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Minis typically have an unambiguous design. A distinctively Mini front end and some artsy, whimsical implement at the rear that typically pays homage to the original. Same same with the Countryman. All those non-subtleties, but supersized for the snooty buyer who scoffs at the idea of driving anything as pedestrian as a Qashqai or as chi-chi as a GLA.
It’s all in the name of melding pragmatism and flair with just a hint of heritage. But the Countryman S? It’s the anti-hipster’s Mini. It’s for the drivers who couldn’t care less about hand-harvested quinoa and who give zero damns that the start-up roar interrupts the zen cycle of the neighbour’s feng-shui arrangement.
Step inside, and it’s a no-nonsense, minimalistic approach with no more and no less than what’d you need for basic operation. Call it minimalism with purpose. The engine start control mimics the key-in-starter method while a toggle lends itself to the drive selector. The console located below the screen further houses a scant five buttons for basic operation and a dial for controlling volume, keeping things blissfully straightforward.
And then there’s the pièce de résistance, the circular screen in the middle of the dash that’s quintessentially Mini. It’s a nod to Mini’s fun-loving heritage and serves as a reminder that, despite its Bavarian codex, it doesn’t take itself too seriously or pretend to be anything other than a slightly oversized Mini with an S designation. But it’s far from perfect in how it operates. Trying to get the aircon to work requires an excessive amount of poking and prodding at the touchscreen, oftentimes with no success. Connecting to Android Auto is pretty much seamless thanks to Mini’s OS9, but the minuscule square interface inside the circular display? That looks like an afterthought that would likely have taken an integration techy a mere week to iron out.
Then there’s the nondescript toggle that’s labelled ‘Experiences’." Dial it upwards, and it’s all the proof you need that Mini hasn’t lost that playful edge despite sharing a platform with the more clean-cut BMW X1 and X2. The screen transforms into a digital throwback to the days of analogue tachometers, a cheer that feels inspired by an early 2000s gaming character is belted through the speakers, the steering tightens, and the 2.0-litre turbo engine springs into another temperament altogether.
It’s called “go-kart mode,” and it releases all 150kW and 300Nm of torque the moment you touch the loud pedal. The Countryman’s demeanour and newfound urgency inspire a sense of hooliganism, but it falls short right at the cusp of bliss as it simply nudges occupants into their seatbacks. I think that an extra 20kW could have made a cheeky difference in helping offset its 1,620-kilo heft. It also gives drivers very little control over how to use that 300Nm with no paddle shifters behind the steering wheel or any way to override the automatic brain of the neither-here-nor-there 7-speed automatic gearbox. A shift of perspective, though, reminds me that this is still in essence an SUV. It’s probably also the most fun you can have in an SUV this side of R1m.
That holds on the handling front too. You can throw it into corners with plenty of enthusiasm, but, at some point, physics will rear its head—it can’t be undermined, especially at this price point. The front will wash out as its lateral grip gives way under the strain of 1,620 kilograms, and its rather sizable proportions will have the last say. Still, there’s plenty of fun to be had right up to that point, and isn’t that the essence of Mini?
On that score, Mini’s nailed the brief of creating a not-so-mini crossover that can double down as a practical daily runner. Sure, it’ll constantly egg you on, but resist the temptation, and it can settle into a surprisingly refined cruise, sipping fuel at a rate in the low 7s per 100km.
Further helping you keep everything in check is a suite of driving aids, the chief of which is the Mini cruise control assistant. It can handle lane tracking, following distances, and will even allow hands-free driving at speeds up to 60km/h granted, Mini says, if you promise to watch the road ahead. Oh, and it can also effectively park and reverse itself out of a garage space using spatial memorisation. Let it learn the nuances of your driveway, and it will do the rest, given there are no obstacles blocking its route.
What’s the takeaway? The Countryman is far from perfect, and in large parts, that is exactly what makes it lovable. It blends un-Mini-like practicality with fun, and while it can play the part of a practical crossover, there’s always a hint of hooliganism just below the surface. It has its quirks, yes, several of them, but it also shows that the Mini brand is evolving and growing into a brand that breaks from convention with its now-square-ish LED headlight surrounds and pixel-bit inspired Union Jack tail lights. At the end of the day, though, it remains grounded in the founders’ philosophy of Mini, which puts an engaging driving experience above all else—and no amount of artisanal whatnots can take that away from it.
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