As evening approaches, the tourist traffic
thins and my final drive down as the sun flares over the ridge line to the west
is wonderful. The V8 F-type is definitely a little softer and a little heavier
than the V6 so it doesn't have quite the sharpness on the way into corners and
the front tyres need coaxing a little more, but it counterpunches down the
straights and then some. The eight-speed auto 'box is beautifully calibrated
too, so that its response is fast yet smooth. And although the small paddles
lack a little theatre in their action, the acoustic accompaniments to every
shift, up or down, can't fail to make you smile. Charging along a straight
you'll get a loud, loose-lipped brrrwap on every high-rev tap of the
right-hand paddle, then braking hard into the hairpins you get a perfect flare
of revs on the downshift. The brakes are mighty impressive as well: it's a long
descent down through the trees to the plain below but there are no signs of any
materials cooking.
By
default you get a six-speaker stereo, but Jaguar’s partnership with Meridian
has resulted in two desirable upgrades
After about 45 minutes, just as the endless
corners and switchbacks are beginning to make my head spin, everything relaxes
as the landscape flattens out and the road straightens for the first time in
ages. The sky is now a vivid pink and the Carpathians are marshalled into
increasingly hazy blue ranks behind us as we head for Sibiu, where we're
spending the night.
Heated sears on (three is a proper vindaloo
setting), the sky above us looking increasingly like a Turner painting and the
wonderful turquoise lights starting to show in the cabin, the F-type is a
relaxing place in which to make progress. The first village we reach is packing
up for the night and as we potter through the main street, there are buffalo
wandering around unhurriedly in the middle of the road. Dean also gets excited
when a man walks out of a door, to all intents and purposes cuddling a goat.
The
seating position is low and comfortable
We haven't seen a police car all day so as
we head west in the twilight along a fast but meandering stretch of empty road,
I decide to race the train that's clattering along the line next to us. It's
not quite the stuff of Woolf Barnato legend (although that's not because of the
car) but we do at least emerge victorious, and mercifully near a petrol
station. Super-unleaded isn't a problem here and as with most of the fuel
stations we've been to, it's attended. At least, it's attended for us, but as
there are at least half-a-dozen men in matching blue dungarees and caps
surrounding the Jag, I assume it's become a self-service fuel stop for all the
other cars there. My Romanian is a lot worse than their non-existent English,
so I'm not quite sure if I'm answering all their questions correctly. They're
certainly all smiling and looking happy by the time we leave, but for all I
know that might be because they've interpreted my mumblings as: 'New Dacia
model called a Jaguar, with a V7 engine and 1800bhp.'
It’s
hard to make seat controls look elegant, especially when you throw in gloss
black plastic. The Seat Memory Pack clutters the door panel with yet more
buttons
Ten minutes later, it's dark and the
brightly coloured lights of Sibiu are being refracted by the rain as we splash
towards the city centre. After the rural vistas we've been looking at all day,
it feels like driving into a kaleidoscope. Thankfully we find our hotel
relatively easily and, fuelled by an excellent Romanian beer called Ursus,
which my schoolboy Latin tells me means 'bear', sleep is easy to come by.
