The Swiss Army knife of transport, offering up multiple tools for your disposal.
Switzerland may be neutral, but its government still insists that its soldiers carry a Swiss Army knife. Maybe it’s because a Swiss soldier, having such intense non-action on his hands, requires a corkscrew for decanting that ’95 Moulin-à-Vent. And maybe those puny scissors are perfect for trimming curds at competitive fondue festivals. And that nifty can opener is surely what Colonel Nestlé needs to pry open a tax-free account in Geneva. By the way, Geneva is home to the Large Hadron Collider, which—few people realize this—was built entirely by four Swiss soldiers with very sharp Swiss Army knives. Which brings us rather indirectly to the Volkswagen Golf, the correlative tool for enthusiast transport. No matter your preferences in price, practicality, and performance, there’s a Golf that will take your money without giving up much in any other direction. The gasoline TSI models perhaps represent the paring knife. The practical diesel TDI models represent the screwdriver. And that spearlike awl, always blood-encrusted, is the sharp-edged GTI.
Also like a Swiss Army knife, the Golf—now in its seventh generation—is a historically mellifluous integration of mechanical functions into a hamster wheel of usefulness. It doesn’t look much different, which is just fine. It doesn’t feel much different, which is just fine, too. We say that because this is the ninth consecutive year that the whole Golf family, the lone GTI, or, as is the case here, both have accumulated 10Best plaudits. Not even a U.S. president gets to walk on blue carpeting for that long.
The Golf’s steering remains light and alive. You’re aware of impacts rearranging the suspension, but the forces rarely penetrate the now-airier cabin. The dampers know when to apply discipline and when to relax. Cockpit surfaces and the jigsaw manner in which they interconnect cause all occupants to whisper “Audi.” Shift efforts are light, with a clutch as repetitively predictable as Groundhog Day. The body is vault-solid, the platform bombproof. The thing feels like a midget Mercedes S- class. Separate any of those gloriously evolved elements from the whole and you don’t have a Golf.
The turbocharged 1.8-liter gas engine produces only 170 horsepower, but its 200 pound-feet of torque arrives at an accessibly low 1600 rpm, delivering a gratifying mid-range surge. The redesigned 2.0-liter turbo-diesel thrums like a Strausberg cello, revealing its oil-burning secret to no one. And the GTI’s 220 horsepower (in Performance-package trim) makes it sufficiently nimble to catch a Higgs boson. All of this comes at a price that spans a $12,700 gulf—from the Launch Edition three-door manual at $18,815 to the GTI Autobahn five-door with DSG automatic for $31,515. The Golf is Mr. and Mrs. Every Budget personified.
There are larger cars for the money, just as there’s a 314-blade Swiss Army knife that weighs 11 pounds. But few cars engender as much driving satisfaction, and few annually hold a snappier family reunion, in which no relative gets loud or offensive, except maybe the perennially delinquent cousin in the plaid pants. Oh, no. What’s he pouring in the punch? Jeez. He seemed like such a nice young man.