Sun, Sand and, er... Steel Wheels? - Almost a Week in Spain with a Renault Clio 1.5 dCi

Back in October, I got my first taste of continental driving on a short holiday in Spain. Having contacted our rental company in the run up to the trip, we’d been told by email to expect a Nissan Micra or similar – that last part being the roll of the dice in the lucrative “Class C” market at Tony’s rent-a-car. We’re not talking Mercedes here.

On arrival at Malaga airport, we were met by two representatives of Tony’s (one of whom could have filled out the handover form in his sleep if he’d had to) and, speedy paperwork behind us, we were led outside with our bags to a bustling bank of rental pick-up-and-drop-off activity. Here we were introduced to our car for the week. A car, which, in the bleary, dank darkness looked almost Micra-shaped, but was not itself a Micra.

Hey, that cloud looks like a Clio... kind of... if you squint maybe?

Our companion for the week was to be a Renault Clio 1.5 dci in rental-spec blanco, resplendent astride uncovered steel wheels and wearing a few battle scars from previous escapades at the hands of holidaymakers. Far from being downtrodden after a day’s travel I was delighted and practically ripped the odd little key card that Renault persist with for some reason from the poor rental rep’s hand.

Despite its small proportions the Clio easily swallowed our suitcase with room to spare – the real test for its luggage capacity would come later after we discovered the price of wine at Spanish supermarkets and went a bit overboard.

All the essential boxes were ticked as we left the airport: Bluetooth stereo and air-con were included, the latter absolutely vital on a sticky, rainy October night - the rain in Spain falls mainly on the motorway from Malaga airport to the foothills between Monda and Guaro as it turns out, and demisting was required for the whole of the run.

Welcoming, clear dials helped minimise the post-flight stress

Apart from one particularly understeer-ey moment on a very slick and narrow piece of Spanish back road, the Clio proved itself largely unflappable despite the less-than-favourable conditions. In such rain, the last stretch of our journey from Guaro town to our accommodation could have seriously troubled many much larger cars, the rain having turned dusty, rutted farm tracks into a constantly shifting sludge, quicksand with unknown drops on either side which clung to the edge of a thick fog wrapped in olive branches.

But still the Clio soldiered on, and having made it to our casita in the countryside, we went to bed confident it would take anything Spain could throw at it.

The next day brought the not-inconsiderable challenge of a supply run to town. Happily, the rain had stopped and the track back to tarmacked roads had settled. Driving back along the dusty stretch that the night before had appeared to have been constructed along a narrow ridge between two gaping bottomless pits, but in daylight it could easlily have been lifted and miniaturized from a stage on the Australian rally. I was even more impressed at the feat the Clio had managed the night before, and less-than reassured that many of the drops that had loomed out of the fog the previous night turned out to be precisely as perilous as feared.

Back on tarmac the Clio got into its stride, never breaking a sweat despite the 30-degree heat, not acting in a particularly fizzy manner but giving the impression that it would be dependable, in the same way the chair where you keep clothes you’ve worn once but which aren’t dirty yet is dependable. Mash your foot to the floor and the 89bhp, 162 lb-ft 1.5 dCi engine makes a bit more noise but not a lot more speed, though it’s torquey enough not to be troubled by hills or the odd overtake if required. The ruts and sudden drops along our little track made me glad Renault had opted for comfort over sportiness in the Clio, though its responsiveness still managed to get me grinning on the winding minor roads between towns.

 

The short hop to Coin provided an opportunity to get more acquainted with the little Renault. Most of the surfaces you touch on the interior – steering wheel, door handles, indicator stalks – feel fairly sturdy, and the main controls have a nice weighting to them.

My main gripe inside the car was the gear lever, which is a gawky, shoogly thing that feels out of character with the rest of the car. Some of the shoogliness may have been down to previous patrons of Tony’s being less-than-gentle with their gear changes, but it doesn’t stop the chrome-adorned handle looking near-enough identical to the lever in my mum’s 2003 Peugeot 206. 

I was a fan of the Clio's interior, and its impressive array of equipment, even in basic trim
(Also - note the offending gear knob. I may be overreacting.)

The dials and digital display are clear and bright and offer the driver a useful amount of information (unfortunately all in Spanish in our car, which took some getting used to), and they helped make things a lot easier after disembarking from an unfamiliar airport to drive on the other side of the road in the middle of a rainstorm after very little sleep. Combined with most of the cabin finish and the well-judged controls for the stereo and heating, the Clio goes a long way to shrug off historic ideas of rudimentary French hatches, which rattled and groaned and in my experience often leaked in their cabins; even this most basic model has been bestowed an air of quality. But the gearstick always irked me.

Ok, maybe I am being a bit harsh with the gearstick. In the short week I had with the little car it barely missed a beat, and proved that the toys and trinkets that at one point only adorned luxury German limousines are taking what feels like less and less time to dribble through to even the most basic of French hatchbacks.

On that first trip to Coin and back, it made light of the sun-crispened Spanish tarmac, the suspension dealing very well with constantly shifting and baffling cambers and short overhangs, and the super light steering made the narrow, tightly-packed towns a doddle to navigate.

The Clio had a very accommodating boot, which was lucky...

Even with a boot loaded with all we could possible need for the week (and more than a few bottles of €2 wine over and above that), it made easy work of the farm tracks. It wasn’t even flapped by an unplanned detour first up and then back down one of the steepest slopes I’ve ever come across, engine and brakes never breaking a sweat on an incline that Spiderman would likely have employed his hands to scale. Honestly, it felt as at home on the streets of super-chic Marbella as it did skipping across dusty farmland.

I’m not sure I agree fully with the concept of LED-running lights teamed with bare steelys, but on almost every other point I find it difficult to fault the little Renault. It proved itself as capable as cars twice or even three times its size and price, all with a bleary-eyed beardy Scotsman at the wheel, sitting for the first time on the opposite side of the car.

Would I buy one with my own money? As an economical runabout it did well, and barely any of our holiday Euros went into topping up the tank with diesel (and I promise I dropped it off with as much fuel as I'd picked it up with! 

In honesty, I'd probably be more tempted by a Fiesta in this class to live with everyday, but I'd still be dead chuffed to be handed the key card to a Clio again next time I put my fate in the hands of the airport rental desk.