Do this to pass the infamous Spanish driving test

An epic conclusion to the hardest thing I've done since moving to Spain

There are two pieces of advice I can offer to pass the infamous Spanish driving test:

1. Don’t take it in Barcelona.

2. Make a “get psyched” mix tape.

I’m dead serious about both of those.

But let me go back.

I. The long, slow process until now

Dedicated readers might remember the last time I wrote about this was last year, How I failed my Spanish driving test. That was one of the worst days I’ve had in the last two years, since moving to Spain.

Of all the things I thought might be hard about moving to another country—learning the language, the renovation, navigating Spanish bureaucracy—getting a driver’s license was simply not on my radar.

When I failed the driving test last year, I was frustrated and angry with myself for having made a silly mistake, this despite having a flawless 25-year driving record in the U.S.

I hadn’t even known I’d need to get a Spanish driver’s license before the police pulled me over at a routine traffic stop. This was January 2024—that’s how long this process has taken. One that finally wrapped up in March 2025 when I successfully passed.

I’ll get to that day, and what it was like—I just want to note how long this freakin’ thing took.

Some of the delays were my own—I went back to the U.S. last Fall for three months to climb, for example. But most of those 15 months were just working the normal process for getting a Spanish driver’s license, with all its bumps, fits, and fails.

First, finding a driving school in Barcelona that would take me (they’re all packed). Next, studying for the written exam, a brutal exercise in memorizing minutia in preparation for a 30-question test drawn from a library of more than 14,000 potential questions—and you can only get three wrong.

Then, waiting for the DGT (the Spanish transportation department) to give me a test date. Showing up only to realize I didn’t have the requisite paperwork proving I was a Spanish resident. Obtaining said paperwork—which was its own maddening sub-process chronicled in I got my green NIE; I got lucky.

After that, waiting to get another written test date, and passing. Next, scheduling and taking the medical exam, with its tricky video-game-like coordination test. Then, scheduling and taking driving lessons around Barcelona. Then, the infamous test fail day. For months afterward, my girlfriend would note how traumatized I still was, and she wasn’t wrong.

After the trip to the U.S., I had a second driving test in Barcelona. It’d been 11 months since getting pulled over. Nine months since starting the process with the driving school. And the second fail. This time it was for driving in a bus lane—which was unmarked, and which many other cars were driving in.

At least this time it wasn’t such a silly mistake. It was just one of the myriad reasons why taking the driving test in Barcelona is so damn hard.

Which brings me back to my first piece of advice.

II. Don’t do it in Barcelona

Driving through any major European city is pretty hard, even for someone driving their whole life. Streets are narrow, signage is everywhere, there are tons of one-ways and pedestrian areas, and you share the streets not just with various public transportation options but bicyclists, scooters, motorcycles, and mopeds.

There are seven different zones in Barcelona where they might administer the test, and you don’t find out which one until the day before. Each is difficult for its own specific reasons. Plus, you might find yourself assigned to one zone, but actually driving to another.

My first test was supposed to be in Montjuïc, with its hills and tourists and pedestrian crossings blinded by big tour buses. But on the day of the test, the examiner directed me out of a rotunda and down to Poble Sec, with its narrow streets and numerous one-ways and dead-ends.

The second test was allegedly in La Campana, near the DGT, which I thought was one of the easier locations; but of course by the time it was my turn to take the wheel (you take the test in pairs, with at least one other student in the car), we’d strayed into a much busier, more confusing part of town, the part with the unmarked bus lanes.

After that, I decided to switch the test to another location: Vilafranca del Penedès. It was closer to my renovation property and to my girlfriend’s apartment, but more importantly, it was just simpler.

Vilafranca is a small town (population approx. 40,000) about an hour west of Barcelona (population 1.6 million). It still had all the difficulties—narrow streets, one-ways, pedestrian areas, endless rotundas, etc.—but in miniature.

The only problem was that I had to switch driving schools, which meant I was again at the back of a queue.

Obligatory explanatory note: In Spain, you’re required to take the driving test in a vehicle with driver controls installed on the passenger side, so the instructor can brake if the student does anything dangerous. Practically, this means you have to take the test with a school, since they’re the only ones with the cars (they’re also the only ones that can get appointments; it’s a whole thing).

It took another three months until a school had space for me. They scheduled a test date for March, which meant I had a week to become familiar with the locations in and around Vilafranca.

By the time of the test day, I felt good about the area. And of course, I’d felt good about my driving skills for two decades. The real problem was my mental state. I was scared to death of being so nervous that I’d make another stupid, unforced error.

Which brings me to the second piece of advice.

III. Make a mix tape

Or, in the parlance of our times: a playlist.

In the days leading up to the test, I’d been trying various techniques to calm myself down. But the truth is that if I couldn’t pass the fucking test and get my driver’s license, I couldn’t really live my life—I couldn’t get to the climbing crags, couldn’t drive to my property, buy building supplies, couldn’t be independent at all.

I had a running thread with Claude, which was doing its empathetic AI-best to calm me down, giving me breathing techniques, helping me visualize, reminding me to focus on the basics.

But it was during the depths of my own soul-searching the night before that something inside me thought to make a playlist. Not just any playlist—a Get Psyched playlist.

I won’t embarrass myself by telling you which songs I put on it. Suffice to say, each of has our own music, tunes that are capable of breaking through the noise and speaking to our spirit animal deep inside, of motivating us to remember who we are, that we are brave, confident, and capable—

Ok, the point is, I was ready. And the Get Psyched playlist was the final piece of the puzzle.

IV. What happened on test day

March 11, 2025.

We met the instructor at the driving school, and he drove us the twenty minutes to the test start location in Vilafranca. Me and two kids—one a lanky Spanish teenager, the other an immigrant from China.

Our instructor gave us some last-minute instructions. I put in my headphones, blasting the list and trying to zone in.

When we got to Vilafranca, the Chinese kid went first, our instructor beside him, and me in the backseat with the examiner, a prickly Catalan woman who talked fast and seemed to have no interest in niceties.

The Chinese kid pulled out of the parking lot, his foot jerky on the brake pedal, but otherwise navigating the streets well. The gear changes were a bit rough, and he was nervous—but so far, so good. No major mistakes.

The examiner directed him to take a right toward the highway. We approached a rotunda, one car in front of us. He braked, slowed, a bit too hard, then let off the pedal, overcompensating. And then—boom.

He’d rear-ended the car ahead of us, waiting to enter the rotunda. Our instructor hadn’t been able to catch it in time. It wasn’t a hard hit, but it was a hit nevertheless.

The examiner directed him to pull out of the rotunda and into a Burger King parking lot. There, the old woman in the car we’d hit and our instructor got out and sorted the insurance.

The Chinese kid paced the parking lot, looking a little shell-shocked.

I stayed in the backseat and tried to make small talk with the examiner.

Has this happened before? I asked in Spanish.

Oh yes. Everything has happened before.

Of course, she’d seen it all. Enough to be jaded. Bored in her job. She was a tough case. I could tell she wouldn’t be soft on the examination. Not ever.

Now, it was my turn. It could only get better from here, I told myself.

I got in the front, adjusted the seat, checked the mirrors, and took a deep breath. Go toward the highway, she said from the backseat.

And so I drove. Into the rotunda, merge with traffic, turn signal, exit. Accelerate smooth, merge, proper following distance. Exit, slow, another rotunda. Head back toward Vilafranca. Another rotunda. Go toward the city center, slow, right into the main commercial district. Watch the pedestrians, mind the crossings, mind the lights and the stop signs.

Down the hill into the one-way with blind turns. Loop back toward the center. When ready, find a place to park. Parallel into a space on the left, first try. Exit, narrow streets, lots of cars, back toward the test start location. Another rotunda, third exit, loop around, park.

I was done. No mistakes. I tried to breathe. The examiner started giving her feedback. She spoke extremely fast, softly, and as was her habit, looked down at her tablet rather than at me. But I could understand this: que tengas buena suerte.

Good luck.

The lanky Spanish teen still had to go, so I got out of the car and he got in. I put in my headphones, resumed listening to music, and tried to contain my hope and excitement. Waited for the instructor to get back so I could confirm.

Twenty minutes later, I saw the car pull back in. I watched as the examiner gave feedback to the teenager. Then he got out, and the she spoke for a few minutes to our instructor alone.

Then he got out, and I walked over.

He apropado? — have I passed?

Sí, has aprobado.

IV. Afterward

A few weeks later, I received a message on Substack. It was in regard to my post about failing the driving test the first time:

I stumbled on this after failing my first practical exam in Málaga today and just appreciate the validation I feel from you sharing your experience. I’ve had a perfect driving record for 22 years but this is really challenging.

I replied with encouragement and told her about my Get Psyched playlist. I told her it was the most important thing in helping me overcome the mental challenge of knowing you know how to drive, but being scared of the small mistakes in a foreign country that could immediately eliminate you.

Two weeks later, I got a reply. She’d followed my advice; made a playlist. It had worked; she passed.

Getting my Spanish driver’s license has been the absolute hardest thing I’ve had to do since moving to Spain. And that was one of the most gratifying replies to a comment I’ve received on any post since writing.