It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?
It lacks the glamour of its Lambo, Bentley and Porsche siblings, and costs more than a Skoda or Seat, but the Touareg’s ace. By Chris Chilton
Long-term test cars, like people, tend to fall into three categories. Ones you hate because they’re rubbish and you can’t wait to get rid of (in my case, peaky, boringlooking Corolla T-Sport; that goth midget in 1998); ones that really aren’t good enough but charm you into liking them (cramped, unreliable Range Rover Sport Mk1; every holiday romance, or beerfuelled dalliance, ever); and ones so good you’re looking into rental deals the minute they’re gone.
Hmm, not sure if that last one came out how I intended, but you get my point. Where does the Touareg fit? It’s not perfect, but it got so much right, I’d happily recommend one to you – with a caveat we’ll get to later.
First, though, a bit of a recap. This is the third-generation Touareg, and like before it shares its platform with the Porsche Cayenne. Almost 20 years on from the first, though, the family has grown. These days Bentley and Lamborghini also have their own SUVs spun from this platform (the Skoda Kodiaq and Seat’s new Tarraco are built on a less exotic front-drive-based MQB platform). Where the Lambo Urus starts at £159,925, though, the Touareg range kicks off at just £46,015.
Sporty R-Line trim inflates that £46k base price to £53,715, the more powerful of the two diesel engines adds £2600, and with a smattering of options our car’s total price came to £72,005. Not cheap, but still less than half the price of a bare-bones Urus, and while it’s hardly in the league for visual drama, it’s not short of presence.
And inside, it gives its Italian cousin a real run for its money. The huge media touchscreen that comes on Tech models absolutely makes the cabin – even if it makes operating every function twice as complicated because you have to dive into menus.
The springy door seals (contributing to excellent motorway noise levels) meant I wished I’d opted for the self-latching doors (£500), but of the options we did choose, the rearsteering/air suspension package was worth every penny of the £2370 price for the improvement in low-speed manoeuvrability and press-on agility of what is undeniably a big car.
But even the best cars don’t get everything right. Though the Touareg is impressively fast when it’s rolling, I found the eight-speed auto frustratingly slow to kick down. Other than that, though, there really wasn’t much not to like. I looked forward to every drive, even the mammoth ones that tested the capacity of the optional and scary-to-fill 90-litre fuel tank.
So what about that caveat I mentioned at the beginning? Well, the Touareg might be supremely comfortable on long trips, but it’s only fun for five. There’s no
seven-seat option, and while you might not need seven seats every day, or even every month, having run both five- and seven-seat SUVs I know what a game-changer it is being able to magic an extra pair of chairs from the floor when granny comes to stay or the kids have friends over.
Volkswagen doesn’t offer a seven-seat Touareg, but Volvo’s XC90 and the Land Rover Discovery both come with room for seven. So do the Skoda Kodiaq and Seat Tarraco, though neither feels remotely premium in the way the Touareg does, in terms of interior quality, equipment or performance.
But the Audi Q7 does, and it’s surprisingly close in price to the VW. If you’re certain you’ll never need more than five seats, go for the Touareg. For my money, it’s the better-looking car. But if it were my money, I’d find it hard to argue against spending it on something with all of same strengths, plus another two.
It’s not cheap, but still less than half the price of a bare-bones Urus