The Pajero Project
This is my 1995 Mitsubishi Pajero — and the first three thousand kilometres I’ve put on it.
Earlier this year, my dad told me he was handing back the keys to his old ’97 Corolla hatchback. That car had been his daily for the last seven years, and with my red saloon already tucked away in the shed, I knew something had to give. Around the same time, I noticed more and more of my friends drifting toward Japanese 4x4s. There’s a certain charm in a capable, simple machine that doesn’t mind getting dirty — something you can use to explore the country while still scratching that nostalgic itch. It felt like the right time to add one to the mix.
A friend of mine had three Mk2 Pajeros. This one was the roughest of the bunch — a parts donor that had already sacrificed mirrors, interior panels, and plenty of small details to keep the others alive. But beneath the surface, it was still 90% complete. The bones were solid, and the idea of saving it from an inevitable trip to the scrapyard was enough for me. A deal was made, and just like that, I had a new project.
After a bit of coaxing to get it running and driving, it went straight to Old Timer Automotive where Brian worked his usual magic — tackling the rust, sorting out a few mechanical gremlins, and giving it a new lease of life. A couple of weeks later, it came back road legal and ready to go. My first proper drive was the journey home from West Tipp to Waterford — 180 kilometres of dark, rain-soaked tarmac. It was the perfect way to get to know it. To feel what it liked, what it didn’t, and to start building that connection we all know too well.
Once home, the small details started to come together — black pressed plates, stickers in the right places, and a few missing interior pieces I’d managed to track down. Then came the miles. A thousand-kilometre round trip to Valentia Island in West Kerry, surrounded by friends and their 4x4s. The Pajero felt right at home out there — rugged roads, endless sea air, and the kind of scenery that makes you appreciate slowing down.
In just over two months, I’ve covered three thousand kilometres. Not a huge distance, but enough to understand it. To know its noises, its habits, and its quirks. It’s not perfect — it rattles, it creaks, and sometimes smells faintly of diesel no matter how many times I clean it. But that’s what I love about it. It’s honest. It’s mechanical in a way modern cars just aren’t. You feel everything — the vibration through the steering wheel, the gravel under the tyres, the way light shifts across the bonnet as the sun drops lower.
Somewhere around the thousand-kilometre mark, I realised I’d started choosing it over my other cars. It became the one I reached for when I just wanted to get out of the house — a spin after work, a Sunday loop, a slow evening drive with no destination. It’s not exciting in the usual sense, but it has presence. And that’s something I’d been missing.
Three thousand kilometres in, and I know this thing isn’t going anywhere. What started as a scruffy rescue has turned into something I genuinely enjoy spending time with — a reminder that not everything has to be fast to be cool. It’s changed how I explore, how I film, and how I experience the roads around me.
This Pajero marks the start of a new chapter — and there are plenty of adventures ahead.
