Driving South

We have been on a driving mission since leaving Brisbane and we are currently situated on the Central Coast. We will update soon.

Thanks for the comments Vorghan & Yurgi.

We made it to Australia & we have the van back!

We arrived in Australia last week and we've been busily trying to clear Miranda after she arrived on Thursday. We were told that the process of clearing a vehicle without a broker would be very complicated. After deciding to give it a go ourselves we found that the rigmarole certainly lived up to its reputation. However, we are very excited and happy to say that we now have Miranda back in our possession.

After spending the morning at the Quarantine Approved Premises we spent the rest of the day registering and insuring Miranda. Driving away at the end of the day and making our way onto Australian roads towards Brisbane felt surreal. To put it into perspective, I guess the experience made us feel like B. A. Baracus from the A-Team after he had been drugged, taken onboard a plane and woken up in a foreign country.

I owe a huge amount of thanks to One Dollar; Double Zero, Chrissy and everyone at Blackhawk garage for helping me to clean and prepare Miranda so thoroughly in preparation for Australian Customs. Without which the process today would not have been so straight forward, so thank you very much.

Part two of our journey will start tomorrow. Wayyyhay hay!

Mission accomplished: Overland from London to Singapore

Trains: The overnight train journey from Port Klang to Singapore.
Packing Miranda into a container destined for Australia felt like a great achievement. However, we where still a stone throw away from Singapore and the thought of not reaching our intended destination by car felt disappointing. Therefore we thought that it was only fitting that we should attempt to travel overland to Singapore to complete our original aim of driving from London to Singapore. Unfortunately it soon became clear that this idea was going to be a lot more difficult than we first expected. Firstly, we no longer had Miranda and secondly there was no accessible public transport in Port Klang to take us to the train station, from where we had been told that we could travel to Kuala Lumpur in order to catch an overnight train to Singapore.

Yet again, the Malaysia hospitality came to our rescue in the form of One Dollar offering to drop us off at the Klang train station. Offering a lift to someone with a cervical spinal cord injury isn’t that straight forward. Being paralysed with the type of legion that I have sustained has many restrictions. One such restriction is not having the control of the relevant muscles that would ordinarily enable me to independently transfer from my wheelchair and into a normal seat. If someone offered to lift me into the vehicle seat they would find the task very difficult because my body below the level of my spinal cord injury behaves just like deadweight. Consequently, rather than contemplating the previous two options, I find that it is infinitely easier to travel in my purposely built wheelchair. As a result of these extra challenges One Dollar came up with a plan, which we gratefully accepted. Moments later I was hoisted into the back of one of One Dollar’s friend’s pickups by a team of willing hands. Chrissy and One Dollar’s friend squeezed in either side of me and managed to hold my wheelchair down as we ambled towards the station. This isn’t the first time that I have travelled in the back of a pickup however this short journey made me think that if I could never drive again, I would definitely choose to ride in the back of a pickup whenever possible. For what reason? Because it is damn good fun!

Having said our farewells to our new found friends we wheeled on to a perfectly accessible train headed for Kuala Lumpur. I had not expected our journey to be this straight forward, which made me think to myself, ‘Wow, this is easy’. This thought only amplified when we arrived in KL Sentral train station and the lady who sold us our tickets convinced us that our overnight carriage on the Singapore bound train would be completely accessible. With our minds set at ease, we waited for five hours amongst a small crowd in an air-conditioned departure lounge until an announcement was finally made at 11pm informing us to descend one level to catch our train. As we came out of the lift the relentless humidity hit us like a wet towel. In a blink of an eye the other passengers scurried into their carriages faster than rats leaving a sinking ship, which left us in a dimly lit, empty platform with an endless line of carriages laid out in front of us. We were then confronted with the task of trying to find our ‘accessible carriage’. I felt like I had been pushing my wheelchair for miles when I looked up to see Chrissy racing ahead of me with a trolley full of luggage.

All of a sudden a strange feeling of panic came over me. It is the feeling of panic that will only occur when scrambling to catch a train on a desolate platform. A thousand thoughts and senses seem to flash through your mind all at once. At the outset you think that the doors will slam shut at any moment and the train will pull away leaving you standing on your own and feeling like a substitute who was never picked for the B team let alone the A team. At the same time you sense that the passengers who have seated themselves comfortably are getting an enormous amount of satisfaction from watching you helplessly race towards the carriage in the hope of seeing the doors slam automatically in your face. You can almost hear them saying excitedly, ‘He’s not going to make it. He’s not going to make it’. If you do manage to jump aboard you can often catch the look of disappointment on their faces. That’s if you are quick enough. Finally, you foresee that if you do miss the train you’ll be left feeling totally exasperated that all of the effort you had gone to, to catch the damn train in the first place had been totally wasted.

Thankfully we didn’t experience this level of disappointment from missing the train that night but moments after Chrissy reached our carriage she realised that the corridors leading to our accessible cabin would be barely wide enough for a prop-forward let alone anyone in a wheelchair to fit through. By the time I arrived it was clear that our accessible carriage was accessible – to everyone apart from someone in a wheelchair. Our saving grace was a) having been on the road for six months, which had taught us to adapt to every situation and b) having gained the assistance from a very willing Conductor called Zaid. Within minutes of inspecting the train it was clear that there was no way I could get on it by sitting in my wheelchair. Instead of losing our sense of humour we decided that missing the train all together would be a proverbial pain in the backside and that there would have to be a solution to the problem. Our only option was to set up one of the bunks in the cabin and to get Zaid and Chrissy to carry me under the arms and legs a hundred yards up the narrow corridor, from where they could squeeze through the narrow doorway, throwing me onto the bottom bunk bed. I would then have no choice but to stay in this bed until the following morning. The only option for my in-collapsible wheelchair, would be to leave it overnight in just inside the slightly wider train carriage entrance, until I had to be carried off to Singapore the following morning. Simple?

The plan worked well really well apart from when I was lifted; my elbows acted as a handbrake as they jammed into the narrow walls on either side; my lucky charm given to me in Iran slipped out of my pocket as my trousers started to fall down and when I was laid out in the bunk it was clear that whoever had designed this carriage must have considered that the bunks would only be frequented by dwarfs, young children and descendents of Chrissy. This meant that I had to spend the night with my legs bent at the knees. I soon found that as the train rocked from one side to side another I had to prevent myself from being launched out of bed by wedging my elbows into the mattress on both sides of my body. Added to this, the uncontrollable air-conditioning on the train was blasting directly at our bunks. All in all the experience was like trying to fall asleep whilst lying on a tight-rope during gale force Antarctic winds. Unable to sleep in our sub-zero compartment I wondered whilst watching the room rock from left to right whether the Chief Engineer had decided to handle the more sophisticated plans and delegate the design of the cabin onto a sadistic employee set on sabotaging his bosses reputation, because at that time it certainly felt like it.

The train journey did reveal something to us and that was that Zaid was quite a character. Standing on the platform before we got on the train he said in a thick Indian accent, ‘I tell you, if you’re needing anything, you just ask me’. Maybe it should have been me saying that to him, because after he had helped Chrissy lob me into my bunk he spotted our unread limited edition National Geographic that we had just spent six dollars on and said, ‘I’ll be just taking that as a souvenir and I’ll read it tonight’. Luckily for Zaid he had such a charismatic full toothed grin that he could probably get away with asking the Queen if he could borrow her private toilet or even wear her dressing gown. Even so, we had to deny him his request.

It turned out that he had the same reading interests as we did. After this he went on to tell us how he had worked on the train for nearly twenty years and had met all types of people. Before Zaid bid us good night he came out with an interesting comment. He said, ‘My Uncle and Auntie is Christian. My sister-in-law is Chinese and I speak Chinese fluently. My sister is Hindu and I’m married to an Indian Muslim. And I can tell you, its not religion that creates war but the hearts of people. For centuries religion has been used by bad people to control people’. After divulging his thoughts he promised he would be there at 6am in the morning to help us.

Sure enough the next morning Zaid was standing at our door with his reading glasses parked on his forehead and wearing his trade mark grin and bright blue uniform. He said that when we got to the Malay/Singapore border I should stay where I was and that the Malaysian officials would be much more laidback than the Singapore border guards. He was right. Standing in the doorway of our cabin the Malaysian officials stamped my passport without any problems. However, on the Singapore side of the border everyone was ordered to leave the train whilst sniffer-dogs rampaged through the cabins. After everyone’s passports had been checked the crowd was finally allowed to board for the final thirty minute section of the train ride. Luckily for us, Zaid did some sweet talking on the Singapore side, which enabled me to stay where I was.

When we arrived at 7am in Singapore both Chrissy and I felt knackered from our sleepless journey. The ultimate part of our journey was being lifted out of the carriage and as we emerged both my glasses and Chrissy’s camera steamed up from the humidity. Although it had been a challenge, the moment I touched down in my wheelchair certainly made us feel like we had reached a final destination on one section of our long overland journey.

Planes: Singapore to Bali in a jetplane

Our journey to Singapore was intended to kill two birds with one stone. Firstly, it was our final intended destination on our first overland journey and secondly it was the place where I could get my Baclofen pump refilled. In short, Intrathecal Baclofen Therapy prevents severe muscle spasms that can occur as a result of a spinal cord injury. It works like this. A subcutaneous pump the size of an ice hockey puck that sits on my abdomen continually delivers a drug called Baclofen into my spinal cord fluid. Without this type of therapy my muscle spasms would be so severe that they would prevent me from being able to sit on a showerchair without spasming off it and the thought of driving would be to contemplate the impossible. As you can probably guess this type of therapy is extremely beneficial. The only problem is that the Baclofen pump needs topping up with Baclofen three times per year.

The pump is designed and produced by a company called Medtronic and during a refill we were lucky to meet the friendly sales manager for the Baclofen pump. His name was Justin and being a coffee fanatic he very kindly shouted us coffee on two separate occasions. Later he and his girlfriend (Kylie) took us out to dinner in downtown Singapore, where – coinciding with the Chinese New Year holiday - they introduced us to a Chinese salad only eaten during this special occasion Before you eat it you all have to toss the salad with chopsticks as high as you can while simultaneously performing many good luck wishes (for the coming year) e.g “I wish you happiness everyday, good health and to winning the lottery” Apart from being good fun it also tasted delicious too.

It was great getting to know both Justin and Kylie and learning about life in Singapore. According to Justin, one of the best things he likes about Singapore is the fact that he feels safe nearly everywhere that he goes. During the few short days I began to understand what he meant. Whilst we were in Singapore we mainly used the MRT (Tube) to get around, which turned out to be very accessible and convenient. On the night we returned from having dinner with Justin we just managed to catch the final train for the night. Throughout our journey back to the YHA that night, even in the darkest lanes, there wasn’t one moment when Chrissy and I felt unsafe. It was a comforting feeling especially when I compared this experience to times spent in other cities around the world.

Indecently, when we were planning this trip we had originally hoped to have enough time and funds to enact our dream plan of island hopping all the way from Singapore to East Timor, from where we hoped to ship Miranda to Darwin. It later became apparent - after numerous mechanical breakdowns, that the funds and time necessary to do this were diminishing and that this idea wasn’t meant to be. On a separate note, whilst we were in Malaysia we calculated that it would be more cost effective for us to stay in Bali rather than spend two weeks in Brisbane waiting for Miranda to arrive. So this hop, skip and jump approach of getting from Singapore to Australia was an unexpected opportunity to explore a part of Indonesia we had hoped to visit. This sounded like a privilege to us.

Flying to Australia via Bali seems like an easy option, however air-travel has to be the hardest part of travelling anywhere for me. I would have much rather driven the rest of the way – if it weren’t for the annoying part that Australia is an island and there is so much water in the way. Airline travel is generally an undignified experience too. Airport staff (some) think I am unable to answer a question purely because I am in a wheelchair. As a result they generally direct their questions to the one person standing next to me, which is probably one of Chrissy’s (only) pet hates. Once they’ve realised I can actually speak we are generally left until last before we board the aircraft, so that everyone can watch my trousers falling down as I’m bundled into my seat. What’s more I am prone to acquiring pressures sores on my buttocks. To prevent this happening I have to sit on my silicon gel cushion, which boosts my height, so that my head towers above the top of the seat and the other passengers. It is also a perfect position for the head rest to dig into my back. There is nothing like standing out like a sore thumb. Finally, if we land without my head crashing into the seat in front of me (because I don’t have the trunk muscles necessary to hold myself up while the planes brakes are being slammed on) we then have to wait until everyone has gotten off before I am manhandled from the plane seat, down a staircase (with limbs splaying in all directions) and finally into the safety and freedom of my wheelchair.

Automobiles: Our transfer from Bali International airport to Ubud

Unfortunately our flight to Bali went pretty much as predicted, but it kicked off well because we were seen off in style with a guest appearance from Justin. Prior to flying out to Bali we had pre-arranged a wheelchair accessible vehicle to take us out to our accommodation in Ubud. As you can see from the picture, it probably doesn’t meet everyone’s standards of accessibility but luckily I could I just about fit in it. The transport here is somewhat TIGHT!

Over and out.

The Final Leg on the Asian Continent

I have to admit that when we decided to drive to the Cameron Highlands I had imagined a green sea of tea nestled in the cool forested mountain air with colonial buildings dotted in between each plantation. Our drive from Alor Setar to the highlands started off well, as we had the most fantastic drive moving inland from the humid coast. Before long we found ourselves in the middle of a torrential downpour and later on an immaculate road weaving through dense forest towards the legendary highlands, where we resumed our snake spotting tally. With the excitement of the colonial destination looming, I began imagining that I was a colonial going on a weekend retreat and so I started mimicking in an imaginary voice: “Chrissy, did you pack my shotgun old girl because I’m going to have a jolly good go at shooting the hell out of something this weekend, what, what…by the way mine’s a G&T old chap” and so on and so on.

Unfortunately, I was to find that my imagination needed updating to the twenty-first century. In actual fact upon arriving at the Cameron Highlands we came across hill tops that had been deforested; leveled out and replaced by row upon row of poly tunnels that were growing everything from exotic lettuce to enormous strawberries. When we reached the highland towns we were met by a bustling hub of growers; tourists and hundreds of old Land Rover 110’s (that worked the steep slopes). Instead of seeing colonial buildings we passed hotels that climbed towards the sky and that used neon lights to attract their guests. We later found out that the consequence of the increased population and agriculture is having a huge impact on the environment here. The Cameron Highlands is an enormous catchment area for rain water, however, even so this huge area is unable to sustain the extra demands and water has actually become a scarce commodity in the highlands.

After paying to sleep in our van, outside a gargantuan hotel that was nestled at 3500ft in the town of Tanah Rata, we set out on what was to be our final days drive on the Asian continent. In front of us lay a relatively straight forward 300km drive to Port Klang; a dock situated southeast of Kuala Lumpur. However, we didn’t drive far before we stopped off at one of the Cameron Highlands famous tea plantations for an authentic cup of home grown ‘Rosie-lee’ and matching curry puff. Chrissy outdid my Colonial impersonation with some of her classic pinkie-extended tea drinking style. If there is ever a place to enjoy a cup of tea this has to be it: a modern day veranda overlooking the steep sided Cameron Valley slopes, which are blanketed in a patchwork of evergreen tea bushes.


Having downed our tea we showed the latest small crowd that had gathered around my window how my hand controls worked. We noticed that unlike in other countries where explaining the hand control mechanisms had been enough, since reaching Malaysia we were now asked to pose for photos and disclose our facebook id’s. We then hit the winding road destined for a forty foot container with Miranda’s name on it and I started singing songs about the curries in Ringlet (another Cameron Highland’s town) which burnt the ringlets of many a curry fan – sorry about the poor jokes, but we have learnt to laugh easily on an overland journey of this epic proportion. As we went from one hairpin bend to another we passed umbrella like ferns - that looked like they had been crocheted from green silk - and enormous trees that seemed to have only one purpose in life – to grow as tall as possible, as fast as possible. We made most of the descent, as we knew we would soon be on the motorway heading towards the capital of Malaysia where we had scheduled a rendezvous with a guy called One Dollar, who was going to help us ship Miranda to the land down under.

One Dollar
Meeting One Dollar turned out to be a trump card. We had been given his contact details by an overlanding couple (Simon and Megan) in a fleeting conversation from one window to another, whilst parked up in Khoa Yai National Park in Thailand. We only had one question and that was, ‘Why is he called One Dollar’ to which they replied ‘His name is so long that nobody can remember it’. Apparently, he was a shipping agent in Port Klang who could prepare and send vehicles to Australia, which included fumigating and cleaning them to try and meet Australia’s strict import standards. Weeks earlier we found out that we weren’t allowed to drive our vehicle into Singapore. This is because any vehicle that is classed as a campervan (or has a gas stove or even a bed) is banned from entering Singapore. Knowing this plus how difficult the process of shipping to Australia can be, we decided to contact One Dollar.

On receiving a reply to my email it was clear that I would never remember the long name displayed at the footnote of his reply, therefore, I thought it would be far simpler to call him One Dollar. To date he is the first person I’ve met who signs off on an email with ‘Long live adventure’. This is a motto he seems to have developed from boyhood and conjured up as a result of the many overland adventures (by motorbike and 4x4) that he has undertaken. Indeed he has clocked up travels to over eighty countries! One of his adventures included leading a group of motorbikers from Malaysia to Saudi Arabia on a Haj challenge. According to One Dollar he has been the recipient of many acts of kindness during his journeys and it is for this reason why he likes to help overlanders. We later heard that during overland expeditions One Dollar is charged with the job of clearing customs because he has a certain ability to talk his way through any administrative border.

It turned out that One Dollar’s father migrated from India to Malaysia in the early twentieth century and that is where One Dollar and his three brothers had grown up ever since. After meeting him at his offices in Klang it was plainly clear that he could help us ship Miranda at a very competitive price. What is more, although he had only just met us he invited us to stay at his house whilst we prepared the van for shipping. We accepted his generous offer for one night and followed him to his home where we met Alina his Russian wife. We then followed them out to dinner, where we met his brothers and a few of his closest friends. The experience was fantastic! They all welcomed us warmly, shouted us food and the banter flowed like cold Singha beer.

Sitting in a street restaurant with One Dollar et al, the Malaysian mix of cultures was evident by the mix of races I saw as I looked around. Malaysia is made up of a number of different ethnic groups, which include Malay, Chinese, Indian, Tamil and indigenous Orang Asli. From a first hand point of view it was great to see how the main groups mixed so freely. This was reiterated by One Dollar’s brother Abu a few days later who said, ‘I believe that the main races here get on so well because we all think of ourselves as Malaysian and we don’t think one race is better than the other.’

One Dollar and his friends had a great sense of humour and loved a good practical joke. They proudly relayed many of these, for instance the one where they took Vj’s brother – with a needle phobia – to the Doctors for a Tetanus injection and told him that the least painful place to be jabbed was on the gluteus maximus. I can still picture the immitated scream he let out! Being around One Dollar and his friends reminded me that it is important to laugh more often and to not take everything in life so seriously.

Miranda’s birthday at Blackhawk Garage

That night One Dollar introduced us to a friend of his called Double Zero (nicknamed because he was so dangerous that he could flatline at any minute) who would be able to help us get Miranda in ship shape condition before packing her off to Australia.

Double Zero (aka Artek) is a small shareholder and mechanic in the Land Rover Enthusiast’s garage that he works in. On the weekends he goes into the jungle with one of his beloved Land Rovers; his wife (incidentally another Alyna) and their two boys. In previous years he has run extreme 4x4 jungle challenges and has taken part in several overland expeditions acting as the chief mechanic.

Whilst getting to know Double Zero he told me that his friends always asked him, ‘How do you find time to go into the jungle and on expeditions?’ He said they asked him so much that it made him wonder, ‘Maybe I am abnormal?’ Apparently, these questions made him reflect on his life. He concludes that the reason why he is able to take time out to do the things he likes doing is because he has been able to keep his level of commitment in his life low. Instead of choosing to commit to keeping up with the neighbours by buying the latest 92 inch plasma television; replacing his car every year and buying a huge house he has opted out of these ‘stereotypical’ lifestyle choices. Instead he spends an enormous amount of quality time with his family and friends off-roading in the Malaysian jungle. The effect this choice has had is obvious. Double Zero’s family are extremely close. Double Zero’s qualities are matched by Alyna’s. She is a down to earth yet adventurous soul, a great mum and proficient catering manager – keeping all of the boys well fed. Both of their boys are able to drive; carry out basic first-aid (witnessed when Chrissy slammed her fingers in their Land Rover door) and basic mechanical jobs despite being only fourteen and ten years of age. What’s more they are bursting with confidence.

Double Zero and Alyna’s conscious decision to choose what some people may think is an alternative life confirmed two things to me. Firstly, that you only get one chance to live life. Secondly, that given the means to do so, we all have the ability to choose how we want to live it. A fitting conclusion to these thoughts can be seen stuck to the bonnet of many a Land Rover and that is ‘One life, live it’.

Everyone at Blackhawk garage (Moktar & Lee; and even overland bikers – Diego and Maria) did so much to help Chrissy and I over the few days that we got to know them. This included lifting my heavy ass up two flights of stairs into our accommodation; lifting me into and out of the back of a 110 Land Rover; spending countless hours getting Miranda ready; cooking delicious food for us; sharing their dinner table with us and inviting us out for some great lunches/ice tea etc. Even Double Zero’s boys helped us prep Miranda. Yet again, we owe a huge amount of thanks to the people who have helped us so much on our journey and we hope we can repay the favour in the future.

During our time at Blackhawk Garage, Diego and Maria, a Spanish couple who have been overland biking around Asia said something that struck home: ‘Before we left on our journey across the world we wondered what the world is really like. From the people we’ve met we think it’s a pretty good place. Maybe we have just been lucky.’ After our experiences at Blackhawk Garage, at One Dollar’s place, in Malaysia and on the rest of our journey, I think Chrissy and I agree with you, the world is a pretty good place.


Miranda The Sweat Box, Really is in a Sweat Box now
The morning of Miranda’s imminent departure into a shipping Container (40 foot sweat Box) began manically. One Dollar had grilled us on finicky Australian customs officials: “I pray you don’t get a female customs official because then you are screwed” and so we had spent some time degreasing, buffing, polishing and vacumming every one of Miranda’s crevices clean. Chrissy was devastated that she even had to throw out all the food, including some of her delicious oats. It got to the point that Double Zero as an avid overlander became slightly concerned that the next time he or anyone else shipped their cars to Australia they would be barred from entering because of the new benchmark we had set.

In actual fact Miranda was far from ready and there were lots of last minute jobs waiting to be completed e.g. cleaning the water filter and scraping the bug friendly chipboard from the roof rack – the latter which we yet again had Double Zero to thank for as Chrissy who had jammed her fingers in the car door a day earlier was operating with three fingers down.

Luckily One Dollar had organised a team of men to swarm over Miranda and help us clean and load her into the matching blue container. It was sod’s law that after we got her pressure hosed it started raining along the dirt track which led to the container yard, but we were pretty impressed at her state, regardless. As the doors closed on the container, it quite literally marked the end of our first driving chapter all the way from London to Port Klang.

Because Miranda wasn’t allowed into Singapore, it meant that the shipping route we had kept our eyes on from Singapore to Darwin was no longer feasible. Shipping a car from Port Klang to Darwin is possible but it costs four times the amount and takes 30days (time is now our enemy). So we made the decision to ship her to Brisbane, a more frequented route. This means that pending any Cyclone Yasis, Miranda is due to arrive on Australian shores on the 9th February, where we hope to reunite with her for the final leg of our overland journey.