getting-a-drivers-license-in-honduras
by Gary Carlson
Another installment of our insanely popular “..in Honduras” series.

The classes seemed endless. There was no situation involving cars on the road we did not cover, along with the appropriate driving techniques to be used when they were encountered. Passing this course qualified you to go to the local government enclave and submit your name, and nominal fee for testing. After a thirty minute written exam, you had a practical exam in your own vehicle (Dad’s) with an officer of the Department of Motor Vehicles. This officer, who had the same temperament and aroma as the school’s teacher, took you through t he skills needed to drive in the city, like parallel parking and backing up, and all that.
The short of it is that I passed. I had a card that let me drive on the roads with the permission of the government.

Then 10 years ago I moved to Honduras, the island of Roatan to be exact.
It was evident from the start that things were different here driving wise, but initially as a passenger I concentrated on the passing countryside, and let the local driver deal with the road issues. Eventually I had to become a licensed driver, so I started the process.

I was told that I needed to go to the police station to get a license, only to find out it takes two people to get one. The reason given was that the license machine has a double negative system that handles two pictures at once. Rather than use just one of the exposures, it became the rule that if you needed a license you had to get someone else with you that wanted one also. Luckily John wanted one too, so we paired up for documentation.
Back to the station where we are given two documents (in Spanish) that need to be filled out. One by a medical doctor, and one by an optometrist to certify our vision.

I am called into the examining room to find the usual accoutrements of a couple of chairs, phoropter, and eye charts. My task was to read one of the eye charts for the optometrist beginning at the first line which is as big as a truck, to the last line which is really tiny. We’ve all done this, right?

He did fine, and off to the recommended doctor we go. The doctor is in a little combined office with a small pharmacy attached. When told of our need of a physical for a driver’s license, the doctor says, “May I have your passport?”
Relinquishing said documents the doctor turns around to an old mechanical typewriter and bangs out two forms certifying us as healthy enough to navigate the roads of Honduras. Truth is he never even checked to see if we had legs.

