It seemed like a good idea at the time. But if I had known beforehand what I was getting myself into, I never would have started.
As I may have mentioned earlier, the public transportation system here (which I just learned is referred to as die Öffentlichen Verkehrsmittel, or Öffis for short) is one of the best in the world, and I do not anticipate ever needing to own a car. Nevertheless, I thought that, in case I ever wanted to rent one and drive somewhere, or needed to share the driving with someone else, an Austrian driver’s license would come in handy. An Austrian Führershchein also serves as a national ID, and is easier to carry around than a passport. Sources told me that in order to do this easily, I’d have to start the process within six months of moving here, or else I’d have to take driving lessons, pass a test, etc.
And so begins my saga. Get comfortable … this will take a while!
The list of requirements was long, but seemed to present no obvious hurdles:
1. A completed application (der Führerscheinantrag)
2. Birth certificate, original & one copy (die Geburtsurkunde)
3. Vienna residence registration, original & one copy (der Meldezettel)
4. Official photo ID (e.g. passport) (der amtlicher Lichtbildausweis)
5. Current (U.S.) driver’s license & two copies, front and back
6. Two passport size photos (available to make at kiosks everywhere)
7. Medical report from a doctor on the approved list
8. Copy of eyeglass prescription (if applicable)
In May, with that six-month deadline looming ever closer, I prepared everything but #7, and proceeded to visit my doctor for the required report.
ROADBLOCK #1: Austria requires the completion of a rather cursory medical exam (a bit more than just the vision test), and yes, my doctor was on the approved list, but she was not permitted to administer the exam to me—it had to be by someone who is not my regular doctor. (Huh?) No problem; she referred me to her colleague, who was also on the list. Now normally, most doctors set aside certain ‘open’ office hours, when you’re allowed to just drop in, although you may have to wait. So I went to this doctor’s office, only to be told that for this ‘exam’ I needed an appointment. I made one. I returned, only without my passport, which I was never told to bring. I made another appointment. I waited two and half hours for an exam that took five minutes.
ROADBLOACK #2: Sometimes honesty is not the best policy! Because of the heart medications I take, the doctor was not able to issue a ‘clear’ report, but instead had to submit the form to the Verkehrsamt (their motor vehicles bureau). She said I would be notified by them what to do next.
Doctor’s service fee KA-CHING € 19.00
Within a week (it was now late June), I received a letter from die Bundespolizeidirektion Wien (scary, no?), with instructions to report to their doctor for their medical exam to determine “whether you possess the health prerequisites for steering a motor vehicle.” Aside from the vision screening, however, this exam was nothing more than a showing of my medical records and an interview with their doctor (which, I’m proud to say, I managed with minimal difficulty in German). So, based on the medications and the reasons for them, I was obliged, he said, to get an official affidavit from my cardiologist, certifying that it was, in fact, safe for me to drive. This had to be done within six weeks.
Verkehrsamt doctor’s fee KA-CHING € 33.20
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| The Verkehrsamt building |
Life suddenly got very busy, so it quickly turned to August before I got to see my cardiologist.
ROADBLOCK #3: He explained that he saw no problem with my driving, but if he were to certify that, he was required to take out specific insurance in case I do ever end up causing an accident. Of course, this was not included in my regular medical insurance, so there would be an additional cost. And while we were at it, and to make my case even stronger, he recommended doing a 24-hour Holter test to prove that everything was ‘functioning properly.’
Test fee KA-CHING € 33.49
The test came back great, no problems. He issued the affidavit, and wished me luck!
Cardiologist’s affidavit insurance KA-CHING €150
ROADBLOCK #4: I returned to the Verkehrsamt (it was now September), affidavit and all documents in hand, satisfied that I had completed all the requirements for my new license. This visit involved stopping at a total of three separate stations within the agency, until my paperwork was approved (and, most importantly, stamped!) and I was finally directed to go to Window #7 for Ausländischen Führerscheines (foreign driver licenses). Ja, alles in Ordnung—but I don’t have the official translation into German of my U.S. driver’s license.
What? Have you looked at your license lately? There’s nothing to translate—it’s all completely obvious: name, address, date of birth, license number, height, weight, eye color, restrictions. But no, I had to take it to the ÖAMTC (the Austrian equivalent of the AAA, where, by the way, I have several English students!). A separate trip to their downtown office, and after a relatively short wait, I was able to leave with an officially stamped and signed translation that provided … go on, take a guess: my name, address, date of birth, license number, height, weight, eye color, restrictions (I wear glasses).
Translation fee KA-CHING € 13.81
Life got even busier (I was teaching at Webster as well as several business classes), so it was October before I managed to return to the Verkehrsamt for what I assumed would be the absolute final step in the process of my license application.
ROADBLOCK #5: I went straight to Window #7 where, for once, a young man spoke English. He pulled my file, which by now was several centimeters thick, and said, yes, everything looked OK. He gave me a slip of paper and told me to call the phone number on it at the end of the week to make sure everything was ready. Then I could return to pay the fee and hand in my U.S. license.
What!?!?!?! Why did I have to give up my U.S. license? I’m a citizen of the U.S. and Austria. What happens if and when I go back and want to drive a car? (Well, I could use my Austrian license.) So, I left—again without an Austrian license—reeling from the prospect of having to give up a part of my identity!
My mind raced, and I quickly contacted my brother and asked him to find out for me if it were possible to claim a lost Maine driver’s license and apply for a new one online. He e-mailed me the link, I filled out the application (after answering “no” to the question: Have you applied for a replacement license more than five times this year?), and printed out a confirmation of my order.
License replacement fee KA-CHING $ 5.00
Within two weeks, Peter confirmed that my new Maine license had safely arrived at my (his) home address. On October 24th, two days before he arrived with it on his visit to Vienna, I went back to the Verkehrsamt for the third (or was this the fourth?) time, confidently (or should I say, smugly) walked over to Window #7, paid the fee and handed in my soon-to-be-‘lost’ U.S. license. I received a temporary paper license, and was told that the real one would come in the mail … which it did, within the week.
Austrian license fee KA-CHING € 60.50
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| Image blurred here for reasons of security and vanity! |
ROADBLOCK #6: Unlike U.S. driver’s licenses, which must be renewed every few years (depending on the state), in Austria your license doesn’t expire. Unless you’re me … in which case it will expire in 2016. But I can’t even think about that now.
So, have you done the math? I sure have! Aside from literally countless hours involved in the process, my lovely new license cost me a total of € 313.70, or $423.95 (at today’s fairly favorable rate of €1.00=$1.35).
Like I said, if I had known beforehand …
