Rare Finds In The Woods Above Ancient Kyoto: A Volkswagen Schwarz-Gelber Renner, And More

If you listen to Ford, you might believe that “Japan is the most closed, developed auto economy in the world,” as the Detroit automaker does not tire to repeat. Somewhere in the hills above Japan’s ancient former capital Kyoto, I am beginning to have my doubts. Why? Around the bend of the mountain road, I suddenly find myself kneed-deep in Volkswagens. VW didn’t get Ford’s memo about a closed market, and it successfully imports its cars to Japan ever since the early days of the Volkswagen bug. Today, they all seem to be here, early Käfer, a few Karman Ghia, hippie era Type 2 buses, even cars that are as good as forgotten in Germany, like the VW Type 4 from Volkswagen's pre-Golf malaise era.

There are a few violated ones, low-rider Volkswagen buses with their skirts dangerously close to the loose gravel, their suspensions and bodies raped by hentai car-kichi. Some bugs show their rust and patina-covered age. Most are in pristine condition. I could be in Wolfsburg’s Volkswagen Museum, wouldn’t the scent of pine needles from the forest surrounding Lake Shobudani, mixed with the appetite-triggering wafts of yakitori and yakiniku, coming from lakeside barbecue pits, remind me that I am in one of the most beautiful parts of Japan, while I am surrounded by hundreds of Germany’s most iconic cars.

Closed market? Well, the venue is closed to everything except Volkswagens; Japanese cars must be parked on the other side of the mountain road. I am exempt, because I’m here with Yoshikazu Wakino, a just retired Kyoto-based marketer of dental products, who celebrated his new freedom with the acquisition of a 1973 VW 1303 S. The immaculate Beatles-era beetle is our ticket to overcome the barriers of entry to the lakeside assemblage of Teutonic engineering.

I remember the car well. In 1973, I hired on as a copywriter in a Duesseldorf agency that had the Volkswagen account. My first job was the launch campaign for the Golf, but the agency was still abuzz with the scandal the advertising campaign for the 1303 S had created. Volkswagen laid on a “Sondermodell,” a special model, painted shocking yellow with black accents on the hood and the hatch for the ass-engined 1.6 liter aircooled mill. The car in the livery of a hornet was good for 50 horses, and the usual 65 miles top “speed,” but to make the car sell faster, the agency hyped it with the slogan “Der schwarz-gelbe Renner” – the black-yellow racer.

That did upset the tender sensibilities of more than a few politicians in Deutschland, they viewed car and slogan as incitement to hooning, and "Rowdytum," and the bug became the topic of a lively debate in Germany’s parliament, where car and campaign were strongly condemned. It was one of the early examples of successful trolling. The publicity value of the discussion far exceeded Volkswagen’s total annual budget, and the 5,000 schwarz-gelbe Renner flew off dealer lots as if they were on afterburner.

Today, there are only some 100 left of the schwarz-gelbe Renner, and I am sitting in one of them, in a pine forest by a lake in Japan. Wakino-san is pleased to hear that he owns a rare specimen, his Kyoto dealer had no idea, and he sold the 40+ year old bug as reliable transportation, “good for at least 20 years more with a little care.”

“There are more than 84,000 vintage Volkswagen in Japan,” tells me Stefan Neubacher from Wolfsburg. Herr Neubacher should know, because he is Chief Executive Officer of Volkswagen Classic Parts, a more recent venture started by Volkswagen to keep its rich heritage alive and running. It’s a smart idea. Usually, OEMs sell-off ageing contents of their parts warehouses for scrap. Stefan sells long depreciated parts at very profitable, but still affordable prices. Would we collide with a tree, a rear fender for the 1303 S would set Wakino-san back $250, unpainted, and without shipping.  Japanese customers would have to order directly in Wolfsburg. Volkswagen’s sales company in Japan has its hands full selling new cars, especially after Volkswagen’s street cred took a dieselgate-induced hit last year. With 91,589 units brought into Japan last year, Volkswagen Group still is the country’s top dog importer, but in the year before, it was 105,000 cars. BMW and Daimler, each good for some 67,000 cars brought into the land of the rising sun last year, take second and third places on a list of importers that is dominated by European nameplates. Ford sold 5,000 cars to Japan last year, before it struck its sails while claiming sinister interference. GM barely sold 1,700 Chevys and Cadillacs to Japan, their stubbornness is admirable.

“Up there is the home of Ikazuchi, the Shinto god of lightning, thunder, and storms,” says Wakino, and he points at a mountain range shrouded in mist as if its auditioning to be painted by Kaii Higashiyama. Promptly, the storm god shows off his capabilities, and a monstrous thunderstorm makes the vintage Volkswagen owners sprint to the shelter of their antique cars. Left and right the Bosch starters whine, Solex Vergaser open their flaps, and automotive history by the hundreds flees before it drowns in the sudden lakeside mud.

“Gomen nasai,” says Wakino, apologizing for the wet work of the deity, while we putter down the mountain road, accompanied by the still familiar sound of a happily humming aircooled boxer in the back. “But don’t worry, there are more of these Volkswagen meets all over Japan.” How many are there, I inquire.

“Around 50, one for each prefecture in Japan, your Volkswagens are very much loved in Japan.”

It’s good to know that the country with the alleged closed market in fact is packed with open hearts for foreign cars. As long as they are Volkswagen.