Captur the moment: driving a Renault in France

As such, my boyfriend and I weren’t surprised when we arrived to collect our rental car in Nice, in France’s beautiful Côte d’Azur, and discovered we’d been awarded a brand new Renault Captur automatic.

Our two overstuffed suitcases wouldn’t fit in the boot (which, like those in most compact SUVs, isn’t massive), so we shoved one in the back seat and, after a perilous journey out of a six-level car park, hit the road.

In appearance our Captur was quintessentially French, its black body beautifully offset by a cappuccino-coloured roof. Inside it was similarly stylish, with a minimalist (although, a little plastic-y) dashboard, leather and velvet seats, plus a leather-bound steering wheel.

While I usually favour all-leather seats, I must say the fabric elements were appreciated in the heat of a European summer. Otherwise things may have gotten a little sticky.

The stats say Renault’s Captur is actually Europe’s best-selling urban crossover – and that’s evident in the sheer number of them you see on the roads.

But, while the Captur looked the part of France’s chic go-to car, it was frustratingly lacking in several things which would have made it better suited to French roads.

One of the Captur’s main oversights was the lack of reversing camera, at least in the entry-level model I drove. A camera certainly would have been handy for the many three-point turns I had to make as a result of getting horrifically lost.

It was also a bit lacking in zip during acceleration, which was particularly terrifying when attempting to merge onto freeways or get into the labyrinthine roundabouts. Combined with some serious rollback on even the slightest slope, the drivetrain had the potential to be fairly unnerving in a crisis.

But by far the most frustrating element of the Captur was its lackadaisical satellite navigation system which, it seemed to us, advised you to turn some 50m after you were meant to. Hysterically, when we first got in, the sat-nav was already set to an Australian woman’s voice – possibly an attempt by Aussie rental car predecessors to make things seem a little less overwhelming.

Although driving in France isn’t nearly as intimidating as driving in Italy, it still has its challenges - as we quickly ascertained during our five-hour trip from Nice to the charming city of Aix-en-Provence.

I’m fairly adept at driving on the wrong side of the road and on the wrong side of the car, but I don’t cope so well with road signs in another language, roundabouts which appear to be sans rules, and rural roads so narrow a gust of cross wind could result in a head-on collision.

In some areas of provincial France, roadworks seem to be constant, and using your turn indicator appears to be only an occasional activity.

While the freeways are great, exits are rare and it feels like missing your turn-off has more catastrophic consequences than it does in Australia. On a day trip to Marseille, we managed to turn what should have been a 20-minute journey home into an hour-and-a-half long slog. Needless to say, the day ended with copious amounts of rosé (once the car was safely parked, of course).

All things considered, for confused foreigners trying to blend in, none of this could be categorized as ‘helpful’.

Despite its flaws, it’s hard to complain about the Renault Captur when you’re speeding along a tree-lined road in Provence, past pumpkin farms, idyllic chateaus and fellow drivers tooling around in some seriously envy-inducing cars. A gun-metal grey Corvette Stingray (possibly the most ‘un-French’ car in the world) created a particularly intense sense of jealousy in my boyfriend.

For me, the main difference I noticed driving in France was that, much like their love of cheese and wine, French people approach driving in moderation.

Road rage doesn’t appear to be as prevalent as it is in Australia, with people showing a little more patience towards lost foreigners than I expected.

But merging, indicating and doing the courtesy wave, seem to be optional pursuits, and their implementation depends on the mood of the individual driver on the day.

This relaxed approach is perhaps best summed up by an anecdote from my time attending a French wedding.

Located off a rural highway somewhere near Aix-en-Provence, the wedding location wasn’t exactly the easiest to get to.

Our lovely French hosts suggested we drive but, being Australians, we politely pointed out we were keen to enjoy a few drinks. “So?” they asked, “Just have a few and drive – there are no police out here.” Bludgeoned by years of Australian advertising campaigns such as ‘you’re a bloody idiot’, we politely refused and said we’d take a cab.

Fast-forward to the end of the night (actually 4am the next morning because French weddings are 12-hour affairs) and the dance floor was littered with ‘fully-hydrated’ Aussies in various states of disarray, struggling to order cabs and spilling out onto the country roads, where hitchhiking became an attractive option.

Meanwhile, the French guests were nowhere to be seen. Turns out their idea of ‘a few drinks’ was precisely that and they’d departed hours ago, in their Renaults and Peugeots, and were safely at home, tucked up in bed.

>> French drivers have an acute sense of spatial awareness. It’s either that, or they’re not as terrified as I am of side-swiping another car on a narrow country road.

>> Parking restrictions are just as limiting in French towns as they are in Australia’s major cities. But car-park parking is more affordable (about five euros for a full day in some cities).

> Almost everyone drives a manual.

>> They drive fast. But not in an aggressive way, rather in an ‘I have somewhere to be so why waste time’ way.

> A couple of glasses of wine is “pas de probleme”. Which, in the country most revered for its wines, assumes you are strong enough to abstain after just a couple.

>> French fuel stations often have a ‘drive-through’ payment scenario whereby you pay an attendant on the way out (curiously removing the temptation of extra purchases like chocolate bars).