Driving across India in a Ferrari, Alistair Weaverexperienced some of the more bizarre sites - and sights - of this rapidly changing country
IT'S 4pm somewhere in northern India. What was once a free-flowing, if somewhat chaotic highway, has become a giant, boisterous car park. We duck through the centre reservation and continue on the wrong side of the road, crawling past maybe 10 miles of stationary traffic. And then we stop.
Spread across four lanes is a barricade of bricks. Someone, somewhere has decided that now is a good time to strike. There's nothing to do but wait. At times like this, it matters not a jot that I'm driving one of the world's fastest and most opulent cars. I park the Ferrari, and step out.
Here before me is a microcosm of contemporary India. This road is part of a multi-billion dollar highway expansion project that will serve as a catalyst for India's economic boom. But the humanity littering its surface belongs to a different time and place.
Bedraggled, hopelessly overloaded trucks are daubed in the most garish colours and look like escapees from the circus. There are buses here so full that passengers ride on the roof. And the Hindustan taxis really do hail from a different age - they began life in the UK as the unloved Morris Oxford of 1957.
In the middle of such a scene, the 612 Scaglietti looks like an intruder from a different planet. Finished in a curious red and beige livery, it is one of two cars making an 11,000km pilgrimage around India. They left Mumbai on February 25th. I joined the tour in Kolkata (formerly Calcutta) and will travel as far as Lucknow, over 1,000km from here.
We are trapped in the middle of a strike with one of the most opulent symbols of First World excess, thousands of miles from home and with no form of security. In some parts of the world, we'd be easy prey but here we're greeted with smiles and curiosity, not jealousy or derision. Some of the people have been stuck here for several hours, but the atmosphere is almost jovial.
"The people know there is nothing they can do, so why should they worry?" says a local bus driver. "This is India." Apparently, the strike has been called to protest against fines imposed on overweight trucks. Eventually, just as night is falling, the army arrives, clears the bricks and spares us a night in the Ferrari.
We stay the night in Gaya before continuing on the road to the religious city of Varanasi, on the banks of the river Ganges. Over the years, I've been "fortunate" enough to travel some of the world's most dangerous roads, but India offers its own breed of insanity. The lethal cocktail of bad roads, bad driving and bad vehicles is spiked by a dose of fatalism. If you believe that your future is pre-ordained by some higher being, then what you do behind the wheel of a car is all but irrelevant.
Perhaps this explains why it's not unusual to find a moped, with a helmetless rider, heading the wrong way down a highway. Concentration is everything and progress is littered with sudden swerves, panic braking and plenty of expletives.
We go everywhere in convoy, with an Indian guide leading the way in a Tata Safari. At times it's frustrating, but it's an understandable precaution. Ferrari has brought along a van full of parts and plenty of expertise, but there's no spare car and an accident would spell disaster.
The 612s we're driving have been modified to cope with the poor road surfaces, but only slightly. There's an extra 30mm of ground clearance and their underbody has been protected with aluminium cladding, but that's about it.
These cars are pre-production examples of the facelifted 612, which boasts a number of subtle enhancements. The six-speed paddle-shift gearbox has been pinched from the 599 and is capable of changing gear in milliseconds, while a new sports exhaust improves the tune of the 5.7-litre V12. The engine's power output is unchanged at 540bhp, but few have criticised the earlier 612 for a lack of thrust. It'll sprint from 0-100km/h in just 4sec and reach 320km/h flat out, although rarely, of course, in India.
There have been prettier Ferraris than the 612 - those Scaglietti scallops in the doors still look horribly contrived - but few have been more versatile. The wheelbase might look uncomfortably long, but it allows two six-footers to ride shotgun in surprising comfort. The new electrochromatic glass roof, which allows you to choose between day and night at the touch of a button, is also a success.
The contrast between the opulence of our charge and the poverty of our environment is stark and, at times, uncomfortable. Much is made of India's burgeoning middle class, but millions are being left behind. In Varanasi, we're confronted by elderly cripples who live on the noisy, dirty streets. The British Raj and their army of servants have long since left, but the inequalities remain.
It's also impossible to escape the pollution. At 5am next morning, we take a boat trip along the Ganges to watch the morning prayer. For Hindus, the Ganges is the Great Mother, a spiritual link between the generations. Every morning they come to bathe in its waters and wash their clothes. It would be an idyllic scene, were the water not putrid. The definition of safe bathing water is less than 500 faecal coliform bacteria per 100ml - in the Ganges, the figure is a staggering 1.5million.
The riverbank here is famous for its ghats - large wide steps down to the water. Most are used for prayer or bathing, but there are also a handful of "burning ghats". Hindus dip their recently departed in the river before cremating them on huge pyres by the riverbank.
With the whiff of corpses hanging in the air, we leave Varanasi for Allahabad. By now, I'm getting used to the hubbub of Indian driving, where every change of direction must be accompanied by a beep of the horn.
I'm still lamenting the horn's inadequacies when my stomach starts to grumble. I remember this feeling from the last time I visited India and it was followed by four days in bed. Sure enough, within minutes I'm passing what a doctor would call a "loose stool". I'm now faced with 12 hours in 40 degrees heat in the back of a Ferrari, clutching my toilet paper. Nice.
By the time we reach the outskirts of Lucknow, my final destination, I'm about 3kg lighter and ready to reflect on a fascinating few days. The Magic India tour follows closely on the back of Ferrari tours of China (by 612) and America (by 599). For a company that doesn't advertise, they've become an important tool of self-promotion.
"It's a way of demonstrating that our cars can be driven everyday, on every road, by everybody," says Ferrari's PR guru Davide Kluze. Such a claim carries an element of risk, but in 1,000 miles, the only mechanical gremlin we experienced was a punctured tyre.
The 612 is the most cosseting, civilised and understated Ferrari, and the facelift has enhanced its appeal. But even after a week behind the wheel, I'm still struggling to rationalise its role.
Fine car though it is, the 599 is prettier, faster and cheaper. Unless you really need to carry four, it's hard to understand why you'd choose this car over its sibling.
At present, Ferrari reckons there are nearly 40 of its cars in India, all of which have been personally imported. In a decade's time, that number will probably have increased tenfold as India's economic upsurge continues. By then, this crazy, crazy country, will be a very different place.