Nissan X-Trail: A Voyage to Timisoara in a White Fridge

The start of my journey was marked by the sort of bureaucratic comedy that usually involves all kind of local council. I arrived at the Avis desk in Budapest airport, a reservation for a “SUV” clutched in my sweaty hand, ready to thunder across the border into Romania.

The man behind the counter smiled the smile of a shark that has just spotted a wounded seal. “Good news!” he proclaimed. “We have a car for you. It is a Ford Focus.”

I stared at him. I looked at my reservation. I looked back at him. “In which universe,” I asked, trying to keep my voice level, “is a Ford Focus an SUV? Does it have a lift kit? Has it been taking steroids?”

He typed furiously, perhaps searching for the definition of ‘Sport Utility Vehicle’, and eventually, with a sigh of defeat, handed me a different key. It was for a Nissan X-Trail. A big, white, slab-sided lump of Japanese engineering. It looked like a washing machine that had grown wheels.

My mission? To drive from Budapest to Timisoara, do some business, and race back to catch a plane that had absolutely no intention of waiting for me.

Chapter 1: The Surprise

Now, usually, stepping into a Nissan X-Trail is about as exciting as trying on a new pair of beige socks. It is a car for people who have given up on life and just want to transport a Golden Retriever to a vet.

But, and I hate to admit this, as I pulled out of the airport, I realized something annoying. It’s actually surprisingly well done.

Everything feels screwed together properly. The doors shut with a reassuring thud rather than the tinny clang of a dropped saucepan. It feels solid. Substantial. It feels like the engineers were actually awake when they built it, rather than dreaming about their lunch.

Chapter 2: The Magic Carpet (On Surprisingly Good Roads)

I turned the nose Southeast towards Romania, bracing myself for the roads. I had packed a spare spine and some painkillers, expecting the tarmac in Eastern Europe to resemble the surface of the moon after a heavy meteor shower.

But I was wrong again. The roads to Timisoara were spectacular. Smooth, sweeping ribbons of perfection without a pothole in sight. It was smoother than the M1, which, to be fair, is currently smoother than a cheese grater, but you get my point.

And on this glass-smooth tarmac, the X-Trail was magnificent. It is remarkably quiet. There is no wind noise. There is no tire roar. You just waft along in a cocoon of silence, separated from the world by several tons of steel and glass. It is genuinely comfortable, soaking up the miles with the grace of a much more expensive car. It felt less like a Nissan and more like a Budget Rolls-Royce.

Chapter 3: The Cave of Solitude

However, as the sun dipped below the horizon near the Romanian border, I noticed a problem.

In a modern car, when it gets dark, the interior usually lights up like a Bangkok nightclub. You get purple strips on the doors, glowing nebula’s in the foot wells, and soft mood lighting that makes you feel like you’re in a spa.

The X-Trail has none of this. It is pitch black.

It seems Nissan spent all the money on the soundproofing and forgot to buy any light bulbs. It is strictly utilitarian. “You want to see the door handle?” the car asks. “Tough. Feel around for it like a blind man.” It has no fancy stuff in it whatsoever. It is a car from a time before we needed our dashboards to look like a gaming PC.

Chapter 4: The Screen From Hell

And then we come to the pièce de résistance of failure: The Touchscreen.

Oh my god. In an age where my phone reacts before I’ve even touched it, the screen in the X-Trail appears to be powered by a very sleepy hamster.

It lags. You press a button to change the radio station, and the car pauses. It thinks. It contemplates the meaning of the universe. It considers the geopolitical situation in the Balkans. And then, five seconds later, it changes the channel.

The touch sensitivity is wired, or rather, totally lacking. sometimes you have to stroke it like a pet cat, other times you have to stab it with your index finger like you’re trying to murder a wasp. It is infuriating. It is the only part of the car that makes you want to drive it into a tree.

Chapter 5: The Niggles (What The Reviews Say)

Now, I am told by the motoring pres, men with beards and clipboards, that this car has faults. And because I am a professional, I must check these reviews.

They say the hybrid engine, the “e-Power” system, is thirsty on the highway. And they are right. At 130 km/h, the petrol engine wakes up and starts drinking fuel like a sailor on shore leave. They also say that when you put your foot down to overtake a truck, the engine makes a droning noise that sounds like a depressed cow. It disconnects the noise from the speed. You get a lot of noise, and then, eventually, a little bit of speed.

But honestly? On the smooth run back to Budapest, racing the clock, I didn’t care.

Conclusion

I arrived back at the airport, threw the keys at the Avis man (who was probably still trying to rent a Fiesta as a limousine), and looked back at the big white beast.

It has a screen from the Stone Age. It has the interior ambiance of a coal mine. It drinks a bit too much petrol when you’re in a hurry.

But it is honest. It is quiet. It is incredibly comfortable. It got me to Timisoara and back without breaking my back or my spirit. It is a car that doesn’t try to be cool, and in a world of desperate show-offs, that makes it surprisingly brilliant.

Just don’t try to use the radio. You’ll miss your flight.

Nissan X-Trail 1.5-litre VC-Turbo
Fuel: 150 hp hybrid
Power:  bi-fuel (petrol/LPG) engine
Model: 2025