Two Ferraris. One mountain pass. An easy choice
‘It’s going to be a bumpy takeoff because of the clouds,’ the pilot warns over the intercom as we push back from OR Tambo International Airport. Not the send-off you want before a flight, even as a frequent flyer.
‘I’m used to this,’ I tell the missus, who has flown a few times but never to the Mother City. ‘There’s always a first time,’ I add, as she rests her head on my shoulder. She’s scared, which is fair. So am I, though not of flying. I’m headed to Cape Town to drive the Ferrari Amalfi and Purosangue, and that is a first I can’t pretend to be accustomed to.
Everyone at dinner is quietly excited about the same thing and too reserved to admit it. The next morning, Vito Viglietti, Ferrari’s head of technical, training and special operations, walks us through both cars before we get the keys. I don’t ask a single question. I assume there will be time later, and my head is already behind the wheel. I don’t know what to expect, but I know I’m going to relish this.
I relax into the Amalfi without starting it, only waking up the displays to explore the dash and door panels. Then the seat. I lower it. No, let me move it forwards. It’s not every day that I get to sit in an interior space this well put together. Foot on the brake, I press the start button on the steering wheel. The V8 lets out a loud, glorious bark, and I giggle like a child. I give the Amalfi my first-ever rev and feel the whole car flex side to side with each throttle application. ‘This is a monster,’ I whisper.
I have a vague idea of how to engage Drive. I flick the right paddle shifter. It works, and I point the nose at the open road. I grin as I blast past the Roma, which has been leading us. Next to me is a Ferrari representative who isn’t here to police my driving so much as to guide me through the different settings.
The first corner arrives, and I approach it as I would in any other car. I’m thinking about body roll, about how a normal car would conduct itself, so I slow down a bit before throwing it in. The Amalfi turns in quicker than I expected, and I realise I can go faster than this. On the next corner I do, and the confidence starts to build.
Underneath, the 3.9-litre twin-turbo V8 sits up front for better weight distribution and makes a formidable 471kW and 760Nm. That’s enough to send it from 0-100km/h in 3.3 seconds before hitting the limiter at 320km/h, shifting through an 8-speed F1 DCT. That’s fast by any measure.
Despite sending all that power to the rear wheels, the Amalfi is tight and composed in a way that doesn’t even try to scare me. It sticks to the road, holding me. Turn in, and there’s no negotiation between what my hands ask for and what the front end does. It just happens, and it happens so cleanly that I start laughing at how easy it feels to go fast, through a mountain pass, safely.
That’s the point of a Ferrari, and I’ve driven plenty of fast, capable cars that somehow can’t replicate this. Somewhere deep in the mountain pass and tackling the corners like a pro, I recall exactly why I fell in love with driving in the first place. And for a few kilometres outside Paarl, nothing else exists. Not deadlines, not even the missus waiting back at the hotel wanting to hear every detail. I slow down. The very same car that scared the wildlife from the pass has now turned into a civilised cruiser. A few kilometres later, I come to a complete stop for a car swap.
Now I’m inside the Purosangue, Ferrari’s first attempt at the SUV business. Except Ferrari will tell you it isn’t an SUV. It insists it has created an entirely new category. Perhaps a Ferrari Utility Vehicle (FUV)? That works too. Because while the layout, mechanicals and driving character are pure Ferrari GT, the body style is unmistakably SUV. The refusal to call it one feels more like brand positioning than anything else.
And it’s a different beast altogether. I press the throttle, and it responds instantly, with no turbocharger or electric motor filling in the gaps. As the revs build, the noise shifts from a deep mechanical growl into something far more intense, and I find myself holding each gear a little longer because I don’t want the moment to end. I didn’t get that with the V8. This feels extremely alive, almost on edge.
There’s something rebellious about twelve cylinders screaming towards the redline when everyone else is chasing efficiency. The 6.5-litre V12 sends 533kW and 716Nm to all four wheels through an 8-speed F1 DCT, and it, too, is properly quick. Despite tipping the scales at more than two tonnes, the Purosangue is right up there with the Amalfi.
‘Do you want all the safety systems off?’ the Ferrari representative asks as I approach my first corner. ‘Including the ESC? No, thanks,’ I say, giving him a slightly confused look. He laughs. That’s not what he meant. He’s talking about the lane-keep assist, which apparently becomes a little too eager when you start attacking the bends. Fair enough. A few clicks later, and it’s off.
I turn into the first corner, expecting the body roll I worried about in the Amalfi. In something this tall, I expect even more of it. It never comes. Instead, the nose bites into the corner, the steering stays composed, and the seat holds me exactly where I need to be. There’s no hesitation, no moment where the car needs to gather itself before changing direction. It just turns. There’s weight here, obviously, but I never feel like I’m fighting against it. The faster I go, the more the car seems to wrap itself around me. I can’t believe something this tall can do that.
I came here expecting an SUV with a Ferrari engine. I was very wrong. The Purosangue drives like a GT that happens to have four doors and 185mm of ground clearance.
The V12 sits low and well back in the front, with the gearbox at the rear, so the weight splits close to evenly between the axles. That’s why the nose settles in instead of running wide. Electric actuators at each corner work constantly to control roll and pitch, which is why I never feel the body lean. Four-wheel drive and rear-wheel steering take care of the rest, finding grip on the way out and helping this long, tall Ferrari rotate far more naturally than it has any right to.
I’m going faster than I should be, and it barely registers because the car is so well balanced that 120km/h feels like nothing. I carry the confidence I built in the Amalfi with me, and I just klap the Purosangue through.
The pass ends sooner than I want it to. I downshift on the left paddle, and the exhaust answers with pops and bangs. I’ve left plenty of fast car events wanting more. This one, even with me wishing for one last run in the Purosangue, or a track to unleash its full potential, was fulfilling.
Ferrari’s Purosangue is the one that stays with me. It’s the Ferrari a family man would buy. Whereas the Amalfi made me feel like a teenager again, the Purosangue made me feel like an adult who had somehow earned the right to want one.
The Amalfi is the one that made me giggle with that turbo V8 that punches you in the gut and a chassis that inspires more confidence than it probably should. The Purosangue has the V12 with that soundtrack, a body that refuses to roll, and room for the people I’d want next to me. If I could have one Ferrari in my garage, it’d be the Purosangue. In blue.
On the flight home, the missus asks if it was everything I’d hoped for. I tell her it was better, because I didn’t really know what to hope for. Turns out this was one first I never needed to be scared of.
Pricing
Ferrari Purosangue: R11,795,000
Ferrari Amalfi Coupe: R6,150,000
