Marcel & Facun
Less than half an hour had passed since I had stumbled upon a small museum dedicated to Peugeot cars in the heart of Montevideo when another discovery came as a surprise. I was walking through the docklands, hoping to track down a classic car I had spotted parked there from the bus. In an area that had seen better days, with no shortage of half-abandoned warehouses and people sleeping rough, a set of open garage doors caught my eye.
As I approached, I imagined that behind the rear end of that 1950s hearse I might find a traditional repair workshop. Instead, I discovered something quite different: the hideaway of a group of classic car enthusiasts. Marcel and Facun were getting their machines ready for an event taking place the following Saturday. Not only did they kindly agree to let me photograph the premises, but they were also happy to tell me about the history and some of the finer details of their rather special toys.
The first thing they made clear was that, although many of the vehicles wore a patina that might easily be mistaken for decades of neglect, everything there was running. And there was a good reason for all the activity that day: they were preparing to take part in the Classic Rust Festival, held on the outskirts of Montevideo, and they kindly invited me to come along.
The hearse that had first drawn my attention to the garage was an imposing black 1959 Pontiac Bonneville, its colour entirely fitting for its former calling. Its elongated bodywork and imposing proportions left little doubt that it had spent many years carrying the departed on their final journeys. Introduced by Pontiac in 1957, the Bonneville soon became one of the marque's most recognisable models, a symbol of the golden age of large American cars. The 1959 generation, with its spectacular rear fins and generous use of chrome, remains one of the most distinctive designs of the period.
A little further back, half hidden beneath a staircase, stood another classic from a long-defunct American marque: an imposing 1946 Nash 600, in remarkably good condition for a car approaching its eightieth birthday. Nash was one of those independent manufacturers that helped give the American motor industry its character before the marque disappeared in 1957 following its merger into American Motors. Introduced in 1941, the 600 stood out for its unitary construction, a feature that was still relatively unusual among major American manufacturers at the time.
My fondness for scooters made me stop and take a closer look at a Lambretta LD, still wearing all the patina of its era. After some discussion as to whether it might be an Argentine-built Siambretta or a machine imported directly from Europe, we were able to establish that it was an original Innocenti, manufactured in Milan.
But there was another surprise waiting for me. I did not spot it until I had explored much of the garage: tucked away between the Nash and the wall was one of my favourite scooters, none other than an ISO Diva. It should not be confused with the rather clumsily styled Isoscooter that was manufactured in Spain. The Diva boasts an elegant, streamlined two-tone body, with far more pleasing proportions. There was, however, a slight disappointment following my initial excitement: it was not fitted with the fascinating twin-piston engine found in other members of the ISO family, with its unusual articulated connecting-rod arrangement and a single combustion chamber shared by both pistons.
The decoration of the premises was also well worth a closer look. Signs, spare parts and all manner of automobilia created an atmosphere that would delight any enthusiast. The owners were particularly proud of the work they had put into restoring a wall that had been in a dreadful state, exposing its original brickwork once again. A small detail, perhaps, but one that showed that this was much more than just a garage: it was a place built with dedication and affection by its owners.
At the back were a couple of hot rods being prepared for a run on the dirt track the following Saturday. With obvious pride, they showed me how a Ford Model A, which had spent decades out in the open on a rural estate, would start at the first turn of the key and roar like thunder. Marcel had transformed that Double Phaeton into a two-seater racing car, giving it a second life far removed from anything Ford might have envisaged when it left the factory.
A few metres away, a 1947 Plymouth Coupé de Luxe looked as though it had driven straight out of a golden-age Hollywood film. Its rounded lines and unmistakably post-war American styling inevitably brought to mind the films starring James Dean. An impression that, as I was to discover the following Saturday, was not far off the mark.
Between the two racing machines stood a white 1968 Oldsmobile 98 Coupé, looking splendid. And in another part of the garage, Facun had yet another surprise in store for me: a genuine rarity, produced in very limited numbers, a Chrysler Windsor Traveler. Its most unusual feature was an interior that could be converted into a bed, an ingenious arrangement that made it something of a forerunner of today's campervans. Yet another example of the imagination with which American manufacturers explored new ways of using the motor car during those years.
It was an absolute pleasure to meet Marcel and Facun, discover their remarkable collection and appreciate the knowledge and passion behind every one of their vehicles. And if the visit to the garage had already been a wonderful experience, seeing them enjoying their machines a few days later at the Classic Rust Festival was the perfect way to round off our encounter.
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