Porsche Panamera Turbo S E-Hybrid Sport Turismo
(and a half!)
If I could be granted one superpower, being able to fall asleep on an economy flight would be it. I always wonder if those lucky bods who can realise how blessed they are. ‘But Dad, if it’s something that people can already do, it’s not a superpower,’ argued my nine-year-old. To which I countered, ‘Well it is in my book.’
Our superpower debate took place on a flight to Portugal last Sunday. We’d been up since 4am and I would have done anything for ten minutes’ shut-eye. Failing miserably, as usual, I escaped instead to the wonder of one of my favourite books, Walden by Henry David Thoreau, a poetically profound account of decluttering, 1854-style. This, off the back of Goodbye, Things by Fumio Sasaki, a new take on minimalism I picked up at Foyles last week. Please read both for your own sake and everyone else’s. You might also want to read them if you’d like to save £150k+ by NOT buying this week’s test car.
To my eyes, the Panamera is the dark shadow in all our children’s nightmares, it’s just so damn ugly
This Porsche is the antithesis of what Thoreau and Sasaki reckon we need to do to survive as a species and be happy in the process. It’s yet another opulent, electric/petrol hybrid that will do more damage to the planet purely by being produced than any of its so-called green credentials could possibly do to help save it.
It’s not only Porsche that is guilty of such token (cynical) efforts of conservation – they’re all at it. What’s more, we’re all party to it. If we refused to buy ’em, they’d stop making ’em, and the polar bears and penguins could heave a huge sigh of relief. I can actually hear Thoreau spinning in his grave as I write this. Which in one way is a relief, as it means I still have my hearing after driving this monster.
Just in case you might not notice the Panamera from its hulk alone, Porsche has turned up the volume to Armageddon Plus (thanks to a £581 exhaust option). That’s unless the car is in full-on Friends Of The Earth Electric mode, in which case, bring on The Sound Of Silence. I found this both ridiculous and hilarious, like fitting a silencer to a Howitzer and saying to the gunner in charge, ‘There you go, no one will notice now. Fill yer boots!’
From a design point of view, the shell (still) looks like a pregnant, stretched 911-shaped whale, which I (still) can’t believe anyone finds attractive – but I know they do. I lost count of the number of whale-spotters giving me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. What are these people on? To my eyes, the Panamera is the dark shadow in all our children’s nightmares, it’s just so damn ugly.
Regardless of all this, it would be churlish of me not to concede that if this is the kind of electric/turbocharged V8 nonsense that floats your boat, and you have the dosh, it’s probably a no-brainer. For its Porsche-ness is unquestionable.
Fire up the engine and, well, there’s nothing to begin with as the car always starts in E mode. You have to shift it into Sport or Sport+ if you want to hear a good-morning growl. Not that you will for long, as it quickly becomes evident that the H (Hybrid) mode is where this car works best, where most of the orchestra you’ve shelled out for plays for most of the time. Where the car knows far better than you when to change from one power source to another. A symphony of technological prowess in full flow.
With the car’s brain at full tilt, there is nothing to tax ours. It’s all far too clever for us mortals to get our heads around
Be careful, though, as this is a wide car, maybe too wide for some country lanes. You know, the ones that tend to lead to the best pub lunches on a Sunday afternoon. Plan your route carefully, however, and your passengers will have the weekend trip from heaven. All 680hp of it (that’s 550hp of petrol power and 130hp electric), while simultaneously being cushioned by a fancy three-chamber air-suspension system designed to take all the excess roll out of the rock ’n’ roll.
With the car’s brain at full tilt, there is nothing to tax ours. It’s all far too clever for us mortals to get our heads around, as is the mesmerically mellifluous gearbox, which is now so big Porsche had to extend the wheelbase to fit it in. (I’ve seen the casing and it looks like a 1960s Russian space rocket.)
The carbon-ceramic brake discs and huge six-pot calipers complete this unprecedented manifestation of the ultimate family monster truck. Ha! After all’s said and done, that’s what we have here. Albeit one that can corner like a skeleton bob thanks to the superb all-wheel-drive and all-wheel-steering system that steps in to preserve your mortality whenever it thinks you may no longer be able to.
Discounting my own warped opinion of the Panamera phenomenon, I called upon two pals who love Porsches. Here is what they said.
Porsche Pal One: ‘I want one. I loved the diesel model with its mind-blowing performance and unbelievable economy, but this car is even better and not about to be put out to grass due to its emissions.’ Porsche Pal Two: ‘Sure it’s good, but what is it? Why is it? All that extra weight [with the motor and battery it’s a hefty 2,325kg] for a 0.4s-quicker acceleration to 60mph and 4mph higher top speed.’
So there you go, even the Porsche faithful are split down the middle when it comes to understanding the appeal of whatever need or desire this car has been created to fulfil. Ultimately, I maintain that such vehicles are symptoms of our own impending doom, daring us to do something – anything! – to save our species before nature mercifully steps in to put us out of our misery.
Why the Almighty ever gave us idiots the gifts of imagination and choice instead of a more grateful organism – dung beetles, for example – continues to baffle me.