It seems that nobody loves Stuttgart, a cold grey, misty city, choked by traffic suffocating road systems, pedestrian madness and no obvious centre. No warmth, no sausages or beer, just chill of the rain and beep beep of blue lighted emergency vehicles threading past the bendy buses. In the middle of the alleged mess is Porsche Plaza, home of Porsche development and build and a gathering place for fan boys, tourists, the lost souls of motoring and anxious wannabe drivers, some even wear the logo (a sure sign of sickness).
Moving around in the engineered space is quick and easy, almost awe inspiring in a bright and artificial religious way. Design is god, function is the mantra and speed is the ultimate destination. Nothing is fake, this is the real deal. In these situations I tend to become more of an observer and critic than a round eyed disciple so I was happily conflicted. The cafe was too busy and shop was closed for stocktaking, the cars all shiny as religious artifacts or nuclear weapons, buses ferried in more faithful and confused participants as I soaked up the history and worried about my memory and powers of retention. Once your car is three generations old it becomes a classic, the car and I have a whole lot in common now.
|The 996 escapes the tyranny of the penciled lines and finds it's true shape.|