On a Canadian Driving License
…or a tragicomedy in four acts.
I.
"Hello, we’re here because we’d like to buy the car we were messaging you about."
"Sure, no problem. I’ll just need your driver’s license so I can make a copy, and then we can head out for a test drive." We calmly hand the salesperson our Slovak license along with the international driving permit booklet. The dealer hesitates, taking the documents with a look of pure confusion as he examines them thoroughly, almost as if he expects $1,000 to fall out of the pages. He asks if we have any Canadian ID, and we explain that we’ve only been in Canada for a short while and haven't had time to get a local license yet—though we tactfully keep to ourselves the fact that we hadn't planned on doing it so soon anyway.
The dealer then explains that he cannot sell us the car without a Canadian license and calls over his manager, who says the exact same thing. Did they conspire against us? "But we Googled this..." we try one last time. In response, the manager types a phrase into the search bar and turns the monitor toward us: "Yes, technically you can buy a car without a Canadian license, but you are not allowed to drive it off the lot." And why is that? Because you need collision insurance, and as it turns out, nobody in Ontario will insure you without a Canadian driver's license. Out of politeness, he still offers us the test drive, but we are already sufficiently embarrassed; we apologize a million times for wasting their time and leave, realizing we should have read the full sentences instead of just the part before the comma.
II.
We hit Google again, and this time, we read the full sentences. It doesn't look great. Ontario uses a "graduated licensing system," meaning there are several stages before you get a full license, a process that usually takes about two years. So, how do Ontario and Slovak licenses fundamentally differ?
First, you don’t have to go to driving school at all; while completing a course allows you to apply for the next level a bit sooner, you can skip the school entirely if you have someone to teach you—making everyone who ever spent their Bratislava driving lessons running errands for their instructor turn green with envy.
Second, licenses aren't issued by a government agency, but by a private company called DriveTest. In practice, this means they need to generate a profit, which they logically do through fees for (often repeated) exams. The internet is flooded with angry reviews from failing drivers claiming examiners failed them for no reason; across Ontario, this company has 64 branches, and not a single one we checked had a Google rating higher than 3.8 stars.
Oh how we miss The Client Center of the Bratislava's District Office!
Third, you must provide your own car for the road test; if you don’t own one, you have to rent it from a driving school or a rental agency, which actually has its perks since you aren't stuck with a 30-year-old clunker but can choose a car that actually suits you.
You start the G1 license with a written knowledge test and an eye exam. The test consists of 20 questions about signs and 20 about rules, with a maximum of four mistakes allowed in each section. The moment you pass, you get your G1—or as we nicknamed it, the "Kinder License." If you fail, you just go again and again and again; the sky is the limit. With this license, you can finally get on the road, but with heavy restrictions: no driving between midnight and 5:00 AM, no highways, and you must be accompanied by an experienced driver with a blood alcohol level of zero. You still can't buy a car in your own name.
After 12 months (or 8 if you attended driving school), you can book the G2 test, which is similar to the Slovak practical exam—city driving—except instead of an aptitude test where you drive around traffic cones, they specifically test parallel parking. Once you pass, you get a G2, the equivalent of a Slovak license. There are no more road restrictions on where or when you can drive, though you still can't have any alcohol in your system. At this stage, you can finally buy a car. After another 12 months, you apply for the final G license, the full Canadian driver’s license. The test is essentially the same as the G2 but adds highway driving and merging (which in Canada means roads with a speed limit over 80 km/h). Only after passing the G test are you legally allowed to have a drink before driving, with the limit set at 0.5 per mille.
Naturally, we didn't have time for all of this, and besides, why should Miško go through the whole process when he’s been driving since he was 18? Canada has reciprocal exchange agreements with several countries where the lucky citizens just walk into a DriveTest center, get a new photo taken, and receive a Canadian license in the mail within six weeks. Will it surprise anyone that Slovakia isn't on that list? What was absolutely, intergalactically incomprehensible to us was that Hungary is on the list!
Fortunately, people like us can go through the embassy to formally request a "Letter of Authentication" to credit past driving experience. We contacted the Slovak embassy to find out what it would involve, only to find a super busy official who initially brushed us off, saying the first in-person appointment wasn't until the end of July—four months away. He suggested that if we sent everything (cover letter, passport copy, original license, prepaid return envelope, and a 24 CAD fee) by mail, he’d process it much faster. Ah, we could practically smell that sweet scent of bureaucratic homeland! After some gentle pressure, he realized we were actually in Ottawa and that mailing documents across the city was silly, so he agreed to let us drop them off in person. We set a date, and then all that was left was to wait for the confirmation.
III.
We passed the time by Googling details and preparing for the written test. Well, Miško prepared; I was just there to speak English and write embassy requests. Just like back home, you can buy handbooks and online practice tests. Miško bought a one-week subscription and clicked through them every spare moment, grumbling about the nonsense questions and how they left out the important stuff.
The embassy employee actually issued our confirmation remarkably fast (maybe Slovak authorities aren't so bad after all?), and we picked it up by the end of the week. All that remained was to pick a DriveTest branch, and nothing stood between us and our new car. Or so we thought.
Monday There are two DriveTest locations in Ottawa, each on opposite ends of the city. Interestingly, examiners have more or less fixed routes they take with candidates, and since YouTube is full of videos of these routes, they are the best study aid. After much deliberation, Miško chose the Walkley Road branch, which has worse reviews for its examiners but a much easier driving route.
Upon arrival, we were greeted by a truly unwelcoming, dingy building that reminded us of the DMV in American movies. This feeling only intensified when we stepped inside and saw the massive crowd of waiting people. We selected our service at the kiosk and sat on metal benches. 5, 10, 15 minutes passed, and nothing happened. We started getting uneasy, checking if we had picked the wrong category because our ticket started with "B" while everyone else had "C." One employee right in front of us was working like a machine, calling a new person every three minutes, yet we remained ignored. After 45 minutes, we discovered online that Walkley prioritizes locals (C tickets) and only calls B tickets (foreigners) when no C tickets are waiting. Except the C tickets never stopped coming. I wondered if this felt more like a Kafka or a Beckett play.
My husband has a rather short fuse, so he decided we should give up and head to the second branch on Canotek Road, where this rule supposedly didn't apply. This meant a half-hour drive through peak Ottawa traffic, but we didn't care.
Drivetest on Canotek Road. You can see cubicles, eyesight machine and the photo wall for taking photos.
Canotek bureau is significantly smaller, and we arrived an hour before closing. To our total shock, we were called in less than five minutes by a stern-looking older woman in a hijab. We explained our situation, and she nodded, taking our documents and the embassy letter. She scrutinized every single word on the paper, in the passport, and on the Slovak license with utter disbelief. She even asked me for an interpretation of the Slovak law mentioned in the letter, which I explained.
She listened and then took everything to the back. After a few minutes, she reappeared, saying everything was in order but that she had never seen these documents before and had to verify them. Together, the three of us filled out endless Canadian forms until she was satisfied with every detail (constantly re-verifying everything with us), and Miško took the eye test right there at the counter.
He had to stick his head into a machine located right next to the payment terminal of the neighboring window, where a young guy was currently trying to argue in French about why his payment hadn't gone through. I tried to ignore the fact that dozens of people had shoved their faces into that machine that day without anyone disinfecting it, and I translated the instructions from our lady to Miško. With God's help, we managed, and the lady declared he could go get his photo taken. This was also done right there. After the 18th attempt, she was happy with the photo and assigned him a PC for the written test. Miško went into the next room, I thanked her for her patience, and I sat back down in the waiting room.
There were 20 minutes left until closing. Fortunately, he passed on the first try, and another woman called us to the counter, congratulated us, and handed us a green slip of paper with a license number. We had our Kinder License! Hurrah!
IV.
Back home, we naturally poured ourselves a shot of imported Tatra Tea and opened the DriveTest booking system for the road test. There was one single slot available the very next morning, otherwise, we’d have to wait a month. That slot was also back at Canotek, not Walkley. Well, we weren't going to wait a month, so Miško signed up and immediately started watching videos of the route, though he was far from enthusiastic.
We dragged Tatra Tea with us all the way from Slovakia for special occasions as was this one.
Well, it is what it is — we’re not going to wait a month for the exam, so Miško is signing up and already watching videos to see what kind of ride he’ll be going on. He’s definitely far from excited.
Tuesday
On the day of the test, we woke up to a snow calamity. It was April 8th, and it was snowing in Ottawa like crazy. We couldn't believe it. Apparently, DriveTest couldn't either, because an hour before the appointment, an email arrived stating the test was canceled (without giving a reason) and telling us to rebook. We opened the system, but there were no slots left.
We started checking locations on the map, as you can take the test anywhere. Finally, we found a slot in the town of Brockville, 100 km south of Ottawa, literally on the US border. We debated whether to actually go or wait, but eventually decided on Brockville. Do you see the irony in someone driving 100 km just to prove they know how to drive? :D
Wednesday
We hopped into our rental car from Avis and headed toward Brockville. According to the internet, Miško was in for a chill drive since Brockville is tiny and has much better Google reviews than Ottawa.
Upon arrival, we entered the car and driver info into the kiosk and waited for the examiner. An older gentleman arrived, looking very relaxed, and I walked away. Every test here begins with a check of the brake lights, turn signals, and horn. Everything worked, they both got in the car, and I expected them to drive off at any moment.
Shit is about to hit the fan.
In my family, we have a saying that when you're down on your luck, even the toilet falls on you. In the spirit of that sentence, I was called over to the car after a moment. The examiner showed me a small slip of paper in French and explained that the car’s documents were invalid.
What the hell? Invalid how? I politely explained that it was a car from a reputable rental agency and they certainly wouldn't give us one that wasn't in order. Well, that’s exactly what happened. The car had an expired registration; our validity ended on March 31st, meaning we had been driving all week with an invalid plate. Yes, the police would have fined us, not the rental agency.
One tiny piece of paper and so many problems. Do you see the date in the right upper corner?
The examiner was incredibly polite but firm: he simply couldn't let the car on the road. Even my suggestion to call the Avis helpline didn't help; the papers must be in the car. He recommended we demand the test fee back from Avis, had Miško sign a form stating he hadn't completed the test, and moved on to the next candidate.
We immediately hauled it back to Ottawa to the rental office. On the way, I summoned my "inner Karen" to make a scene while simultaneously checking for open slots. As I mentioned, there are 64 DriveTests in Ontario; everything within driving distance was booked until May. I finally found one slot for the same week in the middle of nowhere, 400 km away. A rental car for a week costs 1,000 CAD, and we only had ours until Friday.
Wonderful.
Finally, we decided to book whatever we could and just keep refreshing to see if someone canceled. I sadly logged back into the system to sign us up somewhere, and what did I see? A spot had opened up at Canotek for the very next day. I whipped out all my cards, filled in the info, and paid instantly. Anyone who remembers the stress of registering for exams through the ancient university system AIS will understand this panic.
At the rental agency, we discovered the car’s registration was actually valid, but someone had forgotten to print it and put it in the glovebox. They apologized and waived one day of the rental fee. They better have—it won't give us back our nerves or half a day of our lives.
Thursday
By this point, we were completely resigned to fate. The weather forecast said no snow, our papers were valid, so surely nothing could go wrong... With our hearts in our throats, we logged in at the kiosk again and parked the car behind the building where the tests begin. In the spot next to us was a young girl in a BMW who looked like she was either reevaluating her entire life or about to throw up, or both. I feel you, sis; it took me three tries to get my license back home, too. :D The girl left with her examiner, and shortly after, Miško’s examiner arrived. He seemed nice, even smiled and waved at me. After the mandatory car check, they honked and drove off.
Third time is the charm, right?
Apparently, the girl didn't pass, as she returned suspiciously early. The examiner talked to her for a long time in the car before leaving; she stayed in the parked car for another half hour crying. Good heavens.
Our ordeal finally had a happy ending. Miško received praise from the examiner, lost only a single point, and got a new green slip of paper—this time for a full-fledged Canadian driver’s license. We’ll wait 2 to 6 weeks for the plastic card.
Temporary paper confirmation.
Who would have thought the hardest part would be just getting to the actual driving?
As a reward, we stopped at Tim Hortons for some Timbits and coffee. Timbits are the equivalent of donut holes; forget opioids, these things are pure addiction.
PS: Examiner number two didn't check the car documents at all. When you’re down on your luck... well, you know how it goes.
PS2: We contacted the dealership straight from DriveTest. The car was waiting for us and it’s finally ours. But more on that in the next article.
PS3: Are you reading this because you're getting a license in Ontario? Look up what a "shoulder check" is and how "all-way stops" work.