You’ve been in Japan a while now and have gotten that itchy-itch; that deep, unscratchable sense of “I’ve gotta get out of here! I wanna see and do more!” Not to mention you’re tired of rush hour in the train stations, being caught between someone’s extra ripe armpit and committing unintentional sexual harassment against the lady next to you and having to drag home your groceries.
Let’s not get into how annoying it is when shops don’t offer delivery and you’re back to internet shopping, hoping the couch you just ordered actually fits in your teeny-tiny apartment.
It’s time for you to convert your license.
Part 1: The Beginning
Making the decision to convert your home license to a Japanese one is pretty major. For the many that need the paperwork, I made my way around town and the internet to collect what was required:
- Your home country’s valid driver’s license + previous ones
- An official translation of said license through the Japan Automobile Federation, or “JAF” (which can be done online now! No paying for shipping and waiting for it to arrive!)
- Your passport(s)*
- Your residence card
- A copy of your residence papers (jyuminhyo)
- Money or credit card
- A Japanese speaker for if your Japanese isn’t quite jyozu enough**
While this may not be required, I’ve heard of people needing a record of their driving history if some questions arise or your documents cannot be approved. This is especially important as you must verify you drove in your home country for at least several months. I had to bring in copies of my college transcripts to show that I was in fact in the US as I claimed I was.
Once that got cleared, I was on my way to the licensing center aka Nitpick Nation. But first…
Part 2: Driving Practice
Driving School (October 2022)
Some driving schools in Japan offer what’s called a “paper driver” course. It’s like it sounds: people who’ve gotten their license many years ago and suddenly need to start driving again use this course as a refresher. The biggest difference between this and what you do at the licensing center is you’re not sat next to a cop.
It also costs a nice chunk of money (for me, ¥5,500 for one 50-minute practice run at the location closest to me — in total, I spent ¥49,500 for the 9x I signed up for). Prices may vary, so do your research before deciding whether or not it’s something you want to try.
I arrive early and relatively calm.
I leave feeling lightheaded and clammy. Who knew attempting to drive in another country would cause a surge of adrenaline that would threaten to engulf me? Of course, I understood that this undertaking would be no easy feat and part of me wonders why I didn’t give myself more time by challenging this skill sooner.
About five minutes before my appointed time to drive, a school bell rings throughout the building and a small, feminine announcement over the intercom prompts all us drivers to the parking lot. I timidly move to the car assigned to me and greet my instructor. Let’s call him Chit-chat. I’m still not sure if I appreciated his motormouth or not throughout my run of the course.
He opens the door for me and beckons me into the driver’s seat. As I get settled, awkwardly jerking my hands about, torn between the habits I learned back in Vegas and trying to be as small as I could be, I can feel my head starting to swim and my pits getting slick with sweat. The nerves had officially settled in for the ride.
Before taking off, Chit-chat asks me a few questions: “You’re converting your license, correct?”
“Hai, sou desu. Yes, that’s right.”
“When was the last time you drove?”
“In May. I went back home for a while.”
“Oh, so you have some experience then. How long have you been driving?”
“Um… 2-3 years, maybe?”
“Oh-ho, you’re not too proficient then. Got it,” he confirms and writes some notes down on a clipboard.
It’s not exactly the way I’d like to start any sort of practice session, but I did go into this with the mindset of seeing where I stood rather than paying over $3,000 for full-on schooling.***
Chit-chat goes on to explain to me that he’ll pull out of the parking space, and we’ll go around the course a couple of times so my body can remember what it’s like to be back behind the wheel. Already, I’m extremely conscious of doing everything in the opposite manner: look right for oncoming traffic instead of left, use opposite hands for the blinker and the wipers, up means left, down means right, judge speed in kilometers rather than in miles.
Cool. This isn’t too bad. I’m moving along at a nice pace, I don’t have to worry about pedestrians or cyclists, no rush hour.
“Alright, go ahead and turn there and we’ll run through the S and crank curves,” says Chit-chat.
“O-oh, sure.” On goes the wipers. “Ah! I’m so sorry.” My breathing starts to hitch at this point and my already frayed nerves snap a bit.
“It’s not a problem. Just merge and turn in here.”
The brief comfort I felt only moments before vanish and I’m gripping that steering wheel as if it’s my LifeAlert. But wait! A small trickle of confidence creeps in as I more or less nail the dreaded curves of the course.
I believe I was allowed up to 3 times for corrections and only had to utilize them less than 5 times. I never fell off the road (it’s raised to imitate real life — hello gutters and irrigation ditches!)… until I made a turn and caught my back tire; an automatic fail. These curves are also lined with floating buoys, windchimes painted in the ugliest shade of neon yellow, and if you hit one, that’s also an automatic fail.
So focused I was on just driving and not running into anything, I neglected to check my mirrors often, unaware of how I was turning the wheel, with Chit-chat’s various, incessant comments of “Ah, if you do that, you won’t pass.” After a certain point, it became a sort of mantra — “The police are strict, you won’t pass.”
“OK, please pull over here to the side. You’re steering all wrong and the cops are extremely picky,” he advises.
Oh, man. What did I do? More panic.
He proceeds to explain to me that Japan has a certain way of turning the wheel because, should the airbag engage, I could potentially break my wrist from the impact. Remember what I said about unlearning habits? This is one of them. I had no idea that, as I would turn, the hand to pull the steering wheel the rest of the way around was cupping it from the underside — picture yourself pulling a drawer open.
Consider me a dunce because I have no idea if this is true in America or not. We learn from the School of Hard Knocks. Unless we’re utter boobs on the road, driving school isn’t necessary. It didn’t help that Chit-chat returned me to our parking space to show me how to steer.
Truly, it’s not often I feel so tiny. In that moment, I felt out of my element, like a fish trying to breath in outer space.
Concentrating on how I was steering set off the dominoes and what confidence I had left blew away and out the window. Chit-chat and I even had to switch places at one point so he could emphasize how important checking my mirrors is and how to enter the crank curve (see below).
Finally, we near the end of my time slot. I’m weaker than a Sunday lamb. I’m shaking and breathing a bit intensely.
“Let’s see… what else can we have you do?” Chit-chat ponders. “Ah, yes. Turn here and we’ll have you back up into a parking space.”
Ha, ha, wut?
My mind starts running a mile a minute. Reversing into a space is imbedded into Japanese drivers. They can slide right on in there as if the car were lined in butter. American cars come in all shapes and sizes, not to mention some of the spaces are narrow AF. Needless to say, we don’t get much practice.
I take a deep breath and pull up to the starting point. This isn’t the first time I wished during the practice that my mirrors showed the lines on the asphalt. Instead, I watch them as best I can and have my head on a constant swivel, inching along, careful of the buoys. I had to resist the urge to wrap my arm around the passenger head rest. I have the inkling that this too would be an automatic fail on the exam.
Ah. I’m not going to make it. I turned too sharply.
“Can I try that again?” I ask.
“Sure!” Chit-chat says.
Back to Start I go, pulling up a smidge further than before. I get turned in and realize I need to pull forward so I can straighten out. It occurs to me then that I never heard about whether or not that was allowed.
“Um… can I go into that space?” I point with my finger to a second space directly in front of me. I can feel my accel leg begin to quiver and my field of vision narrow a bit. Chit-chat has just about disappeared from my peripheral.
“Yes, you can.”
“Great.” I pull in about half-way and finish the sequence.
“You did it!” Praise! “But you’ll want to pull back out and be in the center.” Shit.
The practice run ended with me swapping places with my instructor because I was just about ready to pass out. My head was feeling fuzzy, my tongue heavy and dry — I needed water badly and a place to gather myself.
“Well, you did pretty good today. Otsukaresama,” he hedges as he begins his lecture. “The biggest issues are your steering method and not checking your mirrors. The police won’t tell you what you’re doing wrong or right. They’ll just be checking boxes.”
“Oh. Is there anything else?”
“That’s it for starters.” Great, there’re other issues. “I’ll leave a note for the next time you’re in.”
Part 3: The Attempts
2nd attempt (November 16, 2022)
The amount of frustration and despair I feel sitting here as I type this is amazing. I went into this wholeheartedly expecting to fail numerous times, but it’s something that needs to get done and there’s no salve for the sting that insists on hanging around. I honestly thought I had a chance this time.
By now, I’ve practiced on several occasions at the driving school (this past Sunday being the 9th and in the rain at that!) and just about every instructor has praised my driving and given me the same warning:
Always check your surroundings and don’t forget to get close to those lines when you turn.
– Certified Oji-san
OK. Cool. I did my very best to remember that advice as I slid into the car at the licensing center and… proceeded to make a total idiot of myself. Just for your information, these cars are touch-start and while I had already attempted the test once, I was nervous about recalling where I needed to press — I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why the car wasn’t starting.
“You’ve… got to step on the brake or else the car won’t start,” gently chided the old man cop.
“Ah… Heh-heh… right. Thank you.” What a marvelous way to show that confidence!
Off we went on the assigned route, my chance at revenge in hand, as it was the same course as my first attempt…. or so I thought. The dreaded crank curve came up soon enough and I slowed down, edging as close as I was instructed to do during my practice sessions. Slowly… slowly I crept in there and held my breath, my hands gripping the wheel. How I wished I could just fold the car inward and have it take the shape I needed it to!
Sweet, I made that first turn. Now, for the second one.
Nope.
I wasn’t going to make it — and I honestly thought I had tapped one of those stupid boing-a-boing glowsticks, but since Old Man Cop didn’t say anything, I figured I was safe. Putting the car into reverse, I made doubly sure to look all around this time. I reckon I didn’t need to be so thorough, but because I was a nervous nelly, I felt it best to have my head on a swivel.
Now, I can probably sit here and guess all of my little mistakes. My blinker was either too slow, too early, or too erratic. Perhaps I wasn’t going as slow as I should have in this one spot, not fast enough in a different one. What made me panic in the end was parking the car back in position at the 発着点 (hacchaku-ten) or starting point.
There was a second car in the way and I didn’t get my own vehicle in close enough. I overshot the parking space and as I went to back up and correct, Old Man Cop barked “That’s not necessary. Turn off the car, please.”
Shit. Did I just fail?
I suddenly forgot how to operate the damn thing. I scrambled to shut everything down before remembering I needed to pull up the emergency brake. Can you imagine me mentally slapping myself? ’cause it happened.
The silence that permeated the cabin was palpable.
“Alright, Miss Ashley, you did well. Otsukaresama desu. Is Japanese OK?” says Old Man Cop as he turns to me.
“Yes, it’s fine.”
By now, I know that as soon as advice or some tip comes out of the cop’s mouth, I didn’t pass. I could feel my brain slipping into tunnel vision and my nose was growing hot with tears.
“You turned very well. There wasn’t a problem except at the intersection,” he begins, turning over my score sheet to the blank underside. Old Man Cop takes his pencil and starts drawing the exact place. “When you get ready to turn, you want to be up close to the line.”
“Right.” So, my turns got me yet again. Figures.
“As you turn, you want to maintain proximity to the line. You turned too wide.”
In a breathy sigh, barely holding it together, I said OK and got out of the car. Back into the licensing center I went to await the obvious verdict and reschedule for my 3rd attempt.
3rd attempt (December 21, 2022)
I’ll cut straight to the chase: I failed. Miserably.
Before I go into how flashily I threw my points into the wind, I should explain.
The S-curve (and the crank) are so dubbed by their shape and how hard you’ve got to jerk that steering wheel.
To be more specific, I goofed on the S-curve, which is a place I had no problem with 95% of the time. Not only did I goof, but I was also the first one to go in my group and being the first one sets the example. To explain further (and this may vary from testing center to testing center), I fell off the curve, panicked, and continued the course.
Big no-no.
As per instructions, should a driver fall off, they’re to stop and back-up into position. Not drive as if it didn’t happen. I wonder now if it’s considered a hit and run, but whatever it is, it’s not allowed and is an automatic failure.
Throughout the morning, one right after the other, applicants were dropping like flies. I wish I could rhyme Wednesday with something catchy to describe the extent of how badly the disease spread because no one passed their test that day.
At least I wasn’t the woman whom I rode passenger with (actually, it seems like I rode passenger with all people that had problems). I felt half sorry for her and half apprehensive as I anticipated the cop grabbing their side of the brakes and yanking the car to a stop. Poor lady. All the bits and bobs in the car came on when it came her time to drop off the S-curve.
Part 4: The Verdict
*sigh* Can you feel my frustration? Can you feel my disappointment? This struggle is not for the faint of heart or the light-walleted. It takes a lot of time, money, and patience, especially so if you decide to go the traditional route.
After my 3rd attempt, I arranged to obtain a 原付 (gentsuki) license: an easy-peasy, no-brainer sort of thing that kids fresh out of high school get to putt-putt around the city. Having a scooter will be better than nothing should a time come I need one.
To date, I’ve attempted the driving test seven or eight times to no avail. Always, it’s “Your turns are too wide” or “You merged too quickly” (or the mirror-blinker-merge sequence was out of order). They don’t tell you if you were going the appropriate speed along a curve or if you stopped too roughly. The whole thing goes beyond crossing T’s and dotting I’s.
While a car would most certainly be beneficial and most of all convenient, I don’t need it. It’s a luxury: buying one outright (as loans to foreigners are extremely difficult to receive), the mandatory insurance and maintenance fees, gas… It’s simply a beast that can’t be commanded on an ALT salary.
However, if there’s one thing I’m sad about, it’s the money I spent trying to make this happen when the scooter license could’ve been a one-and-done thing. Nonetheless, I don’t regret pushing myself out of my comfort zone and trying something new.
I’m OK with discontinuing my efforts. If anything, I hope my account will be relatable and you can see a little of yourself in my story. I wish you all the best on your driver’s license journey!
When we give ourselves permission to fail, we, at the same time, give ourselves permission to excel.
Eloise Ristad
*Having all copies of your passports, new and old, are required or you’ll just make the process a heck of a lot harder for yourself.
**Having a translator with you is important not only because some facilities cannot provide English support, but also because there’s an interview portion when you submit your documents for approval and begin the process of converting your license. Some questions you can expect to be asked are:
- When did you get your first license?
- From which state (e.g. location) did you receive your license?
- What did your driving test consist of?
- Did you go to driving school?
- Do you remember if you had an eye exam done before attempting your home driving test?
- What car make and model did you take the test in / start driving in? …and so on.
***Driving school in Japan is crazy expensive and all Japanese wanting to learn how to drive go through this. It’s laid out over the course of a few months, though you can take 2-, 3-week intensive courses where you sleep over and cram (at an even higher price), and you’re tested on a graded scale. By graded, I mean that you have the first level, a second level, and so on. You cannot move to the next tier until you pass the one below it. Textbooks and workbooks are provided to you and it’s up to you to study the ins and outs of an overly cautious driving culture.
A Journal for Ashley 
Thank you very much for generously sharing your personal journey and adventures in Japan. It was a delightful surprise to stumble upon your blog today while procrastinating my Japanese studies (haha, guilty as charged!). Little did I know that I was about to embark on an incredible journey of laughter and heartfelt emotions.
It all started with a hilarious account of your failed attempt at obtaining a Japanese driver’s license. I couldn’t help but feel fortunate that I arrived in Japan with an Oregon license, saving me from the hassle! However, your post on loneliness struck a chord within me and left me feeling deeply moved.
Your paragraph that started with “I will tell you that life alone in another country is hard,” really hit me. I felt every word of it. I could relate to every single word you wrote. Just like you said, “I am literally stuck within my own mind most of the time,” and that couldn’t be more accurate. The feeling of loneliness and isolation that comes with living in a foreign and unfamiliar place keeps me trapped in my thoughts for longer than I’d like. ‘m battling with inner demons that I never even knew existed; things that were once deeply buried within me are suddenly coming to the surface. Although I adore the Hokkaido snow, it sometimes feels suffocating, as it further isolates me and confines me within the limits of my town and home.
But, I am hopeful. This feels like an integral part of my journey, and I know I’m not alone in this experience. I’m excited to explore the backlog of posts, as they’ve brought so much joy to my day. Thank you for sharing a piece of your soul with us readers. Your writing has been an unexpected and delightful gift to read.
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Oh, my goodness. I’m so touched by your comment. Just this morning, I told my dad on the phone that I was hoping to get back into writing about my life here in Japan. I haven’t updated in so long! Really, truly, I’m so happy you found some solace in the meanderings of an idle mind. We’re in this together!
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