Auto Escuela is Hell, Spelled Backwards

15 February, 14

Driving in Spain is a contact sport. Even the Spaniards say they drive by sense of feel. Car alarms and airbags have to be disabled prior to importing a vehicle into this country. Bumper cars were invented here.

Recently Susan and I purchased a big red beast for €200. It's a 1992 Mercury Villager Van with 27,000 miles. Compared to other vehicles on the road, it looks like a Mack Truck. We needed to get insurance, so of course, our journey began with a local guide. Julio's brother's uncle's best friend, Diego, sells insurance. That's where the fun started.

Susan and I discovered that we have to get Spanish driver's licenses. We were under the mistaken opinion that our US licenses would act as international licenses. This is true if you are a tourist, but we are classified as residents. That can only mean one thing--fees. Oh how they love their fees. And another thing--waiting. We mustn't forget autoescuela, or driving school, as well. Our lives are slowly spiraling downward into the Spanish Vortex, an endless black ink hole of policies and procedures.

Spain has the dual reputation for the hardest driving tests and the most accidents per citizen in the European Union. I have not yet encountered one citizen here that is willing to dispute either of those facts, a sad admission of guilt or complicity. Either way we had no option but to sign up for the school at a cost of €350 each. The irony is that we drive to the school. It's only illegal if you get caught, right?

Our teacher is named Mercedes. You cannot make this stuff up. If Johnny Cash were a Spanish woman, I think she would be Merche (that's the shortened name for Mercedes). She only wears black shirts and black pants and black boots. Her smoky voice belies a lifetime addiction, and the deep creases on her face tell a story of pain and sadness. Mercedes teaches Spanish people how to drive. If you believe in reincarnation, this particular life has to be near the bottom, somewhere close to dung flies.

I was wrong. Evidently dung flies only live about 24 hours. Mercedes is close to eternal. All of my friends are in their mid to late forties, and all of them learned to drive with Merche. She is a shaman, banished by Buddha himself to a life of purposeless servitude. Evidently she ran over his big toe with an oxcart, after making an illegal u-turn in the middle of a curve with low visibility, completely disregarding the prominently displayed road signs. This is why you will only see images of Buddha with his legs crossed and feet tucked in. That's not a smile on his face. It's a grimace. We may very well be her last hope of redemption. If we pass the test, she passes into the afterlife. Eternity hangs in the balance.