For our Autumn Issue, Harrison Hunkin travelled from one end of the globe to the other for his story on a family transport business that has survived almost 100 years and now has a presence in both hemispheres. In the second in the two-part series, he heads to outback Australia to meet Detlef and Corinne Monjean’s son Max who has decided to enter the family business … not in the motherland, but from the comforts of his adopted home of Murray Bridge in South Australia!
In a Pinnaroo wheatfield three hours from Adelaide, I find a red V8 Scania sitting idle. Giant Case IH combines roll and grumble across the horizon, birds of prey comb the dry stubble the harvesters have just created, and a German man appears a long way from home.
Max Monjean, the son of Detlef and Corinne, emerges from behind his prime mover with a wave and a smirk. The younger Monjean has obviously learnt from his nearly 15 years in Australia that our sun hits differently, and wears a giant straw hat, the draw string done tight.
A German backpacker who got seriously lost, I think to myself with a laugh.
The best truck is the most comfortable one or the one that makes the most money; it varies depending on how you look at it.
Despite months of planning and phone calls, it seems funny that I’ve met and even lodged at Max’s parents’ house in Germany before we even shook hands, such are the ROADBOSS ways.
The sun bakes down onto our backs. He’s used to the heat now, he tells me. Far more reserved than his parents, Max takes his time opening up. I’m still unsure after all these months if I’ll get the exact reason as to why the heir of a nearly 100-year-old family business has retreated to one of the more desolate regions in Australia.
His birthplace, Düren, is green, lush, historic and full of people. Stunning European cities like Paris, Brussels, Berlin and Vienna are less than an hour flight away. Here in Pinnaroo, or his adopted hometown of Murray Bridge, you’ve got drought, heat, a fly plague and the City of Churches a few hours’ drive away – not quite the same, I feel, let me tell you.
But Max is happy – he loves it here. Just not the Aussie food. “Food is awful here,” he says with a rare smile. “It’s up there with the snakes. Aussies have no idea how to season things.”
Harrison travelled to Pinnarroo, three hours from Adelaide, to find out why Max Monjean has retreated to one of the more desolate regions in Australia. Images: Alastair Brook
Unlike at home, the only truck in the fleet is Max and his R730 V8 Scania. Painted in the exact same livery as the family trucks, and his surname, Monjean, stamped across his set of trailers, he jokes he’s the Australian arm of the family business.
But according to Max, “the best truck is the most comfortable one or the one that makes the most money; it varies depending on how you look at it.” Very German answer, I think – the calculated Max clinical as ever in his response.
Since arriving as a travelling 19-year-old nearly 15 years ago, Max knew he wanted to experience trucking life down under. While conversation is hard to come by with Max, one thing he easily parts ways with is his admiration for our transport industry.
“When I came to Murray Bridge, I worked on a farm for a bit, but I wanted to do something with trucks – we don’t get these types of trucks back home, and I’ve always been around them, so it made sense.
When I came to Murray Bridge, I worked on a farm for a bit, but I wanted to do something with trucks – we don’t get these types of trucks back home, and I’ve always been around them, so it made sense.
“It took me half a year to get noticed by someone, even though I walked into all the transport companies at least every fortnight. I’d drop in and say, ‘Hey, I still want a job’.
“I had a strong accent, not an Australian licence, then half a year later one of the bosses said, ‘Alright, I’ve had enough of you coming in here, you’re starting on Monday. You’re going to be in logistics’.”
Max worked at his business for four months before his visa ran out and forced him back to Germany, but the lure of South Australia brought him back to the business 10 months later.
“In Europe, trucking is more like a nine-to-five job nowadays; everyone wants to be home every night,” he explains to me.
It took Max Monjean more than six months and lots of door knocking before someone finally offered him a job in the Australian transport industry. Images: Alastair Brook
“Whereas here you still get the boys that just go and have a fire alongside the road somewhere, it’s certainly more of a way of life.
“Unfortunately, it’s changing,” he admits. “All the old boys are in their sixties and retiring – slowly disappearing.”
Max believes he doesn’t really fit with either of those categories but certainly appreciates the old-school Aussies behind the wheel. “When I’m driving, I’m out here to work, and then once I’m done, I’m home, I don’t muck around,” he says.
“As cocky as it might sound, I think I’m a bit rare, because there’s a lot of European drivers that come to Australia because they’ve seen the amazing adventure on TV, but they didn’t grow up with trucking.
In Europe, trucking is more like a nine-to-five job nowadays. Whereas here you still get the boys that just go and have a fire alongside the road somewhere, it’s certainly more of a way of life.
“They just come here, and it’s sort of the last resort sort of option. They come and go. You see them, you know, they work in a tyre shop, and then they go out driving until the partner is sick of it. Then they’re forced back into a normal job.”
“Were you just a German backpacker who decided you didn’t want to leave?” I unashamedly ask Max.
“Pretty much,” he smiles with a grin, his guard beginning to come down. “My mate just said, ‘I’m going to Australia, you coming?’
“And at the time, I had a few disagreements with my old man, so I decided to pack up. Just typical young adult tensions you have with your parents, you know, when you’re cocky and young, that kind of thing,” Max admits.
Max Monjean says the best truck is the most comfortable one or the one that makes the most money; it varies depending on how you look at it. Images: Alastair Brook
“You know, you think you can do everything better when you’re 18, right? Yeah, but you have no idea.”
Max is a father to two young daughters, to a partner he is no longer with – another reason he stays, I piece together.
He isn’t immune to the occupational hazards the transport industry can have on your personal life, and the learnings he’s made since he was a young man.
“It’s hard (on your personal life), you can guarantee when you have an appointment for something, or you have to be at the school for the kids, that’s the day when something goes wrong.
My mate just said, ‘I’m going to Australia, you coming?’ And at the time, I had a few disagreements with my old man, so I decided to pack up.
“That’s the only thing you can guarantee. Nothing else is guaranteed in this job, except things going wrong when you need to be home here.
“Get yourself an understanding partner,” he quips.
“We’re our worst enemy,” Max says about truck drivers. “We hate the stress but love it at the same time.”
As I climb out of the comfort of Max’s Scania to depart and say farewell after a day hauling grain, I notice written in thin white scroll work just above the cabin steps, the name he’s given his truck … The Red Barron. Funny.
Unlike at home, the only truck in the fleet is Max and his R730 V8 Scania. Painted in the exact same livery as the family trucks, and his surname, Monjean, stamped across his set of trailers, he jokes he’s the Australian arm of the family business. Images: Alastair Brook
