The Dacia Sandero: Cheap and Cheerful?

Unless your daily commute involves dodging cows and the badge between your hands says Tata, buying a new car often isn’t cheap. Or is it? Well Romania has come to town with an answer, and it's worth just £5,995.

Photography: Nikolai Attard and Phillip Morton

Meet Dacia, the subsidiary of Renault that comes from the Eastern European country, and their budget offering, the Sandero. Priced at the same value as a five-year old Vauxhall Astra, Dacia's Sandero is officially Britain’s cheapest new car. How does it compare against its pricier rivals in the well-populated hatchback segment then?

On first glances, prospects look bleak. Unpainted plastic bumpers, steel wheels and a white-only exterior that offers little more than a simple two-box design, the Sandero certainly isn’t a looker. The same can be said for the interior, where grey plastics accompany a whole-lot of nothing. Our model is fitted with an optional radio but entry level cars feature little more luxuries than a heater and rev-counter, so stepping inside can feel a little like rewinding time, by a decade or three. Emphasising this is a lack of central locking and wind-up windows – properly old school.

Black plastic bumpers dominate the exterior

Cues to the car’s underpinnings – shared with the Mk2 Clio that went on sale way back in 1998 – are evident throughout. Outside the wheel base matches a Mk2 Clio, whilst an upright seating position and even the steering-column cover is identical to what you’d find in the old car – though the Access Sandero does without the height adjustment arm and therefore remains fixed. The electrics are undoubtedly Renault parts-bin sourced too, with the auto-engaging rear-wiper and even gear-change light being identical to those found on old French hatches.

But it’s not all bad news. The car possesses four airbags (driver, passenger and front side-impact) enabling it to achieve a respectable four-star Euro NCAP rating. The positives continue once the key is turned too, as our car’s 75bhp 1.2-litre petrol engine ticks-over silently, the only evidence of its existence coming from the slightest hint of vibration through the gear-knob.

A simple interior contains only the essentials

Pootling around central London at close to the capital’s average top speed (only just nudging double figures) the Dacia remains a calm, composed place to be. Effortlessly light steering gives a good amount of confidence whilst soft suspension, a featherweight clutch and instant brakes make driving through one of the world’s densest cities easy. Parking the Sandero is a doddle too, the van-like door mirrors and high seating position offering a wide range of visibility. The Sandero does slow, urban driving well then.

The same can’t be said about anything remotely fast however. Venturing onto a dual carriageway requires a scary amount of rolling-up (lorries and OAPs have never looked so fast), whilst even pulling out of junctions requires you to spin the needle up the rev-counter far more than you’d expect. Ignore the dash’s eco change-up light, you’ll need far more than its recommended 2,000rpm to speed up to 60 in anything under 20 seconds. Once moving at over 60 the Dacia’s once silent engine becomes a bit of a growler, providing a permanent hum in the background at all times. It isn’t helped by the urban-gearing of the five-speed ‘box either, resulting in a significant 4,000 revs being required to sit at 70.

The Sandero thrives in town

Despite this the car still returns good fuel economy, with our 350 mile round trip across urban and extra-urban roads requiring little more than half a tank of fuel. But even with such a small dent in the wallet, the under damped suspension and vague steering that presents itself at motorway speeds could leave you spending your savings on aspirin; a bouncy motorway experience requiring constant focus to remain between lane-lines. Unsurprisingly, it’s not even worth mentioning the Sandero’s high-speed cornering ability, though thinking of a Citroën 2CV might provide some idea..

All in all, at speed the Sandero really struggles. With such a high level set by today’s range of hatchbacks the Sandero feels as though it’s 20 years behind, especially once outside the boarders of suburbia. Within them however, the Sandero is a strong performer. It offers good leg room both front and rear, five doors as standard, whilst storage space, cup-holders and a class leading 320-litre boot mean the Sandero would make the perfect car for taking the kids to school, doing the weekly shop or popping to the post office; all this for a fiver less than £6,000.

Sampling London's tight streets

In all honesty paying an extra £1,600 and opting for the better specced Ambience fitted with the 898cc TCe engine would be our choice, that engine providing all round better performance and cheaper tax (£30 a year to the 1.2’s £105). But even at £7,595, this more luxurious Sandero still undercuts rivals like the Kia Rio by a substantial £2,400. And when you put it like that it’s hard to disagree, the Dacia Sandero is nothing short of a bargain. So it turns out Romania does have the answer, thanks to a little help from the French.

Specs

Engine 1149cc, 4cyl, FWD

Gearbox 5-speed, manual

Power 75bhp @ 5500rpm

Torque 79lb ft @4250rpm

CO2 135g/km

Top speed 97mph

0-62 mph 14.5secs

Combined mpg 48.7

Manufacturer’s OTR price £5,995 (+ £250 for optional radio as tested here)

The Unfair Tarnishing Of Young Drivers

Young drivers are often labelled as the heavy footed bane of British roads, but are the country’s newest peddlers really the most dangerous behind the wheel?

A 1.2 hatchback that costs grandma a hundred quid or so to insure, can cost a teenager a number of Pounds that many might not know existed. But this is outrageous, how can gran, a nearly blind, repetitive bag of wrinkles with the reaction times of an iceberg, be cheaper to insure than a fit and sprightly youngster? Who says OAPs are less dangerous?

As a 20 something year old who's enjoyed five glorious years of mobility thanks to a shiny pink plastic card, I've had to face nonstop nagging, abuse as a 'boy racer' and being labelled a general nuisance behind the wheel. But I don't deserve any of this. I've never crashed, yet I've had more near misses than Tim Henman's Wimbledon campaigns. Like most new drivers, I was very enthusiastic behind the wheel; but I've never collected another car and always check my mirrors.

The same cannot be said for old nan, however. How can she check her mirrors when her nose is pressed against the windscreen, as she squints to see further than her own car's headlights? She can't. And that's why she clips kerbs, crosses lanes unintentionally and runs over women and children on a weekly basis. Nan causes crashes all the time.

If a teenager causes a crash, most likely he or she will have collected one other car during the uncontrolled high speed slide into a field, breaking the front bumper on their Corsa but most damagingly, shattering their pride. Everyone will know about it, their insurers will know about it and as a result increase their premiums by one million Pounds.

If an OAP causes a crash however, they drive home and switch on Countdown, with absolutely no knowledge of the trail of destruction resembling Godzilla's footsteps they've left behind them. Old people cause crashes all the time, but nobody knows it. So Mr insurance company keeps on providing them with reduced premiums.

But as we know this is massively wrong. Yes young drivers are generally fitted with a heavy right foot, and yes young drivers will most likely experience a 'tail slide' at least twice per journey to Asda, but most times young drivers won't crash. Young people's near miss to crash ratio is therefore fairly good. Old people's are not; there is no such thing as a near miss with an OAP, only a crash.

So how do we fix the problem? How do we balance out the unfair insurance premiums experienced by youngsters and OAPs of Britain? By going back to our primary school roots, and telling. Even if it's your own nan or granddad, even if the car is their only source of transport, each time they have a bump or end up coming home with three school kids under the wheel arch, tell on them. Call their insurer and say my nan has crashed again. Within days the UK's insurers will no doubt be inundated with claims of OAP related crashes they hadn't expected. Those graphs they like to draw with young driver crash rates, will begin to be dwarfed by the wake of OAP destruction.

So I say young drivers of Britain, this is our only option, our only hope that the eyes of insurers and general public will open to the carnage old people cause on the roads. Only if you tell can we then expect this unfair tarnishing of young drivers as the UK's most dangerous, to be shifted to its rightful owners. Old age pensioners.

Toll Roads Could Save Your Ass

I don't think there any other times I've felt my body wants to dismember itself more, than when I'm in the car. I know for certain my dad never wanted to rip his ears off his head when driving at my age, yet time and time again Pitbull decides to release another belter or rhyme Kodak with Kodak, and my ears want to head skyward when it's played on the car radio. It's not just my ears either, my legs want to fall off and run away at least twice a day as I sit in suburban London's permanent traffic jam. And my eyes want to melt themselves as they observe driving that wouldn't look out of place in Arena Essex Raceway.

Unfortunately for me though, without sounding like I spend my Friday night's sniffing poppers in G.A.Y, it's my buttocks that take the biggest pounding behind the wheel. Thanks to those city bankers playing monopoly with our money, it seems there now isn't enough cash to fix the jigsaw that is our roads. So as a result us motorists are driving on tarmac more broken than Pete Burn's face. And it hurts.

But over the past couple of weeks I've had time for the butt bruises to heal and the shattered spine to repair itself, all thanks to the European continent's toll roads. These smooth, pothole free roads are more well kept that Alan Titchmarsh's rose bushes, and happily ferry traffic as dense as the M1's between mountains and cities alike. It's all because they're funded through the evil method of tolling.

I hate tolls, why should I have to pay to drive along a motorway, when in this day and age it's as much of a right to freedom to jump behind the wheel of a car, as it is to stick on your trainers and walk down the street? You don't pay a charge to walk into busy areas of pedestrians, so why should you to access the black stuff? Well if I'm honest, as much as this mentality is still essentially mine even after seeing the greener grass of French and Spanish motorways, I am beginning to think otherwise ever so slightly. 

During my long distance drive on the continent between France's Calais and the Costa Blanca of Spain, I think we encountered about three potholes on our entire motorway journey. Bloody three, across about 1000miles. I'd encounter that many across about 3 foot in Britain for crying out loud, so I'm sure you'll agree that what I'm about to say is at least worth thinking about.

We should bring tolls to Britain.

Take it in, breath, and take it in again. Now hold all those 'not in my back yard' thoughts and just hear me out. We could at least begin to fix the crumbling roads of Britain, with small charges that are capped and entirely distance dependant. So driving from London to Leeds up the M1 could see you paying a maximum of say, £18. Would that drastically alter your day? The fact most people won't be making that sort of journey more than a few times a year, and in many cases they'd be driving a shiny German saloon for the trip, that 18 quid wouldn't change a thing. And for shorter journeys, say a couple of junctions of the M62 for example, you wouldn't be paying more than a few pence.

It might seem drastic, and another way for us to part with cash in order to clean up the government's mess, but if we were able to ensure this money was used solely to improve and maintain roads, I think more people would be interested than you might think. For starters, better roads would save millions on car repairs relating to road damage each year. And if the current system of road funding remained in place, we could ensure the toll cash didn't act as a source of saving for the government.

So essentially this system would see road improvements, probably less dreaded Sunday drivers and reduced suspension damage costs, all for a few quid a week. And it certainly looks as though at the current rate, buckled wheels will become a common place in car ownership with the volume of potholes we have to drive over. So in order to avoid a future of square wheels and black and blue bums, surely road tolling could serve as a quick and effective fix?

Please feel free to tweet me, email or comment with your thoughts. Alternatively, when sending letter bombs please make sure they are correctly weighted and stamped.

Go Forth and Buy British..Or Don't

Recently I left London for a driving holiday with my family. This doesn't however, mean we went on holiday with the sole purpose of driving, rather that the car was our source of transportation. Strange I suppose, since you wouldn't call a normal holiday a flying holiday. But just roll with me on this..

So anyway we were driving towards our destination, the big plot of land home to afternoon naps and bright red Brits called Spain, and I noticed quite a few things on our way. First of all, I noticed how France's motorways are a giant rip off, with toll station clerks seemingly making up the biggest number they could think of when charging us for using their tarmac. And secondly, I noticed that Europeans love to drive cars from their own countries.

Passing through France, the roads were awash with Peugeots, Renaults and Citroens. As we entered Spain, suddenly the roads were covered in a sprinkling of Seats. And of course the tourist infested Costa Blanca was full of neighbouring European countrymen, from BMW driving Germans to Alfa Romeo driving Italians. It seemed despite us being united as a continent, Europeans really like to drive their own.

Except us Brits however. British drivers instead were driving a mixture of all of the aforementioned cars, plus a mixture of Japanese motors that meant it was impossible to spot a British driven car. The only signs of a British pilot were a GB sticker on the bootlid, or the screams of crashing Europeans being blinded by headlights angled at oncoming traffic.

So with this in mind, I began to consider how maybe we should be proud of our ability to choose a car based on its ability to perform as one, rather than the origins of its badge. Of how us Brits are beyond nationalism and embracing a more united world.

But then I saw an orange McLaren MP4-12C with GB plates roll down the Spanish motorway, and all that changed instantly. A car built just outside of London in leafy Woking, designed and engineered by the best in the business and built by the sort of men who don't drink coffee or sip on wine, but rather who go to the pub and down a couple of pints and eat pies, this car at that moment was more than just a performance vehicle to me. It was the ultimate representation of Britain in and amongst those Alfas and Beemers. 

So there and then I made a decision. I love my little French hot hatch, but for my next car I would happily buy British. I wouldn't go so far as choosing a car that is rubbish just because it's been welded together on Old Blighty, but I would certainly feel an added sense of pleasure knowing I'm driving something someone called Gavin could have made. Thankfully that forces me to reopen the tabs of my TVR searches on Autotrader, and means I should start drinking more beer and stop thinking about getting a chest wax.

Now this isn't to say that our European neighbour's cars aren't great, in many cases they're fantastic. But as a nation once heading the automotive world, our car industry is now comparatively tiny. Lots of cars are made here, but cars of entirely British origin are few and far between the slightly German Bentleys and foreign funded Lotus'. Very few cars are made in Britain that don't at least see one Asian, American or European executive make an influential decision. And this makes me sad.

So I say Britons, don't go so far as to being a nationalistic ass who rejects people from abroad, but do be proud of what we can achieve on this tiny little island. We may not produce them in such volume anymore, but what cars we do contribute to the automotive industry are all generally bloody good. Go forth and buy as many McLarens, Nobles and when they start making them again, TVRs as you can. It's the only way we can help to rebuild what could so easily have been a thriving British car industry. 

But then again, that 458 Ferrari does sound lovely. And those AMG Blacks are sexy as hell. They do say TVRs break down a lot as well; plus my little Renaultsport is as characterful a hot hatch I've ever driven. And my goodness Spanish girls are gorgeous too. Maybe I should hold onto that pro British thought for a bit longer then, maybe Europe ain't so bad..