Fetching Vafa home

With life with Abi and my new position at Wirth Research running the Performance Software Dept going well, I return to KL to crate Vafa with the aim of bringing her safely back to the UK.

Numerous emails back and forth with the MAS Kargo representative, Tan Khim Meng (kmtan@malaysiaairlines.com) led me to talk with the MAS clearing agents at Heathrow, Proflex (Simon@proflexgroup.com) and suggested getting the bike back into the UK will be the most expensive (I have to use the agents or so they say) and time costly (both the agent and customs do not work evenings or weekends so I am told to allow 24-48 hours) of all the countries I have taken Vafa into on the journey so far.

Abi runs me to Stanstead and drops me off nearly 5 hours before the flight thereby allowing her to return to Oxford at reasonable hour. Flying with the lowcost airline AirAsia, I enjoyed a lowcost meal - twice, since I threw it up 10 hours into the 13 hour flight. I was hearten to hear someone in the toilet next to mine as I cleared myself up also having the delights of experiencing his meal for the second time. The remaining 3 hours were spent considering my options should the KL security guards quarantine me as they promised to do to any one with a fever according to the Swine Flu warning I had received at check in. In the end the health screening only meant walking in front of a thermal camera and luckily I made it into Malaysia with no interest from the face masked security guards.

By the time I reached John’s, who been looking after Vafa all the time I was away, in central KL it was 12.45am (in the morning) and it took a bit to wake him and so I thought better off than asking him if I could see Vafa as I was keen to know she was all ok. Un be known to me I had landed at the smaller less well connected lowcost airport. It took me a while to find how to get into KL or more precisely it took me a while to realize the direct line train I was expecting to take was simply not there, as it was at the high end airport instead. During this hunting I finally figured out the Malaysian mobile sim card I had, had been disconnected due to lack of use and that the local phone shop had "sold out for the day" - it seemed SIM cards, like bananas, are something you stock on a daily basis. Having taken the 9 Ringett coach from the airport I arrived too late into central KL to get a local train to John’s - it being Ramadam and the cities transport network had shut down early leaving me the only option of an expensive ride in the back of a tatty old Proton taxi.

Waking to a heavy down pour and the proposed ride with John and his CBR1000 friend up to Genting’s Highlands was cancelled. In the end a good job as although Vafa started, with a little help from Sharon’s car to assist the battery, and ran sweetly suggesting the carbs where not blocked this time after a long lay up, fuel was leaking out from under her. By the time I had the tank off, air filter and air filter mount off the leak had fixed its self. I suspect as the rubber pipe between the two banks of carbs expanded as it absorbed some fuel.

John, on his freshly painted VFR750, and Sharon, on her new first bike, led me across KL city to Dave Tuckers. It being the Muslim new year and everyone else was out of town visiting relatives so the city was very quiet. A good job as after riding my Thruxton everyday for the past few months Vafa did feel quite a handful and her soft front suspension making the direction changes a little vague compared with the much newer and stiffer front end of the Triumph but it was still a delight to be riding her (I learnt later the front wheel bearings were shot explaining the strange vagueness). The very rusty brake disks soon shone up and we arrived into Bangsar to be greeted by Amuda and the new kitten, Amoei, with Dave arriving later but not on his VFR750 which was still waiting for its freshly painted bodywork to be fitted.

I later asked Dave if he wanted me to fit the bodywork to his VFR but he declined. As indeed I would have done had the situation been reversed for it would have meant missing out on a most definite motorcycle zen moment.

In little over an hour and a half I had the VFR stripped and back in her crate that Dave had stored and retrieved from his brother in laws house. That being one of the old colonel palm tree plantation houses a huge sprawling affair with numerous rooms and out buildings. A preist seem to live in one of the outbuildings and another could have been my home for 6 months had I wished to stay at work in KL as the family where very generous.

Dave had a the great idea of drilling out the spot rivets that welded the plates securing the tyres. Replacing the spot welds with bolts meant we could easily push Vafa into these wheel wells and secure her without the need to resort to the bike lift I used at the Honda dealer in Dubai when I had last done the crating. These bolts should also make it far easier for me to roll Vafa out as it seems I will be building her up in the Heathrow customs car park.

With the help of Monei the truck driver Dave had organized I and Vafa where driven to the MAS Kargo building at KLIA airport. It being the start of the Hari Raya Puasa Celebrations, the end of fasting, the place was very quiet but luckly still open. Once we had our security passes, that cost 10 RM (£2) each (I tried but failed to get my money back when we returned the passes as it seemed a very unfair tax to me. Equivalent to charging me to sit in my local Doctors waiting room, as I had no option to pay it to get to the service I need).

The dangerous goods declaration was even less of a check than in Dubai, I simply said there was a resisdue of fuel in the tank and battery was disconnected to the MAS Kargo acceptance officer - I still had to pay 64 RM (£13) for the certificate though. The officer weighed and measured the crate. It weigh a kilogram less at 302kg which seemed fine but oddly the volumetric size had grown. Some how the box now measured 116 x 221 x 75 which divided by the magic 6000 number translated to 320 kg, a 5% increase. In my never ending search to save money, even though I am now earning and time is more precious than money, I queried this but got no where. Next up was a fuel surcharge at 2RM per kg it seemed pretty obvious to me this should be charged by weight and not the larger magic volumetric weight. Arguing that if the box contained feathers it would require less fuel than if the box was full of lead also got me no where. Luckily it being the holidays there was no one else around to get annoyed as I tried my best to save a few quid. With another 5RM just for the paper to print the airway bill info on and some security charges the airline cost was around 4500 RM approximately £800. Which in fairness I thought not bad given it was much further to the UK than to Dubai and the cost was only 20-30% more.

Before we had finished we had to get the carnet document signed even though the crate was already accepted and stored in the cargo building. Again in my favour the custom guys had simple no idea what to do with the form claiming it was overly complex and this was a new version, to my knowledge it was not. When there were four officers studying it I decided to interject a little to help them understand what they had to do, simply stamp and sign it in the box. In theory they were supposed to check the chassis number on the bike but I did not mention that.

Back to the MAS Kargo acceptance officer, having Monei and his truck to run me about was well worth the 250 RM (£40), and I took the extreme risk of having the carnet document (it being worth £6000 of my hard earned cash) stapled to the airway bill. This should then allow the clearing agent, Proflex, in the UK to start the clearing process when the bike landed rather than waiting for me giving it a spirited chance of being cleared and ready when I land. At least then I could justify to myself the £50 administration and £30 customs presentation fees Proflex said they would charge me. Normally I never let the carnet out of my sight.

Monei runs me back to Bangsar and the local market is in force so I get him to drop me there and buy or photographic some of the exoctic looking fruit. With the huge green and spiky jack fruits being the weirdest. Among others I buy a water apple which looked like a regular apple that had exploded at one end but it was pretty tasteless.

With Dave and Amudha we go to eat out at one of their favourite haunts an Indian restaurant, although this choice is dictated to us since most of the other restaurants are closed because of the holiday. The Ice lemon tea is delicious, made with fresh hot black tea, ice cubes, a little sugar and a fresh lime. Way beyond the tin can incarnations but like the chocolate Milo drink sometimes there is something in a given country that hit’s the spot but you would never dream of having back home. In the morning I had made a cup of BOH Golden tea and it was so much tastier than the usual UK tea that I decide to break the above rule and resolve to buy some to take home.

My uni-friends, Wendy and Felican, come and pick me up for lunch. We eat at an Indian restaurant with tables in the shade of some trees and the food served on banana leaves instead of plates - a pretty eco idea as they are simply disposed of rather than washed. Though the Japenese girls next to us all laboriously wipe their respective leaves before daring to put any curries or rice on to them. The partha bread is delicious but the chicken and even the pork comes with bones in it.

The afternoon I spend riding around a very quiet KL on Dave’s Kawasaki Vulcan. This lazy V-twin 750 takes me in a relaxed state to the Butterfly park, a great place to hone my photographic skills, and on to the Central Market where I try the ’Doctor Fish’. For 5RM for 10 minutes I have 50 or 60 little fish fighting to eat the dead skin from my feet. A strange sensation at the time but really wonderful afterwards though I spend most of my ten minutes trying to work out if this money spinning idea would work in a similar shopping centre in the UK.

Apart from checking to see if Vafa has arrived safely and ringing the clearing agent to ensure he has actioned the clearing process I spend another day cruising around in a t-shirt on the Vulcan. Putrajaya is a new city built 25 km south of KL which is going to be the new capital.

It is very eerie as I ride along the totally empty 8 lane highway. It still being part of the holidays and very few people have yet moved into the numerous apartment blocks built ready for when the government moves its base from KL to Putrajaya. The architecture is impressive along with the various street lamp designs but there is only me, and of course the ever-presence Japanese tourists, to appreciate it.

The Vulcan stalls as the fuel runs out. I find the reserve tap and fire it up, though it is a poor hot starter, and ride to the newest petrol station. A call to Dave tells me the fuel cap lock is stiff but I am in danger of busting the key trying to open it and so risk riding back to KL along the empty road in the full sun wondering if I should have brought some water in case the bike runs dry. Dave comes back at lunch to his house and tries his keys rather than the spare set he gave me. The tank opens fine. We conclude 20 year old Kawasakis have there own idiosyncrasies as for sure my 1981 GPz 550 was pretty similar the build quality not being Honda standard.

With fuel in the tank I go across town, thanks to another hand drawn map by Dave, to the Royal Selangor Pewter factory (N3.19676 E101.72501), the largest in the world the guide tells me. It is free and informative and even includes a drink, naturally out of a small pewter tankard. The tour is interesting and the examples of the all handmade workmanship is amazing. A set Tolkien like wine goblets striking accord with me and something I put on my mental shopping list for when I have my own castle in some misty German mountain.

After a lazy lunch at the factory and a post lunch 50 minute nap I ride back to Bangsar and my last ride in a foreign country comes to an end. The only thing remains to buy some BOH Golden tea bags and do my packing. I just manage to squeeze 300 tea bags in. What the airport security will say waits to be found out.

A buzz alerts me Abi is calling when I land in the UK. Abi tells me Vafa has cleared customs and waiting for me along with a bill for £130+ for handling, clearance and "additional charges". I just hate "additional charges", makes it feels as if I am being ripped off but officially ripped off instead of the usual con-artist rip off. At least it was cleared through customs, so Proflex had done the main bit of getting the crate cleared and that was a big relief meaning I could ride home. Though when I came to check the carnet had not been filled in correctly, instead of stamping the page dedicated to vehicles returning to their country of origin the customs guys had stamped both the in and out counterfoils. A fairly pointless operation I thought. The total costs where:

• Truck 250 RM
• Security sticker 20RM
• Terminal charge 64.10 RM
• Airwaybill paper 5 RM
• Security charges 114.76 RM
• Fuel charge 625.75 RM
• Dangerous goods certificate 76 RM
• Weight charge 3551.14
• Airline handling 38.52 GBP
• Clearance Fee 50 GBP
• Additional charges 45 GBP

Total 4706.75 RM + 133.52 GBP = 973.71 GBP

After getting my passport stamped by a Skih looking man, I grab the top box of the baggage conveyor, which I am glad to note had not been busted because of the 300 golden tea bags, I head off to find Heathrow Cargo Handling ( N51.46158 W0.47010 ). When I finally find it after taking a train from terminal 3 to 4 and then a bus, driven by a friendly Indian, towards terminal 5 but getting off at the second cargo stop I learn the Heathrow Cargo Handling, HCH, is just one of many cargo movers at Heathrow and not the entire cargo place as I had thought.

The Polish girl (she was even wearing a neck strap saying she was Polish) at HCH wondered how I was going to move 300kg when I explained I have no vehicle to collect my crate with but quickly understood when I gave the universal sign language for a motorbike, holding a pretend handlebar and revving it. Strange how even in my home country I still felt the need to use sign language at times. The forklift operator however laughed as he looked down on me from the lorry loading height at door 1 but quickly understood and brought the crate down the ramp at door 8. Seemingly something he should not have done as his forklift was for inside use only, I wonder if they save tax that way as it was the same in Malaysia.

My crate was put down next to a large and very convenient skip. Approximately an hour later Vafa was out of the crate, rebuilt and the crate left in the skip. A bit of a shame but given I doubt I will be taking Vafa far beyond Europe in the next few years the effort to take the crate home and store it did not seem worth while.

First stop is the fuel station where I watch an Irish lorry driver being chastised by 4 Arabs dressing in white robes and matching hats. Refuelled I pay my cash to the Indian attendants and jump onto Vafa to leave multi-racal London and return to the real old England of Oxfordshire.

Welcome home signs plastered on the front door for me, and the garage for Vafa, greet us as we ride into the estate having completed 21176 miles since leaving my parents house September 14th 2007.

A kiss. A bath. And I soon sleeping soundly next to Abi with Vafa tucked away safely in the garage - the family complete again.