Life as a car enthusiast in Flanders is no picnic. Between traffic jams, roadworks, and the eternal hunt for a parking spot, there’s an extra layer of frustration: the car inspection. Endless queues, grumpy inspectors, and a system that seems designed to ruin your day – it’s a ritual we all know and nobody truly enjoys. But for a fleeting moment, there was a glimmer of hope. The Flemish Minister of Mobility had a plan: get your car inspected at your own garage! No more hassle with overcrowded inspection centres, no more hours wasted in the rain while your bumper gets judged. It sounded too good to be true. And guess what? It was.
Let’s rewind a bit. The idea was brilliant in its simplicity. You’d drive to your trusty garage, the place where your mechanic has been changing your oil and fixing your brakes for years, and there, he’d not only spruce up your car but also hand you that coveted green inspection certificate. It was a plan that would sidestep the clunky bureaucracy of the inspection centres and give drivers some breathing room. Less waiting, more convenience, and maybe even a cup of coffee while you’re at it – it felt like a revolution in the making. The minister, with a flair rarely seen in government circles, pitched it as THE solution to the chaos that’s plagued Flemish car inspections for far too long.
But as is often the case with brilliant ideas in a world drowning in paperwork and political games, it started to falter. Reality reared its ugly head. Who would oversee this, anyway? How do you stop garages from rubber-stamping their own work like it deserves a gold star, while your car’s secretly a rolling death trap? And what about the inspection centres themselves, suddenly seeing part of their purpose vanish? The plan, as fresh and appealing as it seemed, crashed hard into practical hurdles and a hefty dose of skepticism.
So, what happened? The minister pulled the plug. Yep, after all the grand promises and hopeful headlines, the idea of car inspections at your garage has been neatly tucked back into the drawer, like an old winter coat you never wear. The decision came from Annick De Ridder, the new successor to Lydia Peeters, who apparently wasn’t as charmed by the whole experiment. According to the official line, the plan was “too complex” and “not feasible” in the short term. In other words: too much hassle, not enough will. And so, we’re back where we started: in the queue, with a cold sandwich and a growing hatred for the system.
But let’s be fair, it’s not all doom and gloom. Some improvements have trickled in. For instance, cars over four years old with fewer than 160,000 kilometres on the clock now only need an inspection every two years. That’s half a million fewer inspections annually, and a lot less grumbling. And if your car gets a minor slap on the wrist – a misaligned headlight or a worn-out wiper – your mechanic can now fix it and give you the green light without sending you back to the inspection station. It’s not a revolution, more like a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. Handy? Sure. Enough? Not quite.
Still, it gnaws at you. Why can this work elsewhere but not here? In the Netherlands, for example, where garages have been inspecting cars for years, the system seems to run smoothly. No monopoly by a few big players, no endless lines, and yet the roads aren’t overrun with wrecks. Here in Flanders, we’re stuck with a handful of inspection centres that have held the market in a stranglehold for decades. It’s like a mafia, but with a clipboard and a permanent scowl. And every time a good idea comes along to break that grip, it seems to sink in a swamp of inertia and fear of change.
So where does that leave us? Back at square one, with a dash of disappointment. The dream of a car inspection at your garage is, for now, just a fond memory, a “what if” we can cling to while checking our tyre pressure for the next appointment. Maybe it’ll happen someday, if politics ever grows a spine. Until then, the advice is simple: show up on time, make sure your lights work, and pray the inspector’s already had their coffee. Because in Flanders, the car inspection remains what it’s always been: a necessary evil, wrapped in a queue of pure misery.
