As we all know, ultimately to our own cost, the siesta nations of southern Europe are poised for fiscal Armageddon. Heading the pack, if that’s the correct verb, is Greece. These days the poor bubbles have no industry to speak of. Nobody imports their wine, they can’t afford to pay their olive pickers and many former regular tourists to the unquestionable charms of this scattering of islands on the Ionian and Aegean coasts are headed elsewhere for fear of arriving at an airport where the Tarmac on the runway has been sold to pay the electricity bill. As for hotels, punters can’t be sure that there will be enough money for the morning cup of mud that passes for coffee in those parts. And I’ll bet every Grecian rues the last time he got hammered on ouzo and threw all their crockery at the wall during his daughter’s wedding celebrations. Mind you, it’s good fun and I have done it myself, having hidden the family Meissen first - obviously.
The Iberian peninsula ain’t too far behind in the skint stakes. Europe’s favourite lispers, and arguably the most dedicated afternoon snoozers, were without parallel when it came to passing the begging bowl to the Euro paymasters in Brussels. We blasted great swathes of the Sierra Nevadas to build them motorways and turned their goat tracks into billiard table smooth A-roads that we, here in battered old Blighty, can only dream of. It’s not our fault the José Spaniard is virtually incapable of actually completing a building project on his own. That said, Spain is an absolute haven for the Dutch who, with their blind dedication to the dreaded caravan, don’t need hotels - half-finished or otherwise.
Many Brits who invested in Spain, and I know a few, have left or would if they could afford to. El Dorado has bitten them in the butt.
Mindful, well sort of, that this is a motoring column, let me mention Italy, somnolent as it is is idiosyncratic and agreeably subversive. Italy does cars: Italian’s love ’em - especially home-grown ones. Even their crap ones.
Italy too is in the throws of a cliff edge Euro wobble but their indigenous car giant, Fiat, has held its nerve and timed their new range of cars to perfection, endowing the company with sufficient financial clout to buy out the lion’s share of Chrysler when everything went bosoms up in God’s own Country at the tail end of the last decade.
Lancia has long been under the Fiat umbrella, but the "brand" was killed off in the UK when the hopelessly, yet presciently, named Dedra failed spectacularly.
Lancia’s Ypsilon and Delta sell in modest numbers in parts of mainland Europe. They’re both Fiats basically, with some quirky styling. The supermini Ypsilon, nailed to a Panda platform, looks too tall and narrow. The larger Delta is generally easier on the eye. Both, however, display facial expressions suggesting an uninvited finger has been stuck up their exhaust pipes.
Oh, and as Lancia is officially dead in the UK, this pairing sports a Chrysler badge, which somehow feels very odd indeed. Perhaps they should be called Chrancias? I have driven both and will tell you about them soon. Don’t hold your breath. Italian thoroughbreds they ain’t. Even with a Lancia badge