Olesya Repkina, automotive journalist (Moscow)

Since “organic” vegetables and fruits became affordable only for top managers of chemical production, a lot of strange-colored water has already flown under the bridge. And now we are trying to swim against the current, the direction of which we so diligently changed not so long ago. Someone in the supermarket puts plastic boxes, plastic bags, bags, bags, and plastic packages in a separately paid paper bag (instead of the non-ecological free ones). And some people love nature so much that the first thing they did was order a Start/Stop system for their five-liter engine, and only then boosted it for a couple dozen more “fillies.” Living among distorting mirrors is fun, but very sad.

I recently found myself in Turkey and, devouring a very tasty tomato, I kept wondering whether it was “real” or just “made” so well. And then at the rental office, without any options, I got a Fiat Albea car. There is no doubt that it is completely real, there is definitely no artificiality in it - there is nothing in it at all. This thing rides like a bullshit and looks like a cart. She has no design, no character, she hardly even has such an indicator as accelerating to hundreds - she just drives forward. Less than half a century has passed since European companies, like Fiat or Renault, learned to make vehicles in the manner of our domestic tarantas. Not works of art, but means of transport. Real, like the smell of sweat, straightforward, like a crowbar, miserable, like a sledgehammer, and tenacious, like bacteria. I forgot to say that this car was, moreover, dirty gray in color and diesel (not a glamorous TDI, but a real tractor “solar”).

The route for the first day was about 700 km, and in total - about two thousand. And, you know, it was cool! I was tired to the point of losing my pulse, but I had a lot of fun. Owners of this or a similar model will probably think I'm kidding. Not at all. It’s just that if, in addition to Albea, they also have 6 acres with a vegetable garden, well fertilized with manure, they don’t know my fears about tomatoes. They dream of an expensive, powerful car, stuffed with all sorts of gadgets; and I’m all about driving the car myself and enjoying it myself. But the more car manufacturers tell me about driving pleasure, the less I get it. It's as if they feed us pure calories - without taste, shape, texture, color or smell. You're fed up, but not at all satisfied. If you look from this angle, then the Lada Kalina is superior to many tens of times superior to it in price and technology. In order not to die of hunger, you have to catch up with the antelope and bite into its sirloin with your teeth. You don’t want to do this trick every day for breakfast, but it’s still a pleasure to be content with an IV. Two extremes, neither of which are suitable for life. But if the owner of Kalina/Albea still wants a Focus, then when he gets to, for example, Lexus, he will stop wanting it. At first he will simply stop wanting, then he will begin to forget and, in the end, he will forget how to feel.

Perhaps, in reality, this conversation is least of all about the Fiat Albea. On the contrary, it’s about “Vovka in the Far Far Away Kingdom” (“Will you do everything for me?” - “Aha!” - “Are you going to eat for me?” - “Aha!”), about that , how various electronic assistants have deprived the driver of not only worries and troubles, but also the pleasure of overcoming them, in general - all pleasure. That’s why I liked this idiotic Fiat so much, just as I would have liked a stupid bouquet of daisies in contrast to a floral arrangement sent by courier, which would have only attracted butterflies, pinned under a frame on the wall of the corridor of the marketing department, if I worked in the office of a chemical company. However, the duel has already been lost. So many people are rushing there - towards the LED progressive future, that those who have visited it and decided to return back will not be able to push through against the fur of the pressing crowd. It's never possible to go back. And, at best, it amounts to a ridiculous paper bag at the supermarket.

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