(written July 2011)
Owning a private motor vehicle is one of life’s great blessings, affording ease of travel, carting of groceries and timely transport always at our beck and call. But, naturally, all these benefits have an associated overhead. Private vehicles are not cheap to purchase, maintain, tax and licence. And, as in many other countries, there is the additional task of the vehicle inspection – for private vehicles, this is required bi-annually in Turkey.
Therefore, there is an on-going balancing act, weighing up the benefits and blessings of owning a vehicle against the costs and requirements that must be met in owning said vehicle.
As motorcar owners, we are called upon to endure the ever rising costs of petrol. We pay the annual insurance premium, which also seems to be ever more expensive. When tyres wear out, we replace them. When it is time for the annual service, we bite the bullet and pay the piper. This is all part and parcel of the ‘cost of ownership’, for which we subject ourselves for the blessings and benefits so afforded.
But, in this balancing act, for me, there was a straw that broke the camel’s back – a small, rather insignificant thing that tipped the balance and motivated me to divest myself of our motor vehicle – a trivial thing in itself, but it was that which provoked me to give up all the blessings and benefits. What was this petty little ‘straw’? It was the mandatory bi-annual vehicle inspection.
Please do not misunderstand, the vehicle inspection is not an onerous or difficult task – there are a number of steps; steps which are not hidden or obscure, all the steps are known in advance – all one needs to do is perform each step and the vehicle inspection is, fundamentally, a non-event. That is the truth and the reality for the vast majority of people. But, for me, it simply became a bridge too far.
A few years ago it was a far different experience. At that time you went to one office ‘somewhere‘ to get a piece of paper to say you had paid your vehicle tax and had no outstanding traffic fines. Then you traipsed to another office to have the LPG (Liquid Petroleum Gas) system checked – and collecting another important piece of paper. After this, to another place to have the exhaust system checked – and gaining another essential piece of paper. Finally, when you have all your bits of paper collected, you went to the vehicle inspection place – a rude hut on the side of a road – where all they basically did was collect the various pieces of paper, the inspection fee and threaten to physically inspect your vehicle. Often all I was asked to do was to pop the bonnet – which was then closed – that was the inspection.
Oh, I should mention that each piece of paper had it’s own individual charge against it and the vehicle inspection had it’s own, more weighty charge.
But that was a few years ago.
Now the system has been vastly improved, streamlined and modernised.
The new system is based on the German vehicle inspection regimen.
Therefore, all over the country, the State has built proper, dedicated vehicle inspection centres. At the same time, they are working towards a form of ‘joined up government’. In this way, at the time of your inspection they check, in real-time, to see if you have any outstanding fines – as of that actual moment – and if you do, you must leave the queue, and go somewhere else and pay your fine and then return (to the back of the queue). In the same way your payment of the annual vehicle tax is confirmed. You no longer need to go to another office and gain the requisite piece of paper to prove this – that is a marked improvement.
You still need to present the LPG certificate and the Exhaust Test certificate.
Nevertheless the new system is much better than the old way. It is more joined up.
Oh, and they have a rendezvous-appointment system; you make your reservation on-line and therefore you have an identified ‘time slot’ for your inspection.
This sounds like a vast improvement and should be the cause of great, heart-felt adulation and rejoicing.
But theory and practice often are but passing ships in the night. Even with all the real and notable improvements, I still do not like the vehicle inspection regime.
And, I do not like the cost of the vehicle inspection. Typically, after two years since the previous inspection, I’ve forgotten the cost. In preparation for another vehicle inspection, it always comes as a disconcerting shock to me.
The little certificates, still required, for the exhaust check and the LPG check (if you have a LPG equipped automobile) are all modest fees – it is the inspection itself that is more weighty, you know when you pay that one.
And so it was, for me, a result, a consequence, of this one last ‘straw’, added to all the other financial burdens of owning an automobile, that we now no longer own a motor vehicle in Turkey.
Having divested myself of a vehicle, I am free – I don’t have to give even a momentary thought regarding the delights of motor vehicles and their bi-annual inspections. It is a glorious, delightful feeling of freedom. The cloud is gone, the burden has been lifted. The financial requisites have been expunged.
The elder does own a vehicle and in addition to his responsibilities in the fellowship, he is engaged in full-time employment. He does not have the time nor opportunity to run around and collect the certificates and then spend the time required for the actual inspection itself.
And so, as the date for his vehicle inspection drew nigh, he thrust the vehicle papers and keys into my hands and said, “Get it done.”
Well, truth be told, we are here to serve and sometimes the most appreciated service is in the mundane, banal, common, most non-spiritual aspects and things of life.
Being here to serve and to do ‘that which needs to be done’, I know that I ought not/should not say ‘no’. And so, on the outside, I smile (or was it more of a grimace) and I indicate acceptance of the task and take the keys and papers.
But, inside I am wailing, “NOOoooooo!”
Whilst it is true that I rid myself of our vehicle, because of the over-all costs of ownership, but, notably, the requirement of the bi-annual inspection played a disproportionately large rôle in my decision. That really was the last ‘straw’.
But here, once again, one more time, I go again.
My first task was to get an appointment. For this I went on-line and worked my way through the various pages and made an appointment for about a weeks time. We had missed the due date for the inspection so there would be a peppercorn late fine – but it was the earliest appointment I could get. That is the problem of an appointment system, there may not be an appointment on or near your date.
The appointments fill up fast and well into the future.
Now before going for the physical inspection, I needed to get the LPG certificate and hence, went to the appropriate office for that aspect of the inspection.
The engineer asked to see the tank which is under the floor of the storage compartment. I wasn’t prepared for that, so I had to manhandle some things out of the way to be able to gain access to the tank and then lift them out of the way so he could examine the physical tank. Normally they just use a hand held sniffer device where they poke its nose in various spots seeking the telltale odours of a leak – but he want to visually ‘see’ the tank this time.
That brought about the first bit of bad news. One look at the tank and he said he couldn’t do the inspection and promptly collected his tools and departed.
What he saw on inspecting the tank was that the tank was now ten years old. The rated life of a LPG tank is ten years. The upshot, we needed a new LPG tank.
We failed the inspection at the very first hurdle. So much for this rather easy and straight-forward step.
I cannot go for the full vehicle inspection without this certificate. Therefore, with a list of authorised LPG garages that the inspection department approves of, I head off to have a new tank fitted.
I find the garage and begin making the arrangements. I learn the price and am all set to go when he asks if there is any fuel in the tank. Normally the tank is kept full-ish. Indeed, for the inspection I had even thought about topping it off – but, thankfully, I had resisted the temptation. That was very good.
This brought about the second bit of bad news.
“The tank need to be empty,” says he, “… safety.”
True, after all they will be removing the old tank, and if it is full of LPG gas, it would be a dangerous, volatile, potentially lethal explosion risk. Besides, we paid for that LPG – we do not want it to go to waste.
“Oh,” says I.
A new task has been added before the fitting of a new tank to facilitate the required inspection, I now need to drive the vehicle until the LPG is exhausted.
I was under the impression that there wasn’t much in the tank – and I had my instructions… drive until it is absolutely empty, then return. Emptying the LPG tanks is another story which if you are interested you can read at: Emptying the Tank.
In any event, two days, and many, many kilometres later (I said I didn’t think there was much in the tank) I returned to the garage with a duly exhausted tank – the car now running on petrol – it is a dual fuel system. (Why a dual system vehicle? Petrol is prohibitively expensive and LPG is dramatically cheaper)
The new tank is fitted and I am instructed to go off to a petrol station and put about a quarter tank of LPG in and return to the garage for safety checks. This made me ponder, if there is a ‘leak’ and I’m driving back to the garage… could it not…
Successfully returning, the installers commence checking the system for leaks.
Oops, (!) unfortunately they find some leakage. So the work carries on to find, identify, sort and recheck the system.
Finally, they declare it is all clear and issue me with their official paper having installed the new tank – for the LPG inspection.
So I’m off to top up the LPG and then to the office for the LPG inspection and hopefully acquire the required certificate.
At the office, the engineer comes out with his sniffer device and checks around the tank and the regulator and under the bonnet; the lines and carburettor and various points and places. No beep, no flashing lights, no odours – all smells of roses.
We have the all-clear. We go upstairs, where I pay the fee and get our new certificate.
So, we are nearly there. This, just a small aspect of the preparation for the inspection tasks, should only have taken an hour or two at the very most, but has now taken up the best part of three days.
Thankfully, the testing of the exhaust system was without incident and the certificate was duly paid for and issued.
The day of the dreaded appointment approaches.
Now commercial vehicles must all be inspected annually, and private vehicles bi-annually. Tractors, motorcycles – virtually all motorised transport must also be inspected. I mentally count, how many bays there are in the inspection station – that would be seven. Therefore, I begin extrapolating how many vehicles can they see in an hour. With appointments set at every thirty minutes, therefore, the maximum number of vehicles at the inspection station would be seven times two equalling fourteen per hour. That sounded okay to me – not overwhelming, shouldn’t be crowded, should be orderly, should enter for inspection at my appointed time.
I felt I could cope with that. No worries.
I hate arriving late, and often, habitually even, I arrive early to where I am going. On this day I arrived at the inspection station early even for my normal early arrival time.
The sight that greeted me was not fourteen vehicles waiting.
Alas, vehicles were parked in all the available spaces. Indeed, they were parked, double parked, triple parked; basically there were vehicles parked and standing everywhere. They were parked up where it was intended that vehicles be parked and also where it was clearly inappropriate for them to be parked. The large apron before the doors to the inspection station were crowded – nay, overcrowded, jam packed, overwhelmed, full…
I immediately noted that near the door to the office there is a thick crowd milling about, immediately by the door of the office there was another mass of men, and I feared, that once passed the door and in the waiting room of the office there will be a crowded crowd inside.
The large expanse inside the fenced grounds of the inspection station is full of a whole variety of vehicles that there is no room for even one more vehicle – that is to say, the vehicle that I am driving – I am refused entry – my appointment notwithstanding. So I must go outside the grounds and find a place nearby to park up and then walk in.
Like absolutely everyone else, this is contrary to my desire to be close to the action, to be timely, to be ready to go through and be done with this inspection. I, too, want to be parked up inside the compound. But, sadly, it is not to be.
I really want to be ready, so when it is time and I am required to enter the inspection bay I can respond in a timely manner – being parked outside the grounds strongly mitigated against all that.
As I park up a chap approaches me offering to ‘help me’ with the bureaucracy of the inspection.
But, I reason, I have an appointment, I am confident that everything is in order, I have the car insurance papers, the exhaust certificate, the LPG certificate and I know there are no outstanding fines and the car tax has been paid, therefore, I feel that I do not need his help and politely decline his offer.
I make my way through the gate, across the apron, through the first lump of men, past the second amalgamation of men and, finally, into the office. As I feared – it is teeming with men. It seems that the task of vehicle inspections is a primarily male occupation – and in this confined space it is clear that not everyone has access to… er… well, let me just say the air was ‘ripe’.
Whilst there is a rendezvous system – it seems that they also take people without appointments and fit them in, as and when they can… so much for a manageable fourteen vehicles.
I take my number from the dispenser by the door.
Obviously, I must be exuding my internal discomfort for, once again, a chap approaches me offering to ‘help’ and takes a quick look at all my documents. It turns out that one of the little certificates that they stamp at the vehicle inspection station is full – I need another piece of paper.
This is may only be significant in a bureaucratic nirvana such as this, but the lack of this bit of paper is a cause of failure and returning to the start of the process…
But, not to fret, he assures me, he is just the man to sort this problem out.
Out we go, through the throng of idle men to the fence where he calls over to a vehicle parked on the side road outside the Inspection station. A girl comes over and takes the paper work and returns to the vehicle to fill out the appropriate forms.
And so ten minutes later – good thing I decided to go earlier than early – and twenty five Turkish liras lighter I have all my paper work in order.
I really am not enjoying this.
I know that the next step is to wait in the office until my number comes up on the display. Then, at that point, I will hand in all my collected paper work, have a check performed on the computer to ensure no new traffic offences have been lodged and that the tax has been paid, pay the hefty fee for the inspection and then to outside to await the summons to bring the car in and surrender it to the chap who will take it inside for a rather through – German style – inspection.
I have my number for the first step, inside the office, where I must first clear this bureaucratic phase. I am more than aware that the next step would be to go outside until summoned for the actual inspection.
How do you know you are being summoned? Uh, that is when you hear the name on the paperwork called over the tannoy. And the tannoy system there is in keeping with the majority of tannoy systems the world over, all you really deduce from their blasted, garbled, utterances is that something has been emphatically declared. In the past, when I’ve had cause to be in this position, I found it so muddled, distorted and indistinct that I was not even sure what language was being utilised.
Contemplating all this, I buckled. I asked the chap, my ‘helper’ what he would charge to hold my hand through the up-coming steps (I’m assuming either his hearing is up to the tannoy, or he has the gift of interpretation). We then agreed a price and now, I am left at his mercy, feeling all the more like a ‘lamb before the slaughter’…
And so, my ‘helper’ and I return to the office, he takes charge of my ticket and as the room is packed, he asks someone he knows to vacate his seat so I can sit down. So there is an immediate, tangible benefit for engaging him.
Now the office is air conditioned and I have a place to sit – so that is good.
But, even so, there is a lot of loud talking, and people hanging about, and the counters are full, and the air is, er, rather ‘natural’ – so, it still not the most desirable place to be.
My number comes up, my helper calls me to the counter, but in my mind I have a nagging concern. This is not my car, it is the elder’s. It is not in my name. They ask for my ID and I hand them my foreign passport which, of course, is in English.
There was no problem with my ID. Whew!
I surrender the car papers, insurance documents and my collection of certificates. The computer check is done and all is in order. The fee and late fee is paid and out we go to await the next phase – listening for the crucial tannoy announcement (for those who can decipher it, or have the gift of interpretation).
Now we wait, outside, with no air conditioning. We have been expelled from the office to commence the task of ‘waiting’ – but I have no inkling as to how long I will be waiting. So much for having a set appointment time.
This, hopefully, is the last step – as long as the motor vehicle does not fail the inspection.
Our final task is simply waiting to be summoned to deliver the vehicle for the actual vehicle inspection to commence – the vehicle which is not there, but has been consigned to the outer reaches – languishing outside the fence and down a side road.
All that we have done thus far is the preliminary, essential preparation work – it all counts for naught as the key element is the physical, rigorous inspection of the motor vehicle.
Outside of the office, there is little shade, but this is Antakya in the summer. It is scorching – wherever you are – shade not withstanding, you are subjected to degrees of stifling – but all hot. There are but a very few places to sit – and they are all occupied.
For me, herein is the truly traumatic part. How do I know when it is ‘me’ they want to go in? I ponder, will they try and call the foreign name of the chap who brought it in (me)? Or will they be calling the name of the owner? Will it be blasted unintelligibly over the tannoy, or will it be a workman who comes out the door with a clip board in hand and shouts? My mind is awash with various, unknown possibilities…
And this is precisely why I hired my helper. He not only knows the system, but he also knows the people in the system. He talks with them, and at the appropriate time he has discerned and understood it is my turn and tells me to bring in the car.
Off I madly trot as well as someone of my age and fitness can, across the baking hot tarmac of the parking lot, out the gate, down the side road where the car is parked. I hop in, turn it on, go the wrong way up a ramp (well, there really is no other way to do this), up to the gate, convince the chap at the gate to let me in – harder than you would expect – and proceed up to the door where they are waiting to take delivery of the vehicle.
The door is as far as I can go – my ‘helper’ as well.
The ‘inspector’ takes charge of the vehicle and drives it in. They check the brakes and lights and search for rust and examine underneath the car. They check the brake lines and look for various types of faults. I do not know all of the things they check, but it appears to be detailed and vigorous.
We walk around the building – it is a big building – and wait on the opposite side, the exit side, for the car to emerge.
At the end of the process, we had a number of small faults – it seems they must find some faults – but nothing big enough for a failure – ergo, we passed !
I receive back all the paper work, with the appropriate places filled in and stamps affixed. We get a sticker for the number plate to declare when we must return and repeat this marvellous, wondrous experience.
At the end of the day, I had divested myself of our car, partly to avoid this experience.
I guess my Lord has other ideas and there are things that I can best learn by going through this delightful bi-annual vehicle inspection process.