For the arrival of the new Vantage S in Singapore, Aston Martin Singapore decided that a conventional launch would not quite do. Instead, a distinguished assemblage of guests were invited to spend an entire weekend immersed in the world surrounding the car, including an overnight stay at The Ritz-Carlton, Millenia Singapore accompanied by curated experiences from ELEMIS and Glenfiddich.

If the Vantage S represents a more focused interpretation of Aston Martin’s sports car, then perhaps the best way to understand it is through an equally considered experience.

The letter ‘S’ has always carried extra significance throughout Aston Martin’s history. In the case of the new Vantage S, it signifies the sharper end of the current Vantage range.

Out on Singapore’s roads, the Vantage S does not need long to remind you that there is still something wonderfully theatrical about a front-engined, rear-wheel-drive sports car. Singapore is not exactly overflowing with Alpine passes, and exploring the upper reaches of 680PS on public roads would be both irresponsible and a rather efficient way of attracting unwanted attention.

Aston Martins have always occupied an interesting corner of the sports car world. They are expected to be fast, but outright aggression has rarely been enough. There must also be elegance, occasion and enough comfort that reaching your destination does not feel like punishment for enjoying the journey, which made what happened after the drive more relevant.

Park the Vantage S and the weekend changed gears dramatically. Out went turbochargers and tyre temperatures. In came skincare.

ELEMIS was one of the partners for the Experience Vantage S weekend, giving guests a closer look at the British skincare brand and its approach to personal care.

On paper, placing high-performance skincare beside a sports car sounds like something dreamed up during an especially adventurous marketing meeting. Spend some time with both, however, and the connection becomes clearer: it is about refinement through detail.

Both concern themselves with materials, conditions and getting small details right. Different engineering departments, admittedly, but this same philosophy was also part of our previous Aston Martin experience, where ELEMIS featured alongside a deeper exploration of Aston Martin’s design process.

If ELEMIS represented precision and personal care, an intimate whisky tasting offered a different lesson in craftsmanship.

Whisky is one of those things that becomes considerably more interesting once someone knowledgeable starts explaining what you are actually tasting.

Suddenly, what was simply a glass of whisky becomes a discussion about ingredients, maturation, time and the decisions responsible for the final character. One session later, and everyone leaves with the minute knowledge of being a connoisseur.

Likewise, nobody looks at an Aston Martin and thinks about the millimetres shaved from a surface during development, the countless suspension calibrations or the debate over exactly how heavy an accelerator pedal ought to feel. You simply experience the finished product, and revel in it.

Good craftsmanship often works that way. The enormous amount of effort underneath should disappear once everything comes together. The driver shouldn’t be thinking about damper calibration while threading through a corner, just as someone enjoying a whisky shouldn’t need to picture the years it spent sitting quietly in a cask.

The work has already been done. Your job is simply to enjoy it.

And that is quintessentially the essence of the Aston Martin Experience.

An Aston has never really sold itself solely through numbers. There will always be another machine capable of accelerating harder, producing more downforce or setting a quicker lap time.

Instead, much of Aston Martin’s appeal exists in the space surrounding those figures: how the car looks when you approach it, how the cabin feels beneath your fingertips, the noise it makes when you start it and, perhaps most importantly, how it makes an otherwise ordinary journey feel rather less ordinary.

Individually, these are disparate experiences. Together, they paint a coherent picture of what Aston Martin wants ownership to represent. And apparently, sometimes it means skincare and a dram of whisky.

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Growing up in the automotive trade gives most people one of two things: an obsession or complete indifference. Which did it give you?
Definitely the obsession, and I would not have it any other way. From an early age, you are surrounded by people who care deeply, not just about cars, but about getting them right. That shapes how you think. You start asking questions, forming opinions, developing a feel for what makes a car truly great rather than just impressive. I have come to appreciate that real performance is about control and precision as much as outright speed, that the cars which hold your attention are never just the loudest in the room. They are the ones where you can feel the thinking behind every decision. You start to understand what a badge has to earn. And once you start seeing cars that way, that curiosity never leaves you. That is the obsession.

Raised with a father at the helm of one of Singapore’s most significant automotive businesses, McLaren included, you would have had a front-row seat to this world from a young age. Is there a memory from those early days with the brand that has stayed with you?
I remember when Eurokars launched the 675LT. It was our first significant McLaren launch as the new distributor, and there was a real sense of occasion around it. What stayed with me was how my father approached it. He was not interested in what it looked like on paper; he wanted to understand what it was trying to be. He talked a lot about the difference between cars built around a performance figure and cars built around an idea. The 675LT was clearly the second kind. That distinction has stayed with me, and I apply it every time I think about what McLaren is doing and why.

Was there a specific moment, a particular drive or car, that defined what you look for in a performance car?
The cars that stayed with me were always the ones that responded without hesitation, not just with acceleration but through every input. The steering, the brakes, the way the car shifts its weight. Everything feels connected, as if the car and driver operate as one. That completeness, I came to realise, is what separates a car that truly performs from one that merely feels fast. Once you have experienced it, it becomes a standard you cannot ignore. With McLaren, that quality is part of the DNA, consistent across every model, and it traces directly back to where the brand was born.

Singapore doesn’t reward horsepower in the conventional sense. How does a car like the Artura justify itself on local roads?
It is a question I thought about seriously before choosing it. The Artura is built around a carbon fibre monocoque, which is exceptionally light, and that lightness expresses itself at every speed, not just high speed. It also gives the chassis a rigidity that sharpens handling and a structural integrity you feel from the moment you start driving. The steering has real weight and feel. The car responds to small inputs precisely and immediately.

All of that is available to you at 60 or 80 kilometres per hour, which is where you spend most of your time here. Most performance cars only reveal their character at speeds you cannot legally use. The Artura gives it to you in traffic, and the hybrid system is a large part of why. The electric motor delivers torque instantly, before the engine has even had a moment to think about it, so the power is simply there the moment you ask. That is what gives the car its point-and-shoot quality. It is not about how much power there is. It is about how immediately it arrives. And that is something you can use every single day, on any road, at any speed.

The Artura is McLaren’s first series-production hybrid. As someone who values that sense of immediacy you just described, was a hybrid powertrain something you had to be convinced by, or did it make sense to you immediately?
I had to experience it before I fully appreciated what McLaren had done. My first instinct was to question it. McLaren had done hybrid before with the P1, but that was a hypercar that very few people would ever drive. The Artura is the first time that technology has been made accessible in a series-production car, and that is a significant shift. In practice, it sharpens everything.

“Hit the throttle and the electric motor is there instantly, no hesitation, no lag, building into something extraordinary at the top end.”

The power comes in stronger, and the engine note builds with it, more characterful through the rev range, with a drivability that feels immediate in a way that is uniquely its own. Hit the throttle and the electric motor is there instantly, no hesitation, no lag, building into something extraordinary at the top end. Yet you can ease out of your driveway on electric power alone, without waking the neighbours. And for all that technology, the car remains every bit as light as you would expect a McLaren to be. Offered the car with or without it, I would choose hybrid without hesitation. It is not a compromise. It is a performance enhancer.

McLaren owners often use the word ‘pure’ when they describe the driving experience. That word gets used a lot. What does it mean when you are behind the wheel of the Artura?
What people mean when they say that is that nothing feels superfluous. There is no layer of software trying to interpret what you want and deliver something slightly different. When you turn the wheel, the car turns. Because the steering is electro-hydraulic, what comes back through your hands is a genuine conversation with the road. When you ask for power, you get it cleanly. With the Artura, you get it immediately, and that is where the hybrid system earns its place.

That responsiveness is what purity actually means in practice. It is the absence of delay, of filtering, of anything sitting between you and what the car is doing. The F1-inspired carbon architecture makes this possible. It is rigid where it needs to be, and light where it counts, and the mid-engine balance does exactly what it should, keeping weight central and the car composed around you. Every element is working toward the same outcome, and you feel that coherence when you drive it. It is not a collection of impressive components. It functions as one thing, and because it does, it is far easier to use every day than you might expect.

What took the most adjustment when you first started living with the Artura day to day?
The ingress, honestly, though I say that with affection. The carbon tub sits very low, and the dihedral doors open upward rather than out, so you quickly learn a particular way of getting in and out. It feels deliberate, considered, very much part of what the car is. And people tend to misjudge those doors. The assumption is that they are theatrical, but in a tight carpark they are actually easier to manage than a conventional door. Beyond that, the Artura surprised me with how liveable it is. The visibility is better than you expect, the ride is composed, and the cabin is well considered. It does not ask much of you unless you ask something of it first. That balance is what makes it a car you can actually live with.

So, what does the McLaren life actually look like for you here in Singapore?
More than I expected, honestly. Locally, there are track days where you finally get to understand what the car is truly capable of, and road trips across the Causeway with a small group chasing proper driving roads.

“McLaren’s experiences programme takes you to some of the world’s greatest circuits, F1 hospitality at Monaco, even the Arctic. Places and moments that go far beyond simply owning a car.”

But ownership also opens doors globally. McLaren’s experiences programme takes you to some of the world’s greatest circuits, F1 hospitality at Monaco, even the Arctic. Places and moments that go far beyond simply owning a car. And through it all, what strikes you is how intimate the community is. A small group of genuine petrolheads who care deeply about what they drive. Late dinners that go on far longer than planned, friendships that form around a shared obsession. At some point, you realise the car was really just the beginning. In many ways, a McLaren gives you more than a car. What comes with it stays with you far longer.

Looking ahead beyond the Artura, are you thinking about moving further up the McLaren range, or is this where you want to be?
The Artura sits in a very satisfying place for me right now. It genuinely functions as both a daily car and a performance car without compromising either, and that is a harder balance to strike than most people realise. As a supercar you can actually live with every day, it is close to perfect. But if I am being honest, the 750S is never far from my mind. Where the Artura is precise and composed, the 750S turns everything up. It is more track-focused in its character, and the level of driver engagement at the limit is something else entirely. It is McLaren at its most unfiltered, and that is compelling.

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There are faster ways to drive a Ferrari. There are more efficient ways too. But they aren’t as fun as a true manual gearbox.

Modern dual-clutch transmissions can swap ratios in milliseconds, never miss a gear and, if we’re being brutally honest, will almost always make the average driver look like a hero. 

They’re the reason today’s Ferraris accelerate with the sort of violence that would have seemed absurd just twenty years ago.

And yet, ask almost any Ferrari enthusiast to name their dream Prancing Horse, and chances are it won’t be one with paddle shifters. It’ll have three pedals.

With Ferrari recently unveiling the 12Cilindri Manuale, complete with its innovative Manuale by-wire system, the company has done something few thought possible: it has reopened the conversation about manual Ferraris.

Not by turning back the clock, but by reminding us why changing gears yourself has always been about far more than outright speed. Because a manual Ferrari offers an entirely different relationship between driver and machine.

Before Paddle Shifters Changed Everything

It’s easy to forget that, until the late 1990s, every Ferrari was manual.

The polished aluminium gate wasn’t designed as a styling exercise. It existed because that’s how you changed gear. The metallic *click-clack* that enthusiasts now romanticise was simply part of every journey.

Then Formula One innovations took over.

Ferrari began introducing electro-hydraulic paddle-shift gearboxes, first with the F355 F1 in 1997. At the time, it felt revolutionary. Suddenly, gear changes became quicker, more precise and undeniably more exciting.

By the time the dual-clutch transmission arrived with the California in 2008, the manual gearbox was living on borrowed time.

In 2012, Ferrari quietly closed the chapter, with the final manual Ferrari rolling out of Maranello. Or so we thought.

Why Manual Ferraris Became Legends

Interestingly, many of Ferrari’s most valuable classics weren’t designed to become collector’s items. They simply happened to be the last of their kind.

As the industry embraced automation, the traditional gated manual became increasingly rare. Scarcity drove values skywards, but rarity alone doesn’t explain the obsession; the real magic lies elsewhere.

Driving a manual Ferrari demands participation. You don’t simply point the car towards the horizon and bury the throttle. You listen. You anticipate. You balance the clutch, match the revs and choose exactly when to change gear.

Every successful shift feels earned. Miss one? The car lets you know. It is wonderfully, unapologetically human.

Five Ferraris That Defined The Manual Era

Ferrari 250 GTO (1962)

If there is a Mount Rushmore of Ferrari road cars, the 250 GTO undoubtedly belongs on it.

Built for homologation and competition, the GTO combined a glorious 3.0-litre Colombo V12 with a wonderfully mechanical five-speed manual gearbox. There were no electronic safety nets, no adaptive suspension and certainly no driving modes.

Just a steering wheel, three pedals and one of the greatest engines ever created.

Today, the 250 GTO is remembered not only for its racing pedigree but also for representing the purest expression of analogue Ferrari engineering.

Ferrari 365 GTB/4 “Daytona” (1968)

Long before the Testarossa became the poster child of Ferrari’s V12 grand tourers, there was the Daytona.

Its front-mounted 4.4-litre V12 produced 352bhp, enough to make it one of the fastest production cars of its era.

And it wasn’t merely the performance that made the Daytona memorable. It was the way you had to work for it.

The dog-leg five-speed manual gearbox rewarded deliberate, confident shifts. Combined with its long bonnet and sonorous V12, it remains one of the defining Ferrari grand tourers ever built.

Interestingly, the newly unveiled 12Cilindri Manuale even pays tribute to the Daytona through subtle styling references, including pinstripe detailing inspired by the original 365 GTB/4. 

Ferrari F40 (1987)

If any Ferrari embodies the phrase “driver’s car”, it is surely the F40.

Twin-turbocharged.
No power steering.
No ABS.
No traction control.

And, thankfully, no automatic gearbox.

The heavy clutch and uncompromising five-speed manual demanded commitment. At low speeds, it could feel almost agricultural. Once the turbos came alive, however, the entire experience transformed into controlled chaos.

Would it be faster with a modern dual-clutch gearbox? Undoubtedly.
Would it be better? Absolutely not.

Ferrari F50 (1995)

Where the F40 felt like a racing car adapted for the road, the F50 barely bothered with the adaptation.

Its naturally aspirated 4.7-litre V12 was derived directly from Ferrari’s Formula One programme, screaming to over 8,000rpm. Crucially, it was paired exclusively with a six-speed gated manual.

No paddle shifts. No shortcuts. Just one of the greatest powertrains Ferrari has ever assembled.

It may very well kill you, but even today, many collectors regard the F50 as the final truly analogue Ferrari hypercar.

Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano Manual (2006)

This is perhaps the most fascinating Ferrari on the list.

By 2006, almost every buyer wanted the F1 paddle-shift transmission. Manuals had become deeply unfashionable.

Ferrari nevertheless continued offering one. Only around 30 manual-equipped 599 GTBs are believed to have been built worldwide, instantly making them among the rarest modern Ferraris ever produced.

Ironically, the gearbox that buyers once ignored has now become the very reason collectors are willing to pay extraordinary premiums.

Sometimes history has an amusing sense of humour.

The Last Of The Breed

The Ferrari California is often remembered as the company’s first dual-clutch model. What many forget is that it was also briefly available with a manual gearbox.

Hardly anyone bought it. Production numbers are believed to be in the single digits. Shame.

Similarly, the 599, 612 Scaglietti and 575M all offered manuals during a period when customers overwhelmingly preferred paddle shifters.

At the time, Ferrari’s decision to discontinue manual gearboxes felt inevitable. Demand had simply disappeared.

The 12Cilindri Manuale Brings Back Faith

Which brings us back to today.

The Ferrari 12Cilindri Manuale is acknowledging something enthusiasts have understood all along: that driving enjoyment cannot always be measured in tenths of a second.

Ferrari’s new Manuale by-wire system is an intriguing compromise. It retains the speed and precision of the company’s eight-speed dual-clutch transmission while recreating the physical interaction of a traditional manual through a gear lever and clutch pedal.

It’s not nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake, but technology being used to preserve an experience that many feared had disappeared forever. 

Will purists argue that nothing can replace a truly mechanical gearbox? Almost certainly. They’re probably right. But perhaps they can’t see the forest for the trees.

The real victory isn’t that Ferrari has built another manual. It’s that the company still believes the act of changing gear yourself is worth celebrating.

The fact that they even bothered to go to the extremes to engineer a slush box that is compatible with their DCT system deserves its own credit.

Sometimes, the greatest luxury isn’t having the car do everything for you. It’s being allowed to do it yourself.

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For Lamborghini, “63” has gradually become more than just a founding date.

It has evolved into a recurring signature woven into the company’s products, motorsport programmes and identity.

This year, Automobili Lamborghini celebrates its 63rd anniversary, marking more than six decades since Ferruccio Lamborghini officially founded the company in Sant’Agata Bolognese on 7 May 1963.

Lamborghini will commemorate the occasion at Lamborghini Arena across the weekend of 9 and 10 May at the Imola circuit, bringing together owners, enthusiasts, dealers and guests from around the world.

It all began in 1963, when Ferruccio Lamborghini decided to build something that did not yet exist.

It was a philosophy rooted not simply in competition, but in rebellion, the desire to create cars capable of challenging the establishment without following its conventions.

That spirit still defines Lamborghini today.

The timeline itself remains remarkable. Just months after the company’s formation, Lamborghini fired up its first 3.5-litre V12 engine on 2 October 1963.

By the end of the same month, the Lamborghini 350 GTV prototype had already made its public debut at the Turin Motor Show, introducing the world to a completely new Italian performance marque.

More than six decades later, the V12 remains central to Lamborghini’s identity, even as the company transitions towards hybridisation and electrification.

“1963 marks the beginning of a vision that continues to guide us,” said Stephan Winkelmann, Chairman and CEO of Automobili Lamborghini.

“Today, 63 is much more than a number: it is a symbol that expresses our essence. Celebrating it means continuing to evolve while remaining faithful to our roots.”

Over the years, the number has repeatedly appeared across Lamborghini’s most significant projects.

The Sián FKP 37, Lamborghini’s first hybrid production model, was limited to 63 units. The Aventador SVJ 63 and SVJ 63 Roadster adopted the designation as a mark of exclusivity, while the SC63 LMDh prototype carried the number into endurance motorsport competition.

From the Ducati Diavel 1260 Lamborghini to the Panigale V4 Lamborghini Speciale Clienti, the “63” branding has become a subtle thread connecting Italian performance brands built around passion and engineering theatre.

Supercars are never purely rational purchases. They are emotional objects. They represent aspiration, identity and theatre as much as engineering performance.

Lamborghini has spent 63 years refining that formula without diluting the aggression and personality that made the brand famous in the first place.

Today, the company exists in a vastly different automotive landscape compared to 1963.

Electrification, software integration and sustainability targets are rapidly reshaping the industry.

As the brand gathers at Imola this weekend, the anniversary feels less like a retrospective and more like a continuation of a story still being written.

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The steering would fight back. The gearbox would require negotiation. The suspension would bounce you around like a cocktail shaker in a nightclub. And if, at the end of it all, you arrived slightly sore and faintly annoyed, you’d nod approvingly and say, “Yes… that’s a proper 4×4.”

Because hardship, you see, was authenticity. Then along comes the MY26 Land Rover Defender and quietly ruins all of that nonsense.

I found myself in southern Taiwan, courtesy of Jaguar Land Rover, ostensibly to drive the updated Defender. This wasn’t just a press drive in the usual sense. No, this was one of those carefully orchestrated affairs where you are made to feel like you are part of something bigger.

On one side, we had the usual drive programme. On the other, the Defender Trophy Asia Pacific Qualification, a series of challenges designed to test resilience, teamwork, and the sort of composure usually reserved for surgeons and bomb disposal experts.

And somewhere in between, the Defender itself. Not as a car, but as a… facilitator.

Which is a deeply irritating word, because it usually suggests PowerPoint slides and middle management. But in this case, it’s entirely accurate.

Because what the new Defender represents is access. Now, “access” is not a word you’d typically associate with a vehicle that looks like it could climb Everest while carrying a fridge. But that’s precisely the point.

The old Defender made you earn your adventure. The new one simply… gives it to you. And that’s either brilliant, or deeply offensive, depending on how nostalgic you are.

Then there is the Defender Trophy Edition.

Finished in something called Deep Sandglow Yellow, which sounds like a designer candle but looks like a highlighter pen, it has all the subtlety of a flare gun in a dark room. And I rather like it.

It harks back to the old Trophy events, to expeditions and mud and men with beards and questionable decision-making skills. Park it next to an old Defender and the lineage is obvious.

But so is the evolution.

The old car feels like a farm implement that accidentally became famous. The new one feels like something that’s been engineered, very deliberately, to sell you the idea of adventure, without the inconvenience of suffering.

Air-conditioning works. The seats are comfortable. The cameras can see things you can’t. It is, in short, civilisation wearing hiking boots.

Out on the off-road course, I kept waiting for drama. Mud? Dispatched. Water crossings? Done.

Rutted terrain that should have had the cabin shaking like a washing machine? Filtered out with the sort of indifference usually reserved for ignoring spam emails.

There was no theatre. No struggle. No sense of “good grief, we might not make it”. The Defender simply… got on with it.

And this is quite the oxymoron. Older off-roaders made a point of reminding you how hostile the world could be. The new Defender seems more interested in demonstrating how much of that hostility it can quietly remove.

It’s like travelling with a very capable friend who insists on carrying all the heavy bags.

Even when presented with narrow trails, steep gradients and rocky surfaces, I found myself completely relaxed.

Behind the wheel of the Defender 110 X-Dynamic HSE D350, the experience was almost disconcertingly easy. The steering was light. The suspension soaked up everything. And the off-road systems worked so seamlessly that you stopped thinking about them altogether.

It was as though the car had taken over the worrying on your behalf. Which is marvellous. And slightly unnerving. Because you begin to wonder: are you still the one in charge?

This is the paradox at the heart of the modern Defender. It looks like it belongs in a documentary about survival. It drives like it belongs in a luxury SUV brochure. And somehow, it manages to be both without feeling conflicted.

Some will say it’s gone soft. That it has traded grit for comfort. I think that’s missing the point entirely. Because what is the purpose of a vehicle like this?

Is it to make everything harder, so you can feel heroic? Or is it to make the world bigger, so you can go further?

By the time the mud had dried and the ropes had been put away, one thing became clear. The new Defender is not trying to prove how tough it is. It is trying to show you how much more you can do.

Because real adventure shouldn’t be about enduring discomfort for the sake of it. It should be about going further, seeing more, and returning with stories worth telling.

The old Defender made you fight for those stories. The new one simply hands you the keys and says, “Go on then. Off you go.”

Which, if you think about it, might just be the cleverest trick of all.

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This one, however, began with sand. Lots of it. Indoors. In Zhengzhou, BYD has built something audacious: China’s first all-terrain, new-energy-vehicle-dedicated race track, a facility that treats electric and electrified cars not as fragile tech showcases, but as tools meant to be driven hard. Repeatedly, and across every surface imaginable.

Spanning more than 150,000 square metres, the BYD Zhengzhou complex is part racetrack, part laboratory, part proving ground for the next chapter of NEV performance. It is designed for professional racing, training and public experiential driving, and it shows in the sheer variety of environments packed into a single site.

The Wall of Sand

The visual centrepiece is impossible to miss. Rising 29.6 metres high with a 28-degree gradient, the indoor sand dune looks like a slice of desert air-dropped into an industrial hall. Certified by Guinness World Records as the highest and largest dune-climbing facility for car testing, it uses 6,200 tonnes of sand engineered to replicate the granular composition of the Alxa Desert.

Standing at its base, watching cars crest the summit without drama, one realises this is not theatre. It is repeatable, measurable testing designed to stress drivetrains, traction systems and suspension geometry in ways that flat asphalt never could.

Different zones, one philosophy

Beyond the dune, the facility unfolds into a myriad of distinct zones:

• Low-friction ring
• Wading pool
• Full racetrack
• Off-road park
• Dynamic paddock

One of the more revealing exercises took place at the Kick Plate safety demonstration area. Using wet, polished cement and movable suction plates, the system induces sudden loss-of-control scenarios, mimicking icy surfaces.

Here, drivers are deliberately sent into fishtail slides, an exercise in trust, restraint and letting the car’s electronics do their work. It is both humbling and reassuring in equal measure.

Putting metal to mud

Of course, theory only matters once it meets reality. We spent considerable time piloting the Denza B5 through a sequence of obstacles and gradients that would make most urban SUVs think twice. This is where its DI-SUS-P hydraulic suspension quietly earns its keep.

Compared with conventional air suspension, the hydraulic setup felt more consistent under sustained load, maintaining composure, balance and ride height without the slight hesitations air systems can exhibit.

The B5 simply ploughed on, indifferent to terrain changes.

Speed still matters

If the off-road zones test resilience, the main circuit tests intent. Measuring 1,758 metres with nine turns and a 550-metre straight, the track allows speeds in excess of 220 km/h.

Here, we took the Denza Z9GT out for several laps, exploring acceleration, braking stability and cornering balance in a controlled environment.

The straightaway is long enough to let power build properly, while the corners are varied enough to expose chassis tuning.

Controlled chaos in the paddock

The 15,300-square-metre dynamic paddock is where things get playful and instructive. Standard slalom courses, moose-test layouts and automated parking demonstrations sit side by side. It is also where BYD showcases how driver-assistance systems behave when pushed beyond polite scenarios.

Here, we tested autonomous parking functions, before promptly switching mental gears and throwing the incoming Seal 6 DM-i around a makeshift gymkhana course. Precision on demand, and mischief when invited.

More than a showcase

Facilities like this are often dismissed as marketing tools. That would be an easy, and lazy, conclusion. The BYD Zhengzhou circuit is clearly designed as a serious testing environment and a public-facing experience centre.

Visitors can feel, first-hand, what electric drivetrains, intelligent all-wheel-drive systems and advanced suspensions are capable of across wildly different conditions.

In doing so, BYD is making a broader point. The future of new-energy vehicles in China and beyond will not be won on spreadsheets alone. It will be won when drivers trust these cars to handle the unexpected.

The debate about electric vehicles and their reliability is long over. Now, it is about proving they can endure, adapt and entertain, no matter where the road (or lack of it) leads.

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You become a participant in the scenery, a thread weaving through towns and terrain, collecting stories at every stop.

When I picked up the keys to the BMW M235 Gran Coupé in Vienna, I didn’t expect a spiritual awakening. But over the next 1,300 or so kilometres, through the snow-draped rooftops of Hallstatt, the urban sprawl of Budapest, and the cobblestone corners of Bratislava, the car was, for the most part, truly inspiring.

From Vienna To The Alps

I landed in Vienna on a crisp morning, sunlight glancing off the spires and old façades. BMW Wien had prepared an M235 2 Series for me here, and over the course of the next few weeks, I would clear most of Austria, cross to Hungary, then Slovakia, finally finishing back in Vienna.

A fair mix of Austrian alpine roads, Hungarian plains, damp city streets, and the occasional snow shower.

The Open Road Beckons

Compared to the regular 2‑Series Gran Coupe, the M235 gets revised suspension, extra strut braces front and rear, and beefier tyres.

Thanks to the uprated B48 powerplant up front coupled to BMW’s excellent xDrive drivetrain, acceleration is sharp and brutal, firm enough to give you confidence when the roads get twisty.

Even if you’re not chasing corners, the M235 has plenty of go and eager handling that keeps the ride engaging in civilised environments.

The mountain passes in and around Salzburg smelled of pine, and I found myself pushing the M235 as though the car and I were dancing a well‑rehearsed waltz. The steering was precise, the chassis taut, giving the ride real composure.

When rain turned to sleet and later snow, the car never felt nervous. It remained confident, focused, and willing. That balance of agility and assuredness defines a car that’s more than just holiday transport.

Scenery, Surprises, And The Little Comforts

Between Salzburg and Hallstatt, the narrow winding roads hugged the cliffs, with winter-white peaks peeking over the conifers.

I can almost still hear the tyres gripping and crunching the wet snow as the M235 carved through hairpins, its suspension absorbing the bumps with more composure than you might expect from a compact sedan.

Since there were only two of us on the journey, space was adequate, and the rear seats were extra storage for the rest of our gear. Boot space was decent for our main suitcases, camera gear and a sudden craving for schnitzel and souvenirs mid‑journey.

When the roads were greasy from meltwater, or when the motorway from Gyor to Budapest stretched long and flat ahead, the M235 was eager to soak up the miles.

You don’t always need fireworks. Sometimes, what you want is assurance. That the car will respond when asked, hold its line when pushed, and never make you wish you’d taken a taxi instead. That is what the M235 offers. 

Having reviewed the 216 Gran Coupe back in Singapore, I’ve always felt that the B38 was severely lacklustre in output, thus inhibiting what is otherwise an extremely well-composed chassis. The bigger engine in the M235 solves those qualms, and with 312bhp at my disposal, the miles just kept on dwindling.

If you desperately need the latest and greatest, you can always opt for the M2 coupe. But, for those who need just that touch of practicality with extra doors, the new M235 definitely does not disappoint.

Thoroughbred Cross

After burning rubber across Austria, Hungary and Slovakia, I’m left wishing I had more time in the M235 Grand Coupe.

It delivers a taste of sportiness when you crave it, elegance when you need it, comfort when the hours pile up, and confidence when the skies open or snow starts falling. It never screamed “look‑at-me”, but it never felt underdressed either.

It’s a proper roadtrip companion, and this trip reaffirmed for me what BMW has always stood for: cars that are more than machines. They’re enablers, allowing you to forge journeys, see landscapes, meet detours, and still sink into calm when the day ends. And BMW’s engineering voodoo makes all the difference between “just another commute” and “a journey worth remembering.”

There are fast cars. There are comfortable cars. Then there are ones that manage to be both, without descending into compromise or caricature. The BMW M235, on my Alpine‑to‑Danube tour, is one such machine.

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Under a canopy of palms and soft island light, distinguished guests were treated to a masterclass in what makes an Aston Martin feel so effortlessly right.

The afternoon kicked off with a sharing session by newly minted Aston Martin Aramco Formula 1 Global Ambassador Pedro de la Rosa. After stepping away from the Formula 1 grid for over a decade, he now continues to share his passion for performance, notably by giving VIP guests unforgettable hot laps in the Aston Martin DBX and Vantage on some of the world’s most iconic circuits.

Drawing from years of experience at the pinnacle of motorsport, his driving philosophy is rooted in precision and intuition. Pedro describes the dialogue between man and machine as something deeply sensory: translating micro-feelings from the cockpit into insights that designers and engineers can build upon.

As he puts it, “A design brief is a living document, shaped by what the car must communicate through the wheel, whether at 50 km/h or 150 km/h.” In his view, a car’s form is not just to be admired, but to be read.

And no one reads a car’s facade better than Miles Nürnberger, whose session slipped the velvet rope on Aston Martin’s creative process.

How do new Astons come to life? Think of it as a three-act ballet.

Act I: Intent

Proportion is king here. Designers start with the “golden lines”: wheelbase, dash-to-axle, cabin set-back and those unmistakable haunches. The grille silhouette, the side strake, the light catchers along the flanks are all coded with the brand’s DNA.

Early work alternates between pencil sketches and rapid digital clay, defining stance and mass. The aim is to make the car look fast while parked, balanced while moving, and unmistakably Aston from twenty paces.

If you covered the badge, would you still know that’s an Aston Martin? That’s the bar.

Act II: Dialogue

Aerodynamics and design don’t sit at opposite ends of a conference table at Aston Martin; they share a sketchbook. Surfaces are pulled taut where the air wants to cling, relaxed where it should detach.

In practice, that means endless loops between the studio’s clay model and CFD (computational fluid dynamics) rigs, punctuated by wind-tunnel sessions and back again. When the aero team asks for a sharper trailing edge, design counters with a millimetre here, a fraction of a degree there, preserving sculpture while unlocking downforce or reducing drag.

Miles’ sharing on the Valhalla’s extensive design work exemplifies this: mid-engined proportions, airflow management through and over the body, and active devices that tuck away out of sight.

Is it art serving science or science serving art? At Aston, it’s a duet.

Act III: Truth

Full-scale clay becomes “hard model”, then mule, then prototype. CMF (colour, materials and finish) joins the conversation early, because tactility is not an afterthought at Aston. You’ll hear talk of open-pore veneers versus high-gloss, anodised knurled metals that feel cool to the touch, leathers chosen not only for grain but for how they patinate with time.

Ergonomics gets its own laboratory, ensuring everything from H-points, sightlines, pedal spacing, and even the reach to rotary controllers are all comfortable touchpoints. Virtual reality reviews are used to spot a problem before a tool is cut, then comes supplier feasibility and tolerances measured like watchmaking.

Finally, the car is put through its paces through a dynamic sign-off. Through this, quiet calibrations are tweaked until the car speaks fluent Aston.

The afternoon closed on an unexpected yet on-brand note: a showcase with Elemis, Aston Martin’s new official skincare partner.

At first blush, fast cars and skincare might seem odd bedfellows. However, look closer and the alignment is sensible. In the same way a race car’s set-up is honed for conditions, a high-performance regimen is optimised for stress, travel and time. Different playbook, similar philosophy.

An Aston Martin wears its elegance lightly, but the journey from idea to icon is anything but casual. It’s the art of speed practised with the discipline of engineering, the confidence of heritage and the humility to keep listening: to air, to road, to driver.

After all, a beautiful car that doesn’t move you is an ornament. An Aston Martin is a conversation in metal, and on this peaceful afternoon, the dialogue was crystal clear.

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You don’t need to be an engineer. You don’t need to know what a crankshaft does. You don’t even need to have oil running through your veins.

Step into the Audi Museum in Ingolstadt, Germany, and you’ll still find yourself wide-eyed, possibly muttering “Whoa…” under your breath as the doors close behind you and the future and past of motoring unfold in sync like a well-orchestrated gearbox.

At the heart of the sprawling Audi Forum, Audi’s global headquarters and temple of Teutonic excellence, is this four-storey marvel of steel, glass, and soul.

Opened in December 2000, the Audi museum was built not just to preserve history, but to present it in motion.

Quite literally, too. You’ll find cars travelling vertically up and down the atrium on what looks like a mechanical escalator from an alternate timeline. A paternoster lift, the kind of thing you’d expect to see in a futuristic remake of Back to the Future.

Now, before you get swept up in nostalgia, look up. Designed by German architect Gunter Henn, the museum’s architecture is like a giant turbine caught in glass, symbolising mobility, transparency, and growth.

Even the sun doesn’t sit still here. A circular sun-shading system follows the light’s movement throughout the day, constantly shifting the way sunlight plays across the museum’s walls and the polished chrome of the exhibits.

Start at the top and meander downwards like you’re uncoiling time itself. Every level tells a different chapter.

The progression is seamless, the storytelling deliberate, and the transitions from the wooden wheels of the early 20th century to the wind-cheating silhouettes of tomorrow utterly spellbinding.

The illustrations showcase how Audi, DKW, Horch, and Wanderer (the four brands immortalised in Audi’s four-ring logo) reunite under one roof to celebrate more than 120 years of automotive ambition.

Each vehicle whispers tales of its time, whether it’s a rudimentary machine stitched in wood and leather or a low-slung concept car that looks ready to launch into space.

Beyond the spectacle of sheet metal and rubber lies the mechanical magic. For those who like to get under the skin of things, there are cutaway models and drivetrains on display, laid bare like the anatomy of a mechanical beast.

Here, you’ll see how gears mesh, how pistons dance, how innovation breathes life into aluminium.

Unlike some museums that drown you in placards and paragraphs, Audi’s curation feels instinctive, like flipping through a coffee table book with pop-out pages.

And when your legs start complaining from all that looping around the atrium, pop into the gift shop tucked within the building. It’s the kind of place where grown adults buy 1:43 scale models with the same intensity as kids choosing candy.

In Ingolstadt, history doesn’t sit in silence. It hums, it rolls, it glides. And it invites you along for the ride.

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Meet Jay, a self-professed car nut who’s turned his lifelong passion into a successful career, now driving strategy and product for Motul in Singapore and the region. He’s also the proud owner of a Honda S2000, a car he’s held onto for 13 years (and counting) with no regrets.

From double wishbone suspension to hydraulic steering and just the right amount of purposeful mods, his S2000 is the embodiment of everything he loves about driving. While he has seen the industry evolve, from Kaizen principles to Euro-style marketing, and even e-fuels, one thing has remained constant: his appreciation for cars that are engineered to be driven, not just admired.

Personal Car History & Passion

What are some previous cars you’ve owned that you still miss?

I miss the Evo 9 terribly—well, only on some days! It could be insufferable at times, especially with that horrible turning radius. But I guess those quirks are what made the Evo feel special.

Another car I fondly remember is the BMW 116i F20 that I had three years ago. My wife and I took it on a road trip to Krabi, Thailand. It’s the experience with the car that really sticks with you.

How did you get into the car industry? Was it always the plan, or did passion turn into profession?

I’ve always had a passion for anything on wheels—mountain bikes, motorbikes, and of course, cars. From early on, I knew I wanted to build a career in the automotive industry.

That opportunity came with a role in Regional Product Planning at MotorImage Subaru. It was a valuable learning experience, during which I built meaningful relationships and gained key insights across the region. Many of the friends I made then are still in touch with me today.

Eventually, I joined a subsidiary of Toyota Motor Corporation, where I worked on regional projects for Toyota and Lexus in Japan, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, India, and beyond. It broadened my perspective of the global automotive landscape.

Later, I moved to Motul, where I began my career in motorsports and marketing before transitioning into product management. It was a steep learning curve, especially coming from the structured, Kaizen-driven world of Japanese business to a more European-style workflow. But that challenge helped me grow.

Now, I lead a team that drives Motul’s business in Singapore, while also managing regional sponsorships and product strategies. We work closely with our customers—they’re the real bosses.

Ultimately, the industry operates on numbers and data. Passion is what gets you started, but business sense is what keeps it going. Speak the business language first—eventually, it’ll fuel the passion.

Choosing the Current Ride

Why did you choose your current car? Did your job influence your choice in any way?

I’ve owned my Honda S2000 for 13 years now. I bought it purely out of love—because I believed it would be a timeless classic, and it truly is. To this day, it still feels as fresh and exciting as ever.

It’s the perfect package: front-mid engine, rear-wheel drive, double wishbone suspension front and rear, hydraulic steering, a clean dashboard, and two doors. It’s got all the ingredients of a true sports car.

Of course, my job helps cover the expenses and upkeep of the car. And I’m grateful for that!

Do you sometimes wish you were driving something different?

Honestly, not really. There were a couple of moments where I almost sold it—once for a 987 Cayman R, and another time for a base F87 M2. Thankfully, those deals fell through. Especially the M2—I don’t think that car aged well, and there are just too many versions of it.

If I ever did sell the S2000, it would still be for something in the Porsche family: a 987 Cayman R, 981 Cayman S, or a 997 C2S, GTS, or GT3.

Ownership & Modifications

What have you done to your car so far?

From day one, I wanted the car to retain a stock-ish Type S look. I’m not a fan of heavily modified cars. I do take it out for the occasional track day, so I’ve made some light, purposeful upgrades for handling and reliability:

• AP Racing brakes
• TC105 wheels with 255/40/17 Bridgestone RE71-RS tyres
• JRZ RS-Pro suspension

What’s one feature that makes your car feel truly yours?

There are three, actually: front-mid engine layout, rear-wheel drive, and double wishbone suspension at all four corners. It’s the trifecta of driving joy.

Industry Insights & Perspective

What’s one trend in the automotive world that excites you? One that annoys you?

I love how performance cars are becoming increasingly accessible today. They’re now more drivable, reliable, practical, and comfortable, without sacrificing power or handling. Electronics have made things better, not worse.

Take my daily driver, for example: the Golf GTI Mk7. It’s got the perfect balance of everything and could probably outpace my S2000 on a track day.

On a larger scale, the automotive industry is undergoing a massive shift. What’s the future of fuel? e-fuels, hydrogen, EVs? Motorsport teams are already testing e-fuels in some races. It’s an exciting time, but nothing is certain. Carmakers are rethinking their supply and value chains. Agility and foresight will be key moving forward.

Do you think car enthusiasts are becoming a smaller group, or is passion evolving in new ways?

Maybe. But it is what it is, I mean, stamp collecting used to be a big thing, too!

Future & Dream Cars

What’s your realistic ideal next car?

As I mentioned earlier, I’d consider a Porsche 911 (997 C2S), a Porsche 987 Cayman R, or a Porsche 981 Cayman S.

If you could own any car, what would it be?

Definitely the Porsche 911 (997 GT3).

Got a story to share? Want your car in the spotlight? Drop us your details, and we’ll reach out when the perfect story angle comes up!

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