Showing posts with label PanAmerican Expedition. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PanAmerican Expedition. Show all posts

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Cuba 300SL Gullwing Galore

Hey, thanks for stopping by. We know you have been hungry for more Cuban Gullwing, and you have patiently waited for two years for more photos. Well, the time has come. Your wait is over.

If you are not familiar with the story, click here. And if you are a native Spanish speaker, try this.
Before we start, take a second to like >>THIS EUROPEAN LIFE<< on Facebook. It's worth it!

Now, there have been rumors, some of them spread on overly reputable platforms, that the car was discovered last December by an automotive photographer in search for cool content for his $65 calendar. This very same photographer contacted us back in January 2014 for advice, and much like the journalists who brought attention to his story, failed to give credit where it's due, even after politely requesting to do so. So, instead of ignoring these people, let's remember them:

The first person who reported the discovery of one of the 300SL's was journalist Jeremy Clarkson, who filmed the 300SL roadster in 1996 while shooting his Motorworld series in Cuba (watch here, minute 23:58). As for the Gullwing, we are not sure. Journalist Michael E. Ware wrote about it in 2008 and provided photos in December, 2009, to the web's undisputed authority on Cuban Cars, Caristas. While talking to the Gullwing's custodian, I was shown Alex Finigan's business card, yet it's not clear whether he found it before Ware or Clarkson. Still, he's kept awfully quiet about it! Then, in November 2012, we thought it would be a great idea to hunt for some rust.

If you wish to read a detailed year-by-year chronology, don't miss this article on Caristas.

Enough with the rant, here are the pictures. These were part of a secret album at the time, but after two years, we are thinking it's time to share them with all gearheads out there. Enjoy!

This was the very first photo I took of the Cuban 300SL's, the way they lied on the owner's yard.

The Gullwing's gas tank had been shoved through the back window. I took it off for the shoot.

Notice how the gullwing door cross-member has snapped clean.

Wait, there's still some original 300SL glass left!

Enough to make a bodyman crazy. Still, worse cars have been restored.

Original ivory wheel, with some of the VDO dials intact.

We wonder where the original 6-cylinder went, but are thankful it hasn't been replaced with a Russian diesel.

Despite the sheet-metal rust, the Gullwing's characteristic space frame seems to be in OK condition.

Steelies are original, and we believe the owner to have sold a few hubcaps.

It's a pity that the stylish fender flares are gone.

Owner has no intention to sell. Don't even ask, it's been said over and over!

Miguel Llorente bravely adventures into a certain chance for a Tetanus shot...

With the original seats missing, it was slightly more uncomfortable than the average Cuban taxi.

A crowning shot for one of my life's most rewarding quests!

8,000 RPM maximum? Not bad!

I do wonder if the 300SL will surpass 63,500 miles in my own lifetime, or just rust away...

Now, on to the Roadster, in significantly better condition.

The car had been driven all the way up until the 1980's. Then, somewhere in the 90's, it was left to rot.

May not be fully appreciated here, but the grille star is fully handmade out of stainless steel!

The interior has been replaced with stainless steel, yet it keeps a lot of its original dash.

Surprisingly enough, one of the doors open and closed perfectly after decades of neglect!

Ashtray and rearview mirror mount. Dials below are aftermarket.

Arguably an upgrade from its original powerplant: a 1950's Corvette engine!

I quickly learned that Cubans make their own windshields. This one was in remarkable shape.

Madr by A. V. CH Jhonny (Name of the car?). Floors rebuilt in 1986.

Well, that finalizes the Gullwing chapter in This European Life. It's been quite a ride since then, full of dramatic accidents, failed job prospects and lots of lost savings. Yet, when I look at this pictures, and remember the courage and determination that kept me pushing through, I know there is still a lot of road ahead, full of more exciting and colorful people, events, failures and successes.

Dear fans: as I struggle in my native Spain, I have a request stronger than any "likes" you may give my Facebook page. On May 5th I will be notified on the selection process for the Green Card Diversity Lottery to make way into full permanent residence in the USA. I sincerely hope I get it, now more than ever. I simply ask you that you pray, or send positive karma into this big Universe of ours, and wish that I get the opportunity to be return to the country that gave the chance to be great.

Thank you and good night!
—Miguel Llorente

Thursday, June 13, 2013

The Great Venezuelan Adventure (III)

The arrival to Caracas started with the monstrous disappointment of the laptop being gone. The morning was pretty much spent with the complaint process, but sure enough, there was nothing that could be done at that point. However, my day was instantly brightened when I was served a big hot welcome plate of cheese fingers at the Dal Bo Hostel.

The place was so unsafe I barely dared to take any picturesque shots. You don't have to attract attention!
The Towers of Silence, named after the stillness following a monstrous plague.
The following week followed a strict schedule to meet the members of the Pur Sang Classic Car Society and other personalities of the vintage automobile world.  Every day that passed held the promise of a rarer, cooler, or more interesting car to be seen. For over a week, the parade of unexpected surprises did not end.

1932 Rolls Royce Phatom, with coachwork in Aluminum.
So this Ferrari appeared out of nowhere. Who in the world would expect?!
A perfectly running, driving Giuletta. Owner won't sell it unless he gets rid of...
...these two Mercedes, a 190SL and a 220S Cabrio. Wait seated.
Despite it being a gorgeous machine, it is far more fun to be inside than to be outside.

And then, it did.

In the last Pur Sang Society dinner I attended, I shook hands with many of the people I had met in the previous days, as a final goodbye, and recalled everyone I had met in Caracas: Master Restorer Nelson De La Rosa –a British car nut–, Alejandro Ganteaume –proud owner of a 220SE Coupe that I helped him diagnose–, Toto Osorio –brave PanAmerican warrior, in a BMW X5 nonetheless!–, Alvin Acevedo –part of a dynasty of world class carmongers-, and Alfredo Bruck –winner of Pebble Beach with one of his restorations–.
The fun, kind members of the Pur Sang Automotive Club, in a dinner in Caracas.
Not surprised by the Ferrari? How about a Maserati?
Look carefully and you will see this is a very masculine, BALLSY engine.
Just like a Disney Film at the English wheel!
Yours truly always likes to help. Here's a picture while I do some radiator work to an XK Jaguar.

On my way back, I stayed with Nestor for a few more days to make business more concrete. Just as I am a 300SL mental case, he is one for Mustangs. One of those days we attended a local car show and a secret car museum belonging to a friend…
All flavors of automobiles at this Mérida get-together!
Loads of fun at the neat workshop of this Italian mechanic
The Flower Child and the Isetta.
Tail pipes of a MGA Roadster. The "I" sticker for "Italy" is a must!
Can you guess why they call this man "Perrote" or "Big Dog"?
Perrote's Secret Museum, for my eyes only.
Despite this great experience and all the shiny metal, the problems of the country really take a toll on the population outside of the capital, and can be felt by the most oblivious of tourists. Basic goods, such as toothpaste, flour, or women’s pads, are becoming scarce and subject to fierce speculation. The new government, led by Maduro, has been shady and questionable from its very election, and has progressively tightened its grip over private capital, driving investors away and not really fomenting a culture of work or self-sufficiency. On my day out of Mérida, I almost got stuck in town due to a massive student protest demanding higher wages for teachers. There is always a tense climate of violence and distrust; in Caracas, crime has gotten out of hand to such extent, anyone you ask will tell you about some friend who was killed, hurt or robbed in some degree. Two of my valuables, my laptop and my DSLR camera, were stolen on this trip in environments that felt –or should be, in theory– perfectly safe. People get car-jacked frequently, and it is not uncommon to ask for armoring packages for your vehicle. This country, which was once as great as the cars that you have seen, is quickly becoming a failed state in a degree worse than Cuba; not because it is not rich in resources, or because its people have no talent or willingness, but because its government is plaguing all aspects of life and work with scarcity, fear, injustice and corruption. I hope one day Venezuelans will be able to assess the problem and take care of it for themselves, only then such beautiful country can be reborn from its own ashes and prosper again.
Loads of garbage plague the streets due to a strike and bad management by the local authorities.
How sad is this supermarket?
Anxiety makes you smoke Cohibas. Yes, I was that relieved!

Monday, June 10, 2013

The Great Venezuelan Adventure (II)

Following San Cristobal, I took a bus to Mérida, and unsurprisingly, twice in that ride I was questioned by the authorities about my motives to visit Venezuela… because, dear reader, I might very well be a foreign spy. However, as soon as I showed my Spanish passport and spoke with the most polished, rigorous Castilian accent ever conceived, the agent’s tone got a whole lot softer. By the end of the conversation, I struck one decisive, final blow with some ornate sentence including the words “Spanish embassy”, to which the agent because quiet all of the sudden, sheepishly returning my passport and not making eye contact. The crowd in the bus welcomed me back with joyful smiles and plenty of jokes, cheering my triumphant re-entry in the vehicle. Unfortunately, not everything had a happy ending: two other passengers did not make it back, as they were lacking their ID’s.

In Mérida I met Néstor, a passionate fanatic of vintage Detroit iron, from his 1939 Ford to his ’66 Mustang, and his very special ’57 Thunderbird resto-driver. We got talking about Mustangs, and agreed to do business in the future. Two days later, he sent me off to see the next car fanatic, Ezio, in the commercial town of Valera.
 
Some people call this Instagram, or "vintage". I call it "having dirt on my lens".
A good tease is always better than revealing the whole thing...
My ride for the week: a 1957 Ford Thunderbird. Gas prices? Not to worry!
Gorgeous fins. Can you guess which car these belongs to?
My friend Néstor at the wheel of his babied 1966 Ford Mustang!
The trip to Valera was a mess from beginning to end. The car was a 1970’s burgundy Chevelle with a leaky carburetor and the highest index of body roll known to man. We drove through rain, fog, gravel, potholes, incipient brooks, and pretty much anything in between. Still, the poor thing made it safely, three hours behind schedule. Ezio helped me find a former luxury hotel for $6 a night, where apparently the entire water piping had collapsed. During my stay in Valera, I helped him and his friends assemble the interior of his über-cool Porsche 356 racer. Eight years of work were paying off, one weekend at a time. In Valera I tasted the typical cuajadas and the best pumpkin arepas ever –courtesy of Ezio’s wife. In Valera I also met Aurelio Ferri, a former racecar driver who, at 82, was still working as a Mercedes mechanic. Aurelio greeted me with a grumpy frown and a spirited hand gesture, and showed me his collection of W116, W124 and W126 Mercedes sitting at his shop, as we chatted on how most problems in a Mercedes end up being small, cheap fixes that make people panic. From Valera, I took a 1990’s Mercury Gran Marquis –with air conditioning, this time!– to Maracaibo, the oil capital of Venezuela, to meet Rafael Mirabal, owner of his own museum.

Not the one I rode to Valera, but you can get the general idea. This one actually wasn't half bad.

Venezuela, being such incredibly unsafe country, has more of an "indoor" car scene.
Living history, then and now. Such bad-ass!
An afernoon's worth of work, and its due reward: the car has seats now!

Following instructions over the phone, the taxi driver got me from the terminal to the empty driveway of a heavily walled home. I peeked through the fence and I saw a dusty Cadillac, so I was certainly in the right place. A few minutes later, I saw a Ford Model A in the distance, approaching quickly. Undoubtedly, it was Rafael; a man so cunning and eccentric he had legally declared his own house / restoration shop as a “transportation museum” to make neighbors shut up about the old cars in the property. We struck conversation quickly, and almost instantly we became friends. In his daily driver, the 1929 Model A, we drove to a fancy hotel by the lakeshore in the town’s most exclusive area. My wallet began to shake in fear, but as soon as I inquired at the reception desk, I found the rate for a single room at the five-star resort translated to something like twenty-four dollars. In disbelief, I carded into my room and I found what seemed to be a $150-per-night room. Something was not right. Even the croissant-and-heavy-silverware breakfast buffet seemed way too over the top... what was going on? In addition to the black-market rates for Venezuelan Bolivares to US Dollars (25 to $1, as opposed to the official rate of 6 to $1), I later found out the hotel had been seized by the government. The elevators did not work, the casino had a closing notice for illegal gambling and the carpets were heavily stained, but other than that I could not care less! I ordered a $3 meal via room service and felt like a million bucks about it… until I got food poisoning. Live fast, die young!

Just daily driving the Ford Model A... no flinching while passing cars!
Even mechanics need a playground to keep away from the wrench!
In this historical moment, Rafael was gifted a BLOCK OF WOOD!
Too darn tall for it, but an ear-to-ear grin!
In the good company of Rafael and his son, we all had a blast. We rode the Model A everywhere in Maracaibo, from the infamous “invasiones” (invaded land) to a friend’s Mustang/Camaro workshop. We had tons of pizza, and tons of fun, watching tons of very special cars and motorcycles. On the last day, we drove to the private coach terminal and we waved each other goodbye. And for some strange reason, I shared this bus with a formerly famous Venezuelan singer who was then in his late 70’s. “I was on the same stage with Carlos Gardel at one point… he rode limousines, and here I am riding the bus to Caracas”, he complained. In the meanwhile, somewhere in the shadows, under the surveillance of a broken security camera and very well aware of it, someone was stealing my notebook computer.

My computer is being stolen somewhere while I take this photo. GRRRRR!!!