It’s fair to say Australians are considered to be a friendly lot. Anthropologists, sociologists and other people with much bigger brains than mine surely have theories about why this is the case. But I’ve always thought it was a welcome side effect of our egalitarianism.
We eschewed England’s stuffy class system and, in turn, use friendliness to help encourage a flat social structure.
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France, meanwhile, is the other side of the same coin. Here’s a country that believes in egalitarianism so deeply, it’s literally in their national motto (Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite).
While Australians express social equality through dogged friendliness, the French do things differently. They seemingly relish the freedom of being outwardly hostile to everyone. Customers! Tourists! Even each other!
You can do everything right (smile, be polite, stutter through your order in French) and still be greeted with side-eye cold enough to freeze the Seine.
Given the above, you can imagine how a big group of foreigners driving the elephantine Ford Raptor through France was received. On narrow country streets. Through small villages. In a large convoy. With Americans present.
Mon dieu.
This was a trip Ford organised. It was, at times, a test of both driving skill and mental endurance. Fittingly, our final destination was the Le Mans 24 Hour race.
With some trepidation I departed from Australian shores – where Raptors are as common as kangaroos on the roads – and 22 hours later landed in France. It was immediately obvious that comically small cars like the Renault Twingo reigned supreme.
Not that you should use the word “reigns” loosely in France. The Revolution is never far from one’s mind after all.
When I was boarding the Air France flight, my brother joked that turning left onto business class would lead to a guillotine. “Still better than economy,” I replied.
Of course, the preference for small cars in France is not a matter of restraint. If you venture off the freeways, the streets can be narrow and unforgiving. If there was a country perfectly suited for small vehicle, it’s here.
But with journalists from all around the world coming to France for one of the toughest races in the world, Ford wanted to show off something rugged. Raptors, it was.
Our first stop was the UTAC proofing ground in Mortefontaine.
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The countryside in France is charming. Rolling green hills and gentle forests. The place where you catch small woodland animals hopping around in the dappled sunlight. Never mind if you get lost – if you do a couple of hours walking, you’d surely reach a picturesque township where someone was willing to sell you a jam sandwich.
Frankly, these conditions are an insult for the Raptor. This is a ute designed in Australia with our hostile landscape in mind. Places where staring out the window too long can lead to dehydration and exposure.
But still, the French had done a nice job on their off-road track. I politely oohed and aahed as we tootled along their lightly churned-up dirt road. In some places it was so rough, it almost rivalled potholes back home. We even had to turn the diff lock on at one point.
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Predictably, the Raptor gobbled these roads up and was looking for more. This car is no joke off-road. This we already knew. The Ford just needs some real Australian bushland to shine.
For me, the real test for this car was French villages. I’ve driven many cars which are much larger than the Raptor. But for all that, this is a relatively agile vehicle with good visibility, it felt like it had grown a couple of sizes in France.
Not that I’m judging. The wine and cheese hadn’t been easy on my waistline, either. After a few hours of occasionally perilous driving, we rolled into the town of Thiers-sur-Theve for a break.
Ten or so utes pulling up onto the cobblestones and into the narrow parking spots was clearly a spectacle. I caught a couple of disapproving stares and raised eyebrows. To be fair, at least one Raptor didn’t fit in their car park and had been driven partially onto the pavement. I gave the unimpressed bystanders what I hoped was a warm and apologetic smile.
Their frowns deepened.
A retreat was in order (when in France…) so I scampered into a cafe for a restorative coffee and chocolate croissant. At least on this the French and I are aligned – their pastries are delicious. In this brief break, I had a bit of time to think.
The Raptor is a completely unapologetic car. Then again, the French are an unapologetic people. In the final leg of the trip, I decided to lean into it.
A long stretch of freeway made this easier. The low growl of the engine was a lovely soundtrack to the whole experience. It sounded even better when we turned on “Baja mode” – the noisiest exhaust profile on offer.
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This might not have been appreciated in Thiers-sur-Thève. But driving through the streets of Arnage, near the Le Mans track, we were far more welcome. In a town flooded with rare sportscars, the Raptors still got a few appreciative looks. You can’t deny their visual impact.
When I finally stopped feeling sheepish, the last leg of the journey became a joy.
I think Australians can learn some things from the French. Sometimes you just have to be bold, unashamed, and seize the moment.
For those occasions, the Ford Raptor feels perfectly at home. Even in France.