There are times when you read about Formula 1 and you must think that the sport is nothing but politics and treachery; big business and cynicism. It is not really like that. Most of the time it is great fun. It is a world filled with good people, some of the best you could ever hope to meet. And every now and then there is a fairy tale that comes true.
Here is one of them:
“Dear Santa,” you write, with your best spelling and punctuation. “Please can I have a nice shiny Ferrari to drive across Europe this summer. I would like to visit lots of new and interesting places, meet some unusual people, eat some delicious meals and drink a little wine. Oh, and can you make sure it is sunny all the time…”
You think for a while about asking whether Keira Knightley can come along for the ride, but we all know that Santa has a lot of stuff to do and dealing with actresses and their agents is seriously hard work.
“PS,” you add wisely, “can someone else please pay the bills.”
What chance is there of Santa delivering on that request? The automotive journalists get all the gigs like this. They are the ones who dictate whether it is worth paying $50,000 extra to accelerate from 0 to 60mph a little quicker than you really need to. They are the fighter pilots of automotive journalism; in F1 we are the bomber boys. We plod along, flying through the flak, while they are eating truffles in Transylvania.
In July this year, however, Santa Claus sent me an e-mail. Well, the guy in question is really called Luca and although he wears red a lot and has a certain stature, he would need a big white beard and lots of white to hair to look anything like the real Santa. And, being an Italian, he would need a few lessons in how to say “Ho, ho, ho” without it coming out as “Oh, Oh, Oh”. But dear Luca does have some of the powers of Santa Claus. The email asked whether I would I like to drive a Ferrari California from Budapest to Maranello after the Hungarian Grand Prix.
Having nothing better to do at the start of the summer break (many F1 journalists don’t want to travel when they get time off), I replied that it was a delightful suggestion and I was available. It was, of course, a very tough weekend for Ferrari in Budapest with Felipe Massa ending up in hospital with head injuries. Luca was flat out all the time. So the only instructions we received was that we needed to be at the New York Palace Hotel at nine o’clock on Monday morning. And we had to ask for Mayra.
It was all very James Bond…
We (my GP+ partner David Tremayne and I) had packed as little luggage as we dared (as Ferraris are not famed for having space for Louis Vuitton trunks) and DT even remembered to bring a map of Central Europe to give us a vague idea of where we were going. We decided that if we were in charge of such an expensive automobile it might be wise to go west and out of countries where we might be murdered in our beds for the car keys. We figured we could stop off at Lake Balaton (because it was there) and be in Austria by nightfall on Monday. The idea of going to Slovenia was, in our biased minds, completely unthinkable. To western folk, all the -enias and -akias have bandits in the hills.
The New York Palace is a stunning place. It was built to house the Hungarian offices of the New York Life Insurance Company and was only turned into a hotel a few years ago. There was Mayra, a delightful Spanish lady, who suggested that we have a coffee in the hotel cafe. As we walked in I realised that I knew it already. Back in the Communist days, (when it was nationalised and called the Cafe Hungaria) I used to visit the place every year. It is the most stunning and atmospheric restaurant in a city that is filled with surprises. It was once the epicentre of Budapest’s thriving literary scene. I heard it had closed down about 10 years ago, but the Boscolo Group, which turned the insurance building into a hotel in 2006, had revived it in all its glory.

Around the table there were four journalists: the two of us plus AutoBild Hungary’s Kristof Karlovitz and Christian Hoenicke from Der Tagesspiegel in Berlin. There were two babysitters: Mayra Peromingo and Carlos Quintanilla, who run a small agency in Madrid called Pret & You to arrange such adventures. As we would discover, they do it so well that Ferrari had picked them over all other such companies in Europe. There was Lorenzo Marcinno of Studio Carrer who was along to take photographs and a rather quiet fellow called Gianvito, an Italian-speaking Ferrari test driver, who was going to act as a shepherd, making sure that the two $197,350 Californias did not disappear off to Moscow.
Outside sat the fleet: a gun metal 599 GTB which Gianvito would pilot, with Carlos sitting alongside him as navigator/radio operator. There was a red California and a blue California. Christian immediately claimed the red, believing that all Ferraris should be red and mumbling that he would not be seen in one that was not. David and I do not care. We are English. We believe that less is more. Blue California was good for us. James Bond would have made the same choice. The tail-end Charlie of the convoy was a Fiat Ulysse people mover, laden with luggage and spare wheels. It was driven by Mayra, who quickly emerged as a fearless conductrice and earned the nickname “Fernanda Alonso”. She had Lorenzo to keep her company. We all kept in touch with walkie-talkies, our call signs “599″, “Red California”, “Blue California” and “Ulysse”.
With coffee done and plenty of road ahead we are soon out on the pavement, being given a five minute lesson in how to drive Ferraris and how to convert the convertible. We decided that Blue California would start the day topless. And then we were off through downtown Budapest with Carlos radioing landmarks and telling us to go left or right. The first stop would be a photo opportunity at the celebrated Széchenyi Chain Bridge that spans the Danube between Buda and Pest.

After roaring backwards and forwards across the bridge several times while Lorenzo snapped pictures, we stopped outside the Hungarian Academy of Science for some static shots. And then we hit the start buttons again, listened to the delightful rumbling of the Ferrari V8 and it was off across the chain bridge, into the very grand Buda Castle Tunnel, which cuts beneath the old town of Buda and took us out to the M7 motorway. In the tunnel DT felt the need to gun the engine to hear the roar. It sounded good. The sun was shining and life was good.
We soon began to understand that three Ferraris running together in Hungary constitutes an event. Out in the country districts it was as though the circus had come to town. Wherever we went there was interest. People waved, gave us the thumbs up, took photographs, or simply gawped or giggled. One or two ladies wiggled their hips. Little boys wanted to touch the cars with chocolate-y fingers. Red California was the star of the show, no doubt about it. A red Ferrari attracts more attention than a blue one. Or a grey 599 come to that. If you need attention this is the car to have. It is a babe magnet. We headed initially for the wonderfully unpronounceable town of Székesfehérvári, which sounds like an invitation to an orgy if you say it too quickly and no doubt has led to a few slapped faces over the years.

Leaving Budapest proved to be rather more difficult than we had imagined. The traffic was dreadful as most of population of the city seemed to be on its way to Lake Balaton for the summer holidays, but with the roof of Blue California down we did not really care. After just a few kilometres Gianvito has a major moment avoiding suddenly slowing traffic. That burned some rubber and made hearts beat a little faster, but it was not exactly what we had in mind.
As a non-supercar driver I was impressed by the ease of the whole thing. For some a Ferrari is a beast to be tamed; for others a status symbol. For me it was just an impressive car and it was pretty easy to drive at the sort of speeds that I wanted to drive at, particularly on the automatic setting when one did not even have to think about it. It is the perfect car for the idle rich. DT is more of an automotive lion-tamer than I am and he was soon waxing lyrical about the twin clutches and the incredible lightness of this Italian beauty. The V8 sounded lovely, produced plenty of grunt and with seven gears it whirled along as quickly as we wanted it to. It could do 0-60 in under four seconds and would reach 193mph if you could find a gap in the traffic. The acceleration was flawless and the big old carbon ceramic brakes gave you confidence. After a while we stopped for gas (this happened quite often during the next two days) and feeling very touched by the sun we decided that Blue California should stop showing off and put her top back on again. My son would have loved it. It was like watching a Transformer, with bits going in all directions until suddenly we were sitting in a very different car.
It was getting towards lunchtime when we arrived at Szántód to take the ferry across Lake Balaton to Tihany. The lake is 77 miles long and between four and 14 miles wide. But it is only 30ft deep and so the water is a wildly translucent blue and much warmer than deeper European lakes. And so it is a tourist mecca.

The Mediterranean climate makes the northern shore ideal for growing grapes and the wine business is big. On the ferry it was suggested that we take country roads through the wine country rather than the the lake shore route and so after the Tihany peninsular, which is reminiscent of the French Riviera and is probably rather like it was on the Cote d’Azur in the 1950s, we disappeared into the dusty back roads. It seemed to take forever to make much progress, but at least we were finally able to get a feel of what the California was capable of doing. Lorenzo soon had us doing photoshoots in the narrow lanes.

The design of supercars is a very subjective thing and some do not like the rounded lines of the California, preferring more aggressive angles. I like it and felt that Pininfarina had done a great job with suitable echoes here and there to remind one that this car is from the same stable as the 1957 California 250. DT was becoming more and more poetic on the subject of the paddle shift and the brilliance of the gearbox as we ducked and weaved our way through the back country.

By the time we hit the main road again it was getting late and everyone was hungry and it was time to eat up as much road as possible to get us to the planned stop, a majestic palace called Hertelendy Castle, set in 150 acres of land with everything that a proper gentleman needs for a dirty weekend (apart from women): helicopter transfers back to the real world, golf, dressage horses and a lovely hotel. It was a terrific venue for lunch but, alas, it was all a bit rushed as a result of the back country tour we had innocently undertaken.

As soon as the coffee cups hit the saucers, it was back on the road again. Ljubljana was still a long way away and all thought of winding country roads were forgotten as we hurried to the motorway and turned left to Slovenia. The European Union has in recent years spent vast fortunes to improve the infrastructure of the old Eastern Bloc and it was a pleasure to hurtle down the new A5 and the A1, through what quickly became very beautiful countryside. After the Hungarian plains this was dramatic countryside with barely any cars on the road. Despite the best efforts of Fernanda Alonso we finally left the Ulysse behind and were able to enjoy a sunny late afternoon at high speed. The only dramas being dodging chunks of tyres which had been thrown off by lumbering trucks.

The Ferraris certainly eat road when you need them to, although Gianvito played his role as policeman and made sure that we did not break too many rules. We went from Murska Sobota in the east to Maribor in the valley of the Drava and then through the undulating Posavsko hills to the Sava River and the capital city of Slovenia, Ljubljana.
Set under an old medieval castle this is one of the undiscovered gems of Europe. As soon as we saw the city on our way to dinner that evening we all found ourselves asking the same question: why don’t we know about this place?

Ljubljana has an extraordinary mix of architectural styles, mainly because of major earthquakes in 1511 and 1895 when meant large scale rebuilding. And so the baroque meets art nouveau and it works. It is a spectacular and lively city which we all concluded was worth another visit. The evening was spent at the Valvas’Or restaurant in the old town where the owners were desperate that we try the local wines. A delightful way to end a busy day.

Mayra was keen to make sure that we were not too weary after a busy Grand Prix weekend and a day of heavy driving but we were all buzzing as we headed back to the chic A Hotel, on the southern edge of the city.
Day Two of our adventure was going to involve a lot of miles as well and so there was not much hanging about in the morning. We were soon on our way out of Ljubljana and on the road again.

The entertainment for the morning consisted of a quick blast down the motorway before we took to the back roads again and climbed through the hills to a place called Predjamski Grad, a medieval castle built on the front of a vast cave, halfway up a 123m cliff. This is not the kind of place that is captured overnight, unless you knew the secret way in through the network of caves behind the castle.

The home of a celebrated robber baron – a Slovenian version of Robin Hood – it survived all manner of adventures and was rebuilt several times over the centuries, ending up looking as though it should be used in adventure movies as a sinister headquarters for some Dr Evil or other. Now a museum, it provided a perfect backdrop for Lorenzo to go to work again and as we toured the castle he went off in the local countryside with each of us in turn so that we would all have pictures of us driving the cars.

Once the snapping was done it was time to move on. A stop for lunch was planned in Trieste, Italy, and that meant more motorway down to the border and then through the city to a restaurant overlooking the Habsburg Palace at Miramare. It was immediately obvious once we were in Italy that a Ferrari in the western world has little of the same impact as one in the east. The locals seemed unimpressed. Perhaps they have seen too many of them and have become blasé. Who knows? We did not really care. It felt good to arrive at a place like the Hotel Riviera & Maximilian’s, overlooking the Gulf of Trieste and the castle. Built for Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph of Austria the palace was finished in 1860 but it was largely wasted on its creator as he decided it would be a great idea to go to Mexico and become an emperor. The result of this was that he executed by firing squad in Mexico and his fabulous palace ended up as a summer residence for the rest of the family (several of whom would also be shot) until after World War I when it became a museum.

From there it was onwards in the afternoon to Lake Garda where we paused at water’s edge for a break before turning south to Maranello, arriving in time to reluctantly hand over the keys of the cars and check into the Planet Hotel, opposite the Ferrari factory, and dinner with Santa Claus at the celebrated Montana Restaurant, next to the Fiorano race track.
The following morning we would tour the factory… A process only interrupted by BMW’s sudden decision to quit F1, which sent us all rushing for our computers. After lunch we headed off to Bologna Airport, having enjoyed a magnificent adventure.

Little did we know that the rush to get us off the premises was not about catching our flights, but rather because Michael Schumacher would appear an hour or so later to discuss returning to the F1 cockpit in place of the injured Massa…
Breaking up with the Ferrari California was something of a sad moment. Our relationship was brief but enjoyable. Alas, this girl was out of my league… But that does not stop you dreaming, does it?
Christmas is coming… Time to write to Santa.