When the Berlin Wall came down, some 25 years ago, thousands and thousands of East Germans streamed across the border, reunited with relatives at last. It was an emotional time, a joyous celebration of freedom, family, and reunification.
Also, David Hasselhoff showed up to play a concert, which may have had everyone wondering if the whole freedom thing was really worth it after all.
At any rate, the people of Germany were once again allowed to roam about their capital city (more or less). However, each side had rather different ways of getting around. In the West, you had shiny Volkswagen Golfs, swooshy Mercedes-Benzes, and the snarling inline-sixes of big BMWs. In the East, you had the Trabant.
Any time some online wag decides to make a list of the worst cars in the world, the Trabant inevitably ends up on it. It's an easy choice when picking out the most horrible of transportation devices: it's slow, the body is literally toxic, it emits so much pollution out of a feeble little two-stroke engine that it could qualify as a chemical weapon, and its crashworthiness is that of an elderly turnip.
It is, in short, utter crap. However, I think it's also a slightly wonderful car. Here's why. When the Iron Curtain fell, dividing East and West, the Volkswagen Beetle wasn't even really on the scene yet. Sure, there were prototypes, but the idea of a modern people's car for the masses was as-yet unrealized in Europe.
West Germany would have the advantage of decades of automotive development, driven by a capitalistic desire to keep selling people new and improved goods. In the East, demands were simpler — or rather, the government didn't really care what the demands were. Those in charge decided that, while some transportation was probably a good idea, nothing fancy was required.
The Trabant has its roots in the old Audi factory in Zwickau, East Germany. After the war, some early prototypes were produced, and the first cars rolled off the line in the late 1950s. They were powered by a two-cylinder two-stroke engine displacing 600 ccs and making 18 clattery horsepower (this was later bumped to 21 h.p. by the early 1960s).
The body was made from Duroplast, a blend of resin and recycled cotton that was cheap to produce, and also slightly whiffy. Between the resin body, the seat stuffing, and the smoky, oily cloud emanating out the back of the two-stroke engine, the Trabant was a smelly little car.
There were four Trabant models in total, starting with the P50 or 500 from 1957, and ending with a short production run of the Trabant 1.1 in 1992. The bulk of the cars were the 600/601 series, which were produced for essentially three decades without changing, totalling approximately three million cars.
Being front-engined, front-wheel drive, unibody construction, and equipped with independent suspension, the Trabant was actually sort-of advanced when it initially debuted. It was the 30 years without significant change that made it the butt of many jokes.
The name Trabant means "satellite," or "companion," and here's where this homely little stinker finally starts to show its charm. People would refer affectionately to them as Trabbis (rhymes-with-shabby), and despite their meagre power and stuck-in-the-1950s driving experience, they were the only way to get around.
There wasn't much freedom to be found in East Germany, but if you had a Trabant and could scrounge up some gasoline, then maybe you could effect a day's escape. For the more daring and desperate, a real escape might be made, and there are countless tales of those who found a new life after being smuggled across the border in the trunk of a Trabant — and there are sadly many more tales of those who were caught.
By the 1970s, the Trabant was hopelessly outdated, but it also had many of the attributes of its Western counterpart, the VW Beetle. It could be repaired with little more than a wrench and some colourful swearing, and the fuel consumption was relatively meagre. Sure, it wasn't particularly safe in a higher-speed collision, but it wasn't capable of high speeds anyway. There are reports that 100 kilometres per hour was possible, but only with the help of a slight downhill, a stiff following wind, and the ghosts of Marx and Lenin pushing on your bumper.
At low speeds, the Duroplast's rubbery rigidity made fender-benders basically a non-issue, and if you cracked something you could easily repair it. The cloud of burnt oil produced by the two-stroke motor made the entire city stink, but at least occasional escape to the countryside was a possibility.
Three million of these cars sounds like a lot, but it isn't: getting access to a Trabant was a privilege, and took years to achieve. The long wait actually had two major effects — used Trabants were more valuable than new ones, and the Party didn't support further research and development on the car. If the demand was so large, they reasoned, then the Trabant was good enough already.
As a result of this scarcity, Trabant owners cherished and doted on their cars like they were little Rolls-Royces. The average life expectancy of a Trabant was an incredible 28 years, this in comparison to our trade-it-in disposable Western culture.
When the Berlin Wall came down, the Trabant was almost immediately discarded in favour of used cars from West Germany. Demand evaporated overnight, and while a few Trabbis were used to get East Germans to their new jobs in the West, the time of the Trabant was over. This created a bit of a problem as the bodies, as mentioned, were too toxic to just be thrown away.
However, there were a few enthusiasts that held on to their former companions, and there were those expatriate East Germans that would recall the cars of their youth with some nostalgia and import them. In fact, you'll even occasionally see a rally-prepped version bumbling about the North Shore from time to time, or parked out front of North Vancouver's Salish Auto Haus on Pemberton Street.
By any yardstick, the Trabant wasn't actually a very good car. However, it did the job asked of it, didn't kick up too much of a fuss, and soldiered on gamely with a raspy little two-stroke engine. That'll do, donkey. That'll do.
Brendan McAleer is a freelance writer and automotive enthusiast. If you have a suggestion for a column, or would be interested in having your car club featured, please contact him at [email protected]. Follow Brendan on Twitter: @brendan_mcaleer.
