Forget your Hummers, mate. Forget your SUVs, too. The hardiest vehicle in the world has to be the Indian-built Ambassador, modelled on the old Morris Oxford of 1950s English vintage. They were on the Indian roads when I was a kid and - guess what - they're still being manufactured, with the same iconic body shape. One was even shipped out to England and turned into a hippy-style taxi, so I guess they're set to take over the world now.
I learnt how to drive on an Ambassador, or "Amby" as they are fondly referred to. The photograph above was taken of an Ambassador taxi in Calcutta in late 2006. It was completely dark and I had just got out of the cab when I realised the street light cast the vehicle's interior in a beautiful glow. I shot this with the flash off and if you look carefully you'll see the driver's head and the interior glow reflected in the vehicle's roof.
To his eternal credit, one of my brothers decided to teach me how to drive an Ambassador when I was eleven years old. By that time, I had paid close enough attention to know that when you started a stick-shift vehicle, you had to ensure it was in neutral.
Left foot on the clutch, right hand on the wheel, left hand on the gearshift. Make sure it's in neutral. Turn the key.
Simple, when you think about it now. But when you're eleven years old, you have lots of questions.
Like: what happens if you start the car and it looks like it's in neutral but it's not? So my brother showed me. He put it into first gear and started the engine. The car jerked startlingly forward and stalled.
Lesson learned. Always ensure it's in neutral. Never take anything for granted.
He was a great teacher. He was 23, a combat veteran who flew fighter jets. And in his eyes I guess I wasn't just some little tacker who was clamouring to drive - I was worthy of being given the chance.
I guess that says a lot about life as well, doesn't it? We only achieve when we are given the chance to do so, or when we create our own opportunities.
We lived in a huge house with a garden large enough to encompass a cricket pitch, a badminton court and a flower-bed area large enough to dwarf most present-day Australian suburban blocks.
On my first few lessons, my brother showed me how to juggle the daunting logistics of engaging the clutch, selecting the gear and releasing the clutch smoothly while using the accelerator to achieve movement.
To his eternal credit, one of my brothers decided to teach me how to drive an Ambassador when I was eleven years old. By that time, I had paid close enough attention to know that when you started a stick-shift vehicle, you had to ensure it was in neutral.
Left foot on the clutch, right hand on the wheel, left hand on the gearshift. Make sure it's in neutral. Turn the key.
Simple, when you think about it now. But when you're eleven years old, you have lots of questions.
Like: what happens if you start the car and it looks like it's in neutral but it's not? So my brother showed me. He put it into first gear and started the engine. The car jerked startlingly forward and stalled.
Lesson learned. Always ensure it's in neutral. Never take anything for granted.
He was a great teacher. He was 23, a combat veteran who flew fighter jets. And in his eyes I guess I wasn't just some little tacker who was clamouring to drive - I was worthy of being given the chance.
I guess that says a lot about life as well, doesn't it? We only achieve when we are given the chance to do so, or when we create our own opportunities.
We lived in a huge house with a garden large enough to encompass a cricket pitch, a badminton court and a flower-bed area large enough to dwarf most present-day Australian suburban blocks.
On my first few lessons, my brother showed me how to juggle the daunting logistics of engaging the clutch, selecting the gear and releasing the clutch smoothly while using the accelerator to achieve movement.
After a few lessons, I reckoned I had it licked. So did he. We then moved on to the next phase and he showed me how to drive on a deserted street. I loved it. I revelled in the freedom. After Christmas had come and gone, he had to rejoin his squadron on the other side of the country - and my driving lessons came to an abrupt halt.
Then one afternoon when not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, I got itchy feet. What's life without a challenge? The grown-ups were asleep, honouring the siesta tradition.
So I helped myself to the car keys, walked out and started it up. You see, our front gate was a tight fit and several experienced drivers had remarked to my Dad that while coming in and making an immediate ninety-degree right-hand turn was a challenge, it got considerably harder on the way out when their reflexes (and probably their eyesight, too) were slightly less sharp after a couple of glasses of Scotch.
So I turned the car around, went smoothly through the gate, drove down the avenue that was (and still is) fringed with palm trees, drove back through the gate, parked the car and put the keys back.
From memory, I didn't keep it a secret when the adults woke up. And from memory, I didn't get into strife either.
But when I think about the episode now, I cannot for the life of me remember how I turned the car around in the narrow lane to re-enter the house. I must have done a three-point turn, which is not a bad feat in an Ambassador with no power steering.
But more importantly, it was a lesson in life. That was the afternoon I learnt you can do anything - if you assess the risks, approach the challenge sensibly and with enough, er, drive.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Then one afternoon when not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, I got itchy feet. What's life without a challenge? The grown-ups were asleep, honouring the siesta tradition.
So I helped myself to the car keys, walked out and started it up. You see, our front gate was a tight fit and several experienced drivers had remarked to my Dad that while coming in and making an immediate ninety-degree right-hand turn was a challenge, it got considerably harder on the way out when their reflexes (and probably their eyesight, too) were slightly less sharp after a couple of glasses of Scotch.
So I turned the car around, went smoothly through the gate, drove down the avenue that was (and still is) fringed with palm trees, drove back through the gate, parked the car and put the keys back.
From memory, I didn't keep it a secret when the adults woke up. And from memory, I didn't get into strife either.
But when I think about the episode now, I cannot for the life of me remember how I turned the car around in the narrow lane to re-enter the house. I must have done a three-point turn, which is not a bad feat in an Ambassador with no power steering.
But more importantly, it was a lesson in life. That was the afternoon I learnt you can do anything - if you assess the risks, approach the challenge sensibly and with enough, er, drive.