The Undercover Tank: Why My 2023 Rental is a 1996 Time Machine (And I’m Not Mad)

In a world obsessed with “Smart Mobility,” we’ve forgotten how to build a Tool. We’ve traded gaskets for gadgets and ground clearance for “Infotainment.” But then you land in a place where the sun wants to melt your skin and the sand wants to swallow your pride, and suddenly, those 14-inch iPads in the dashboard feel very, very fragile. I went to Dubai looking for a rental and I just found a philosophy.

Chapter 1: The Presidential Gamble (Or: How I Cheated on Avis)

Usually, I am a creature of habit. I land at DXB, I head to the Avis counter, we exchange the usual pleasantries, and I drive away in something predictable. But this time, my ego got the better of me.

Back in the day, I reached “President” level status with Hertz. I found the old loyalty cards in my drawer, felt a momentary surge of self-importance, and decided to see if the “President” actually gets a throne or just a slightly cleaner floor mat. I didn’t spend much time on the booking, I just clicked the box that said “SUV” and assumed the Hertz gods would provide something with a bit of “Presidential” gravitas.

Chapter 2: The 9,000km Antique

When they handed me the keys to this silver Toyota Fortuner, I checked the odometer first. 9,000 km. In the rental world, that’s a newborn baby. It still had that “new car smell” mixed with a hint of industrial plastic.

But then I looked at the dashboard, and I felt like I had accidentally stepped into a wormhole and emerged in a 1994 showroom. Aside from a touchscreen that required a physical cable for Android Auto and some electric windows, there was absolutely nothing from the 2020s in here. It was a brand-new car built with the soul of a fossil. And for a fleeting moment, I felt the sting of disappointment. I thought I’d been cheated.

Chapter 3: The Holy Trinity of Knobs (HVAC for Dummies)

Let’s talk about the “Climate Control.” In most modern SUVs, adjusting the temperature involves a 14-inch screen, three sub-menus, and a prayer to the silicon gods. If the software glitches, you sweat.

In this Toyota? You get knobs. Big, chunky, plastic knobs that feel like they belong on a heavy-duty washing machine.

• Want it cold? Turn the knob to the blue part.
• Want it hot? Turn it to the red part.
• Want the fan to blow your hair off? Turn the other knob to ‘High.’

It was simplicity at its finest. No “Dual-Zone Ionizing Air Purification Mode.” Just a mechanical command: Make it cold now. It was the first sign that this car wasn’t built for Instagram influencers, it was built for people who have places to be and don’t want to consult a manual to stop sweating.

Chapter 4: The Stealth Tank in a Business Suit

Then I started driving. And oh my god, the deception began.

If there is such a thing as an “undercover tank,” this is it. The Fortuner is camouflaged as a boring suburban commuter, but underneath that silver paint is a war machine. It is incredibly silent. The engine doesn’t scream; it hums with the confidence of a machine that knows it can’t be broken.

The ground clearance is so high that the concept of a “pavement” becomes purely optional. In Dubai, where the curbs are high and the speed bumps are mountainous, I found myself cutting corners and gliding over obstacles. I realized that in this car, the city is just a series of suggestions, not rules.

Chapter 5: Physics is for People with Low Clearance

Speed bumps. We usually treat them with respect, slowing down to a crawl to save our suspension. In the Fortuner, I discovered a glitch in the Matrix: The faster you hit a speed bump, the less you actually feel it.

It’s as if the suspension only wakes up when it has something real to fight. At 20 km/h, you feel a thud. At 60 km/h, the car just shrugs and keeps moving, as if the road had merely sighed. It’s an intoxicating feeling of invincibility.

Chapter 6: Washboard Roads and Gravel Bliss

I decided to escape the Burj Khalifa shadows and head for the gravel tracks on the outskirts. This is where most modern “Crossovers” start to rattle like a jar of marbles.

The Toyota? Pure bliss. It soaked up the corrugated gravel roads without a single protest. No dashboard rattles, no vibrating rearview mirror, no “ESC” lights flashing in a panic because a pebble hit the tire. It felt like a single, solid block of forged steel. It’s the kind of ride quality that makes you realize how much “tech” is actually just a distraction from bad engineering.

Chapter 7: The Dune Whisperer (No Air Required)

I’ve lived in the Middle East long enough to know the desert ritual: Pull over, find a gauge, deflate the tires to 15 PSI, and hope you don’t pop a bead while you’re playing Lawrence of Arabia.
I’ve seen it all around UAE, from the borders of Saudi Arabia to the white sands of Oman and the deep red dunes, or the mountains around Fujeirah so I just decided to chill in one morning, so on a whim, I took the Fortuner into a patch of dunes I know well. I didn’t even bother to deflate the tires. I just pointed the nose at a ridge and pressed the pedal.

It just goes.

No “Sand Mode” software updates, no “Terrain Response” clicking under the floorboards. Just pure, mechanical torque and a chassis that refuses to flex. It danced over the soft stuff like it was on a paved highway. I was doing nothing, yet the car was doing everything.

Chapter 8: The Silence of the Chassis

The most impressive part isn’t the power; it’s the build. After a week of abuse—city traffic, mall parking, gravel tracks, and sand dunes—the car remained perfectly silent.

Not a bang, not a bing, not a squeak, not a squeal.

When you take a car off-road, you usually hear the “torsion groan”, that sound of the frame twisting under pressure. In this Toyota? Nothing. It’s a “Tank-type” build. It feels like it was designed to be dropped from a cargo plane and driven away upon landing. Not a single interior panel shifted. Not a single clip came loose.

Chapter 9: The Ghost of the Pajero

Driving this reminded me of my beloved Mitsubishi Pajero that I owned back when I lived in the Middle East. It had that same “unbreakable” DNA that sense that the car is on your side, rather than just being a computer you happen to be sitting in.

In a world of cars that feel like disposable iPhones, expensive, fragile, and obsolete the moment the next model comes out, the Fortuner feels like a heirloom. It doesn’t have the lights, the blinking sensors, or the super-tech “Assists” that beep every time a leaf blows past the bumper. It just has competence.

Chapter 10: The Tool for the Job

By the end of my week, I realized I had fallen in love with a car that I initially dismissed as “basic.”

Well done, Toyota. You’ve built a tool that does the job with no fuss. It’s a machine that will likely be running long after the touchscreen-heavy EVs of today have been recycled into soda cans.

I went out for one last run on the dunes, looking at the silver hood against the orange sand, and I could swear the car was smiling back. If you need to go somewhere, anywhere, and you want to be 100% sure you’re coming back, this is the machine.

Conclusion

If the world ends tomorrow, I’m stealing this Hertz rental.
It’ll probably be the only thing still moving in 2050. This is the tool for the job.

About the car:

Toyota Fortuner EXR 2.7l
Fuel: benzin
Power: 164 HP
Model: 2025