The TurBus Museum
Next to Santiago's Central Station, a series of industrial buildings that once housed a sugar mill have been transformed into the perfect setting for a museum of classic cars. Jesús Díez Martínez was born in La Rioja, Spain, but arrived in Chile when he was just three months old. From an early age, he began building bodywork by hand, turning old, disused lorries into small buses that he would then drive himself. What began as an enterprising young man's venture in Rancagua eventually grew into TurBus, a transport company with a fleet of more than 1,200 buses connecting destinations throughout Chile and neighbouring countries.
The passion Jesús brought to building those early góndolas, as these small buses were known, led him to buy his first classic car, a Ford Model T, in 1967. That purchase marked the beginning of the collection that would eventually find its home at the Jedimar Museum in Santiago.
I had visited the museum in Quilicura that morning, so after lunch I took the Metro to Estación Central. Lucho gave me such a warm welcome that I soon felt right at home. He told me the story of the museum and its founder, taking the time to introduce me to each of the collection's treasures.
The museum opened in 2010. Sadly, the company's founder had died the previous year and never lived to see it completed. The project had originally been conceived as a temporary exhibition, but it proved so successful that Jesús Díez González, the founder's son, later decided that keeping the museum open would be a fitting way to preserve his father's memory.
Before entering the main hall, where the cars are displayed, visitors pass through a room containing superb scale models of buses that have played an important part in the company's history. The first is a replica of the very first góndola built by Jesús Díez, based on a 1929 Chevrolet chassis. The original can be seen at the Alameda bus terminal in Santiago.
The building's central hall, a fine example of early twentieth-century industrial architecture, houses a remarkable combination of pre-war motor cars and sports cars from the second half of the century.
The first car I came across was a Rolls-Royce 20/25 with coachwork by Henri Binder of Paris. Like all the cars on display, it has been meticulously restored and is in full working order, having been rescued from neglect in the 1970s.
The two-tone, pale blue and black 1928 Lincoln V8 Phaeton is particularly striking for its elegance. The family has taken it on several classic car rallies, including events in Europe.
Lucho drew my attention to a 1917 Winton Six Tourer. Winton, a manufacturer of luxury motor cars, was absorbed by General Motors in 1924. Today, the marque's surviving cars are highly prized by collectors. Indeed, Lucho told me that descendants of the Winton family themselves had tried to persuade Jesús to sell them this very car.
The quality of the restorations is immediately apparent, with extraordinary care taken to preserve the original colours. Lucho assured me that every restoration follows an exacting process, with the bodywork stripped back to bare metal. This painstaking approach has occasionally led to some delightful discoveries.
A few years ago, Jesús Díez was offered a Pontiac Trans Am similar to one he had owned in his youth. When the car was dismantled and its paint stripped away, the repair to the roof became visible: it had been carried out to conceal an old sunroof. Jesús immediately asked to see the car's paperwork. Checking its history, he discovered that the car he had acquired with little initial enthusiasm was, in fact, the very one his father had bought him when he was young.
He continued with the restoration without mentioning the discovery at home. Once the work was complete, he presented the car to his wife. It was the car in which they had courted when they were young — or gone pololear, as they say in Chile.
A magnificent 1957 Studebaker Golden Hawk provided a tantalising preview of what I would see a week later at the Mancopulli Museum. Its impressive overhead-valve V8 produced 275 bhp, and in its day it competed with the Thunderbird and Corvette, outperforming them in terms of performance.
The Ferrari 250 GTE was one of the first models from Maranello that combined sporting credentials with genuine everyday practicality. Its four-seat, or 2+2, layout meant it could be taken racing at the weekend and used for family outings during the week. The museum's 1961 example is the short-wheelbase version and was originally sold in California.
Italian sports cars were also well represented by a Maserati 3500 GT Vignale Spider and an Alfa Romeo 1900 Zagato Coupé. The latter features an aluminium body, complete with the characteristic bulges in the roof associated with the Milanese coachbuilder. A BMW M1 looked so immaculate that it might have just rolled off the stand at a motor show in 1978.
At the far end of the last bay stood a 1908 Renault, one of the legendary Taxis de la Marne that played such a crucial role in the defence of Paris during the First World War. Another example is preserved at the Hôtel des Invalides in Paris. How this particular car found its way to Chile remains a mystery.
Back in the 1960s, it belonged to one of Jedimar’s industrial supplies contractors. Whenever Jesús Díez went to buy nuts and bolts, he would catch a glimpse of the car on the premises. He repeatedly asked the owner to sell him the vintage treasure, knowing how much his son admired it, but time and again his requests were turned down.
That is why Jesús was so astonished when, in 1970, following Allende’s rise to power, the owner suddenly called to ask whether he was still interested in buying the car. There were just two conditions. First, the deal had to include a 1928 Mercedes Phaeton, which is also on display in the museum. Second, Jesús had to collect both cars that very same day, as the owner was leaving the country immediately, fearing the changes the new political situation might bring. Payment would not be an issue; there was trust between them.
And so Jesús acquired the oldest car in the museum and, quite possibly, the one most treasured by the family. It is reserved exclusively for family use and, ever since it was acquired, has served as the wedding car for several generations.
From the main building, we moved into a side workshop that is not open to the public. Inside were another fifteen or so automotive gems awaiting restoration. Among the large convertibles and phaetons sat a tiny Messerschmitt which, without its bubble canopy, looked like a crab hiding among the rocks.
The building still houses the boiler, topped by an enormous chimney, that once served the sugar mill. When the Société Française des Sucreries du Chili left the country, also following Allende’s arrival in power, the premises were converted into a timber-drying plant. Lucho told me that when they decided to establish the museum, the boiler’s fuel tank was still full of thick, tar-like sludge that had once fed the furnace.
Back in the visitor area, two parallel buildings alongside the main hall housed yet more cars. The first was dominated by European models, led by an Isetta 300. The most unusual vehicle, however, was not European at all, but American: a De Soto Six K that Jesús Díez had converted into a station wagon.
In 1962, looking for a replacement for what was then a relatively modern 1956 Citroneta, he came across this old 1929 convertible. Keeping the original chassis, he cut away the rear section of the bodywork and handcrafted an entirely new one. For years, the De Soto served the family on outings, trips to buy spare parts and even as a training car for new bus drivers.
The lack of a starter motor earned Jesús the nickname El Manivela among his neighbours, as he became something of an expert at getting the engine going with the starting crank. Over time, the De Soto saw less and less use and was eventually left to gather dust in one of the workshops, until it was rescued and given a new lease of life in the museum.
In the final building, an impressive 1936 La Salle Coupé Convertible rested among a collection of other American cars. Outside, in the parking area but still under cover, an old 1920s Chevrolet and a Cadillac greeted visitors alongside a couple of early buses.
The Jedimar Museum is undoubtedly a must-see for anyone with a passion for vintage cars visiting Santiago. Personally, I will never forget Lucho’s warmth and generosity. Not only did he share the story of the company and the museum with the enthusiasm of someone who had witnessed their growth firsthand, but he even offered to drive me home after the visit.
Chile has so many wonders left to discover that I am already looking forward to returning.
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