I flew over 10,000 kilometres in eight days. Koh Samui to Bangkok. Bangkok to Doha. Doha to Milan. Milan to Barcelona. Five airports. All within 24 hours. While most are still recovering from jet lag, I went straight to Andorra and bought a car. Not just any car. A diesel Volvo built like a Swedish tank, made for mountainous climbs and long-haul drives.
Because when you’re a woman in a man’s world, you don’t wait for permission—you make your own route, drive your own miles, drill your own holes.
This isn’t some luxury car handover with a red bow and soft jazz in the background. This is torque, sweat, oil, and attitude.
Step 1: Know Your Own Vehicle Better Than Any Man in a Garage
The moment I picked up that Volvo, I drove it to a mechanic—not because I don’t trust my instincts, but because I know garages can smell fear. As a woman, if you walk in unsure, they’ll upsell you antifreeze in summer and “urgent” wheel alignment when it’s clearly fine.
I had the wheels replaced. Yet, not even 24 hours later, they told me I needed wheel balancing. It’s the age-old trick. Take the woman for a spin—literally and figuratively.
Ladies, take notes: if you ever feel something off on the road, don’t assume it’s your imagination. Go back and ask the right questions. Don’t just smile and nod. I did not grow up being polite in grease pits. I grew up with mechanics. I grew up knowing what a turbo sounds like when it’s failing. I grew up hearing men shout over engines and watching them respect a woman who knows her axle from her alternator.
Step 2: Fuel Up Without Fear
Have you ever noticed how some men will circle a woman fuelling up like vultures with unsolicited advice?
“Diesel, yeah? Are you sure?”
I always smile when that question comes. No, I’m not pouring olive oil into my Volvo. Yes, I’m sure.
Fueling up is not just about putting the nozzle in. It’s about knowing your fuel cap location, using gloves when needed, and locking your car between pumps if alone. I’ve done it in the back alleys of Bangkok and the hilltops of Andorra.
Step 3: Drill It Yourself – Number Plates Edition
The garage refused to do it.
“You need an appointment.”
“You don’t have the right screws.”
“The machine’s broken.”
I was told everything except the truth: they didn’t want to help a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.
So, I bought a drill. In what is often dubbed “the safest country in the world,” I stood there in broad daylight, power tool in hand, drilling my own number plates onto the car. The stares? Let them look. Let them take notes.
Because when a woman gets her hands dirty and knows exactly what bolt she’s tightening, the world doesn’t know whether to be impressed or intimidated.
Both reactions are fuel to me.
Step 4: Drive Like Clarkson, Think Like Kaleb
From Andorra, I drove across France into Italy. Tight mountain passes. Border crossings. Steep unpaved roads that made GPS sigh in confusion. I didn’t need a co-pilot. I had confidence and a good suspension system.
Driving isn’t about pressing the accelerator. It’s about sensing the car, feeling the engine’s rhythm, adjusting for terrain, and reading road behavior in foreign lands.
Kaleb and Clarkson may have cameras and fans, but I’ve got decades of farming blood, hands used to steering tractors, and guts that refuse to stall under pressure.
Step 5: Pre-Flight and Post-Flight Car Checks Are Mandatory
After landing in Milan, I drove a few hundred more kilometres. I checked my Volvo’s oil. I checked the tire pressure. I listened to the engine like I was listening to an old friend breathe. I made sure nothing was overheating, especially when crawling through Italian village traffic in 30°C heat.
It’s called respect. Respect for your machine. Respect for yourself.
A man will often drive until smoke appears. A woman trained in resilience will smell the warning before the steam.
Step 6: Document the Journey and Keep Receipts
Mechanics love to throw jargon around.
“Suspension wear, madam. You should act fast.”
Ask for specifics. Ask for before-and-after photos. Ask for the exact part name. Keep every invoice. Track every kilometre. Show them you are not the easy target.
I photographed every step. From the drilled number plate to the refueling stations across France to the oil level on arrival in Italy.
This is more than independence. This is female resilience on four wheels.
My Journey by the Numbers:
- 5 airports: Koh Samui → Bangkok → Doha → Milan → Barcelona
- Over 10,000 km flown
- 1 country crossed by road from Andorra through France into Italy
- 3 fuel stops
- 4 new tires
- 1 drill
- Countless men staring at a woman in charge of her own machine
Step 7: Trust Your Gut. Always.
I didn’t need anyone’s permission to buy a car, drive through Europe, or question a mechanic’s invoice. What I did need was my gut. My gut tells me when the brake pads feel wrong. When the coolant level seems too low. When that garage is lying through their teeth.
Your gut is a woman’s best tool in a man’s world. Sharpen it. Trust it.
Final Gear: What It Really Means to Be a Woman in a Man’s Car World
It’s not about muscle. It’s about mental horsepower.
It’s not about horsepower either. It’s about self-belief.
I’m not here to pretend I can change an engine block on my own. But I will hold the mechanic accountable, ask the right questions, and learn every step of the way.
And the next time a man asks if I need help lifting the fuel cap, I’ll remind him I once changed license plates alone in Andorra, jet-lagged, with a power drill in hand and lipstick perfectly intact.
To every woman reading this: never underestimate yourself behind the wheel or under the bonnet. This world wasn’t designed to make it easy for you—but neither was a Volvo meant for timid roads.
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