I Quite Liked Our £800 Ssangyong Rodius Even If I Ruined It

Readers, I have a confession to make. I’ve done something unspeakable to our Ssangyong Rodius, the sort of thing that would’ve been embarrassing enough in college, let alone half a decade later. However, don’t take that as a sign that I actively disrespected this weird slab of Korean people-mover. Despite its reputation, and the handful of things broken on it, and very obviously re-welded sills, I actually didn’t mind it. It still made me mildly annoyed, just not for the reason you might think.

I’ve been lucky enough to drive cars that lived up to their legend, lauded cars that failed to meet the hype, and frequently disrespected machinery that failed to meet the subterranean bar. So where does the Ssangyong Rodius fall in this matrix? Well, even though it has a reputation on par with parking wardens and crawling naked on your hands and knees through broken glass, it’s genuinely better than I expected.

You never really get an appreciation for how a vehicle looks until you see it in the metal, and I was weirdly relieved that the Rodius looked more like a mid-aughts Lancia and less like a terrible 3D modelling accident when Adrian rolled up to Heathrow to pick me up for the Goodwood Festival of Speed. It’s definitely an odd-looking thing, with a comical reflector-to-illuminated-taillight area, the weird pillars, and the bloated front end, but it’s almost inoffensive compared to some modern machinery. It helps that there just isn’t that much styling on it, and that elements actually seem to work together, like the rear glass treatment and the V-shaped character line on the liftgate.

Due to insurance limitations, my time behind the wheel of the Rodius was limited to a brief drive on a private road, however it didn’t come across as a hateful machine. Sure, some of the dynamic foibles like the alarmingly soft brake pedal can be attributed to age and condition, but aside from steering that makes you feel like you’re shooting a through-the-windshield scene in a sitcom, a ride that’s somehow both floaty and jiggly, the Rodius isn’t an offensive experience.

The springs and dampers soak up big potholes well, visibility is outstanding, that five-speed Mercedes-sourced gearbox doles out shifts like butter drizzled over striploin, and this odd-looking minivan felt weirdly well-screwed together. Few rattles, a unibody that doesn’t feel like four playing cards Scotch taped edge-to-edge, a lazy river of torque, and even a subdued idle from the diesel engine that doesn’t sound like rod knock from within the cabin. Seriously, the powertrain is modern car quiet, which shouldn’t be surprising considering it was fit for duty in the Mercedes-Benz E-Class.

This was supposedly among the worst people carriers on sale in Europe at the time, yet it feels noticeably more refined than a Chevrolet Venture or a 2001 to 2007 Dodge Caravan. Sure, the steering feels like it’s done by a yogurt-churning hydraulic coupling instead of a rack-and-pinion, some of the interior plastics are single-use-packaging-grade, the passenger footwell is oddly lumpy, and the seats are simultaneously granite-hard yet incredibly unsupportive, but there are positives here worth noting.

There’s actually a nice amount of soft-touch stuff inside, the rear tray tables were a lovely touch, swivelling seats with lap belts for their reversed positions are fun even if rotating them around means the second-row passengers will essentially be scissoring the third-row passengers, and the general weighting and resistance of the switchgear punches far above this thing’s pay grade. The stereo—when it worked, at least—genuinely wasn’t bad either, blowing most base systems in today’s cheap cars out of the water. If anything, it highlights how sloppy some cars foisted upon North America at the time were, a source of mild annoyance but not with the Rodius itself.

Unfortunately, on the final day, I committed a cardinal sin. After days of jet-lagged late-night early-morning missions, I was knackered and just wanted to close my eyes. Unfortunately, after about three hours of sleep, I forgot that I get really carsick if I don’t have eyes on where things are going. I can’t text in the back of an Uber without getting nauseous, and that’s when I’m properly rested and hydrated. Nearly half an hour into the trek back to Heathrow, I realized the error of my ways too late, made the careful consideration that Jason had his window shut, rolled down the window, and flow tested the aerodynamic profile of the Rodius using last night’s chicken tikka masala.

The good news? None of dinner made it into any interior fabrics, leathers, or pleathers. The seats, carpet, headliner, and even the soft bits of the door card were spared. The bad news? Well, showing up to Heathrow in a car spattered with certified pre-loved curry isn’t a great look, and I wouldn’t be around in the country long enough to clean up the mess I made. Physically, I felt fine, but spiritually, I felt awful.

Still, for £800, or about $1,100 at current conversion rates, the Ssangyong Rodius does alright. Like an order of Burger King fries, it’s not outstanding, but it really isn’t bad, all things considered. I definitely wouldn’t have paid north of £20,000 for this when it was new, but if you have a lot of kids and not a lot of cash and can pick up a Rodius locally, it’s worth a punt, especially with this one being ULEZ-compliant.

Top graphic image: Thomas Hundal

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