Autostadt
Letter From The Editor: Bones, Bugattis, And Mechanical Bulls
August 1, 2005
Like all youngsters captivated by dinosaurs, I was a walking dictionary of
prehistoric saurians. Books and models populated the house: I even implored my
folks to change my middle name from David to Diplodocus. That change was never
effected, and it wasn’t until my attentions were turned from fossils to machines
propelled by fossils that I appreciated the wisdom of their decision. The
dinosaur-to-automobile transition made things easier for everyone.
I soon learned that one of the great pleasures of the hobby was the existence of
museums dedicated to automobiles. Imagine a place where cars replaced skeletons
and mummies and meteorites, and where transportation history and design could be
assimilated, not from the pages of books and magazines, but from real cars in
real space. Ideally, these collections–large and small, public and
private–offered the young car lover a glimpse of some fabulous machines in a way
that made them come alive.
Last month, I had the pleasure of visiting one of the world’s most fabled
automotive museums, the Musée National de l’Automobile de Mulhouse (aka the
Schlumpf Collection) in Mulhouse, France. Housed in a former textile mill and
filled with cars acquired by its former owner, Fritz Schlumpf, the hoard is now
the property of the French government. More than 500 cars, from the brass era to
the 1970s, describe the history of the automobile in a sweeping–and unabashedly
Francophilic–arc. But as amazing as the collection may be, my immediate thoughts
were not of cars but of the inanimate creatures that are displayed in a natural
history museum.
Fritz’s beloved Bugattis and Gordinis and Alfas, stuffed and mounted like so
many taxidermy specimens, are propped up on jack stands in rows, dribbling the
contents of their crankcases into the gravel bed over which they hover. It is an
eerie assemblage, and sadly, one imagines that none will ever turn a wheel
again. Nevertheless, Schlumpf’s is a high watermark among world-class
collections, so a detour to Mulhouse is highly recommended if you find yourself
in the Alsace enjoying the region’s wines, food, and art.
Back in Berlin, I was anxious to make a day trip to Wolfsburg, home of
Volkswagen and its new Autostadt (www.autostadt.de). I suspect the enormous
campus is the brainchild of a management team determined to spend as many euros
as humanly possible on the realization of a public relations dream. They have
created a visitor’s center, theaters, dining establishments, a really good
bookstore, and a museum called ZeitHaus. This huge and beautiful space houses a
myriad of automotive milestones, from the first Benz to the newest Beetle. In
between are racers, Rolls-Royces, and mostly European marques that define the
history of the motorcar. Where were places like this when I was a kid?
Additionally, and all within walking distance, eight Brand Pavilions are located
on the sprawling campus. Each is an architectural wonder dedicated to a brand
within the Volkswagen family, and each offers an experience relevant to its
respective marque. Some are more successful than others, and one sent chills up
my spine.
Inside a four-story black box that is the Lamborghini pavilion, a yellow
Murciélago hangs from a wall in an iron cage. The crowd stands pressed into the
pitch-black space, separated from the car by prison bars, and experiences the
deafening roar of recorded thunder and flashes of simulated lightning. Recorded
sounds capture an angry V-12 engine wailing to redline and speeding into the
distance. As the car is consumed in a cloud of smoke, it twirls on a giant
circular trapdoor and disappears from view–suddenly suspended high in the air on
the exterior of the building for visitors outside to see. The bull has,
apparently, escaped. Children doubtless will be delighted; adults amused.
Lamborghini owners, on the other hand, will dive for cover like shell-shocked
war veterans when the explosions, smoke, and bursts of flame–all prefiguring
catastrophic engine failure–are expelled from the nether regions of the
automobile. A far cry from Schlumpf’s prehistoric quietude, Autostadt (with a
five-star Ritz-Carlton on the grounds) is a must-see for car lovers and their
families.
This issue is the first for Greg Anderson, automotive editor of Robb Report and senior editor of The Robb Report Collection. We were fortunate to meet Mr. Anderson–an experienced automotive journalist previously with Detroit’s Automobile–following his recent migration west toward the Pacific. It’s nice to have an energetic, younger enthusiast among our ranks, whose industry contacts guarantee us–and our readers–a steady flow of information on innovative sports and luxury cars from manufacturers around the world. Welcome, Greg.
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