Until last week I’d have told you that the best view anywhere in the world is
from the lounge of the Regent hotel in Kowloon, at dusk. You look across the
harbour, with the junks and the Star Ferry, to the towering, twinkling, neon
majesty of Hong Kong island, and you think: “My God.”
The second best view, I’ve always reckoned, is from the top of the arch at La
Défense in Paris, looking backwards to the Arc de Triomphe and the organised
splendour of Haussmann’s unbombed jewel. From up there, there’s something to
be said for being a cheese-eating surrender monkey.
Vying for third place would be London, from the top of the Eye; New York, from
the Statue of Liberty; and San Francisco, from the 14th floor of the
Fairmont hotel on Nob Hill.
Notice a trend here? Yup, God made the world in six days and I’ve always
thought that maybe he rushed it. His creation has a limited range of
colours, very few straight edges and at night it simply doesn’t work at all.
Whereas man took his time, and frankly, did a better job. For sheer
hand-biting, throat-clawing effect, I’ve always felt that cityscapes knock
landscapes into the primeval slime.
Then, last week, I climbed Ben Tongue, a mountain not far from Cape Wrath in
the north of Scotland, and the view from up there was beyond human
comprehension. It was way beyond epic. It was just dazzling.
You can forget the Kalahari seen from the north-south highway in Namibia. You
can forget the Empty Quarter in the United Arab Emirates, or the Perfume
River in Vietnam, or the Grand Canyon. I’ve seen all of these things and
while they’re jolly dramatic, they’re one-dimensional, one-trick ponies.
That view from Ben Tongue had the lot. Golden beaches, massive seas, gentle
lakes, mountains, and every sort of weather. At the summit it was snowing,
and very windy. But if I moved 10ft to the left it was a glorious sunny
evening, with showers, and the odd hail storm. It was, quite literally, the
crock of gold at the end of the rainbow. It was the best view in the world.
But then, 10 minutes later, I was picked up by a helicopter for a flight to
Glasgow and in the next two hours I changed my mind 15 times.
Recently, someone or other decided that the best view in Britain was from what
looked like Ted Heath’s back garden, over the water meadows towards
Salisbury Cathedral. It’s very nice, in a chocolate boxy sort of way, but if
you turn round, well, you’ll be face to face with Ted Heath, and that spoils
it somewhat.
You have the same problem everywhere really. There are even nice views in
Surrey but you know that just over the horizon you have Esher, or
Leatherhead, and that subliminal knowledge drapes the scenery with a
spoiling sense of claustrophobia.
In Scotland, though, from the bubble of a helicopter, the spectacularness just
goes on and on, for hundreds and hundreds of miles. Superlative
view-spotting up there is the geological equivalent of being backstage at
London Fashion Week. Mentally, you just sit there going “That one, no that
one” endlessly.
And what makes it all even more impressive is that unlike the mountains of
Alaska, or the dunes of Algeria, this vast wilderness is actually in one of
the most overpopulated countries on earth. That means you can get there
easily, and when you do, you don’t have to dress up like Janet
Street-Porter. Because there are roads, hundreds of them, clinging to the
hillsides and twisting through the valleys, all glinting gold in the late
afternoon October sunshine.
They looked as wonderful and as inviting as a glass of beer when you’ve been
out in the desert all day.
Normally, when I’m in a helicopter, I can’t see the point of cars. But not
this time. This time I wanted to be down there, in the thick of it, at the
red line with the tyres howling. And I think I have just the car for the
job. The new Porsche 911.
In the beginning Hitler’s arse-engined sports cars were an ill-conceived idea.
Putting the engine at the back, right over the rear wheels, helps press the
tyres into the road, giving better traction. But with no weight at the
front, you could do what you liked with the steering wheel; you were going
straight on into whatever obstacle God had carelessly left in your way. And,
of course, if you lifted off the throttle, or worse, braked, the weight of
the car pitched forward — and whoa — now you didn’t have any traction at the
back either. That you were going to hit the tree was a given. The only
choice you had was whether you went in head first, or sideways.
However, over the years, the 911 has been planed and nurtured so that now
we’ve arrived at the latest incarnation, the 997.
Round the Nürburgring in Germany it is a full 20 seconds a lap faster than the
old Carrera, and if you’re interested in statistics like that you’ll also be
interested to hear the car can be ordered with a stop watch and a computer
that measures and stores your times over a given journey, or lap, so you can
show them off to your friends. If you have any.
More interestingly, Porsche says it’s an entirely redesigned car and that
every single body panel, except the roof, is new. This seems odd, because if
you’re going to make an all-new car, why make it look exactly the same as
the old one?
Inside, it’s much the same story. Yes, you now have a centre console that
seems to have been lifted piecemeal from the Cayenne off-roader, but you
have the same driving position and, because of the overriding solid
blackness of it all, the same sense that you’ve inexplicably wound up in one
of Albert Speer’s underground bunkers.
If you buy the standard Carrera model, you’ll soon discover it has the
same-sized engine as the old car, a 3.6. And that the performance is
unaltered too. Yes, the new car costs more, but not by much.
I, however, drove the new Carrera S, which has a 3.8 and is designed for the
more sporting driver. It’s harsh and brutal and more in keeping with the
character of the older 911s. And yet. . .
When you turn the steering wheel, the front goes exactly where you want to go.
In many ways, it handles like the jet fighter Clint Eastwood stole in
Firefox. You only need think which way you’d like to go and the car just
obeys.
Meanwhile, at the back, there is so much traction it feels as though you have
a Scottish mountain parked on the retractable spoiler. And what’s even more
impressive is what happens when you do something silly. Nothing. That’s what
happens.
This car could be doing 100mph, three inches from a tree, on sheet ice and
you’d still have nothing to worry about. As a lesson in the exercise of
engineering over flawed design it’s a triumph. So, if you want to go very,
very fast on one of those incredible Scottish roads, this would be right up
there with the best of the Ferraris.
But unlike the usual exotica, this car would also, just about, be comfortable
enough for the drive to and from the Highlands as well.
Go. It’d be worth it because I now reckon the best view of the world would be
Scotland, seen through the windscreen of this remarkable new car. And
there’s no need to be distracted by the ceaseless flashing of the speed
cameras in your rear-view mirror because if you’re going fast enough you’ll
be out of the frame before the image can be stored.
The speed you need to be going to do this is 178mph. Conveniently, the speed
you can achieve in a new 911 is 182.
VITAL STATISTICS
Model Porsche 911 Carrera S
Engine type Flat-six, 3824cc
Power 355bhp @ 6600rpm
Torque 295 lb ft @ 4600rpm
Transmission Six-speed manual
Acceleration 0-62mph: 4.8sec
Top speed 182mph
Fuel/CO2 24.6mpg (combined) / 277 g/km
Price £65,000
Verdict Very fast, great handling and comfortable
Rating 4/5
