did not appear to be doing anything, and asked about what I needed to do to begin my training. The official looked at me, grunted and nod-gestured to the next official who was doing something but was clearly the person that I should have selected. While the first official and I watched the second official working an ancient car drew up outside. Sensing that this was most likely my allocated vehicle of learning I left the office and watching an equally ancient bloke get out of the car. With a look of resignation he made his slow way over towards me and struggled up the steps. I was beginning to worry as he just about dealt with he final step. He, a gentleman we shall now call Mr M, looked me up and down and did another one of those nod-gesture things, this time back towards the office and shuffled in the same direction. Cautiously I followed.
Back inside Mr M, probably knowing he would have the same lack of service I had had, ignored official one and went straight to official two and uttered the word that confirmed to me that he was the right bloke: “Passport.” One has to show identification to receive any official service in Malaysia. Appointment at the bank? Passport. Wanting broadband? Passport. Learning to drive? Passport. Not “Passport please, “ just “Passport.” As an added piece of security I also had to provide a thumb print, my own, so as to prove that it was actually me who was doing the driving and not someone else.
Once these cumbersome pieces of bureaucracy had been dealt with Mr M shuffled with me out to the ancient vehicle and indicated that I should get in. I duly did and off we set for the 15 metre drive to the learner training course.
There are probably some good reasons behind the design of the course but it is strange beast. It consists of the slope, z bends, s bends, parallel parking, traffic lights, stop signs and three point turn
practice areas. My pretty much wordless introduction to this course was a drive round in the capable hands of Mr M. After he had driven me round the course he asked me a question that I have long since stopped getting cross about “You can drive?” Telling him that I passed my driving test on 19th February 1987, in the middle of a geography lesson, didn’t seem to phase him at all so he got out the ancient car and told me to drive him around. Fearing for the long-term survival of the car I put on my seatbelt, adjusted a really uncomfortable seat and was about to set off when I saw that Mr M had not put his seatbelt on. Waving this away as unnecessary with a quick “Inside no need,” we set off for the slope.
After a journey of around 10 metres I stopped and Mr M looked at me quizzically. I pointed out that the model traffic lights were red. Waving this away as being a trifling matter he directed me again to the slope.
The Malaysian Driver Training Centre Practical Course appears to have been designed to replicate a driving experience that is very different to real life. Thus “the slope” is a bit like a conventional hill start except one has to land the front wheels of the car on a one metre wide yellow line at the peak of the slope. Once there the aspiring motorist has to apply the handbrake, perform a hill start and set off down the other side of the slope. Hill starts are good things to master, except that drivers, especially coach drivers, rarely do them. It is quite common for drivers to ride their clutches or hold automatics on the foot-brake and often roll backwards before setting off. Having 13000 kilos of school bus rolling back towards you is alarming at first, but one soon gets used to it and drivers make allowances.
Next the on the course are the z and s bends which are exactly as they sound. Under the tutelage of Mr M I drove his ancient car, without power steering gingerly round z bends, stopped, applied the handbrake and then tackled the s bends before stopping at a painted pedestrian crossing, something that in real life drivers vary rarely do.
Next it was onto the parallel parking, which was all about the number of times that the aspiring motorist turned the steering wheel and when, much more than looking and checking and then it was onto the three point turn. The main rule here was that trainees should not stop the car while it is in motion between any of the three points as this would be an immediate fail. Again checking of mirrors and looking were not considered to be significant and neither was the very strong smell of burning chemicals from the poor car’s engine.
Following this drive round with Mr M he retired to a viewing platform for a smoke before telling me to drive round which is what I did for the next two hours: motoring round a version of toy-town in first gear. Every so often Mr M would make a series of highly confusing gestures and directions before retiring once again to the safety of another viewing platform for another smoke, conveniently next to very large signs that said “No smoking.” The only thing that kept me from going even more mad was Mr M’s radio station of choice, Radio Tamil, which played a fine selection of tunes that I did my best to sing along to.
I had learned from other well-informed sources that during the real test would-be drivers had to wave to an examiner and sound the horn on completion of each manoeuvre. Mr M, in his own way, suggested that it would good for me to do this in preparation for the real exam. And so anyone watching on would have witnessed the glorious sight of a grinning me driving around a toy-town car circuit at snail’s pace, singing along to the latest hits from Tamil FM at the loudest volume, randomly stopping, waving and honking at empty chairs all while Mr M smoked and gesticulated on.
Two hours later I had had enough and pulled in for a rest and to use the toilet. Sadly I had not finished the full three hours, but this was not a problem for Mr M. In a few words he managed to communicate that all he and I had to do was sit and relax for the remaining 40 minutes until 7.00pm when I could enter my thumb print again and leave, having completed the necessary three hours.
To complete the required six hours of centre based training I returned to the place two days later to meet Mr M and his ancient car once more. Once again I arrived in good time to register (passport and thumb print) but was greeted with the news that I had to wait until 4.09pm to register rather than 4.00pm. The official who did all the work there couldn’t offer an explanation to me or Mr M and we were joined by the manager of the centre who also could not shed light on the nine minute delay either. The manager and I chatted for a while and nine minutes turned into a pleasant fifteen. Eventually the problem that was stopping me registering went away and my thumb print could be taken. Good news though. It turned out that the three hours that I had spent at the centre earlier in the week had magically changed into three and a half hours. Thus 30 minutes less driving / waiting around. Marvellous.
The first part of this lesson was given over to road driving training. Hooray, I thought. A break from toy-town fist gear motoring. With hope in my heart I clambered into the poor car only for Mr M to say “Petrol finished already we go petrol station.” So, my official road driving experience involved a 30km round trip to the nearest petrol station while Mr M dozed in the passenger’s seat. I suppose should see Mr M’s dozing off as a vote of confidence in my driving.
This road experience gave time to get to know the terrible car a little better. Having spent most of its life being driven in first gear it appeared to be a little unsure what to do when I changed from second to third and so did very little but did eventually just about get up to 50kmph.
On return from the petrol station I drove around the driving school route again and again and again and did more waving and hooting at empty chairs, singing to Tamil FM and trying to decipher Mr M’s gestures.
The final part of the instruction was to practise the driving test route. Suitably rested and revived Mr M, myself and the ancient car tootled off to the exit point from the Driving Centre to turn right. A badly placed concrete wall made turning right difficult although Mr M grunted at me just to turn right anyway. Sensibly I ignored him as a large truck was approaching from the left. Edging out I manoeuvred the car on to the road and the route. I can’t describe the official driving test route as anything other than it is in that it required driving 2.5km along a road going slightly uphill before doing a U-turn and driving back. He main rule was apparently don’t exceed 40kmph, of which there was little chance given the perilous state of the car. At the turning place Mr M wasn’t worried about the monkeys in the road, nor the car behind me nor the bloke feeding the monkeys and got slight irate when I started trying to find a safer place to turn but all was well in the end and no monkeys, cars or humans were damaged.
On return to the driving centre it was more sitting and waiting and then my time was completed.
Apparently I do not need to undertake the full ten hours of road based drinking practice , part five of the process, which means bring on part six: the practice test.