Flight Canceled: Driving Across France in a 523-HP Maserati Grecale Trofeo

It’s 620 miles from Paris’ bustling Charles de Gaulle airport to the glitzy streets of Monaco—or roughly the entire length of France. My idea was to drive this over a weekend ahead of a work event in the South of France, but things went to hell when my flight from JFK was canceled, rescheduled, and then delayed again. Thanks, Delta! By the time I landed in the City of Light, my weekend plans were as dead as Napoleon’s army in Russia, forcing me to regroup. New plan: Drive straight through, only stop for fuel, and hope every single speed camera along the way was out of service. The 2024 Maserati Grecale Trofeo had a job to do.

This sounds like a challenge out of Top Gear‘s golden years, but it wasn’t—and I certainly didn’t intend it to be. Had I not spent the 36 hours leading up to my drive meandering around airports, eating crappy food, and getting a combined two hours of sleep in increments of 15 minutes, this adventure would’ve seemed a bit more fun. However, blasting across an entire European country in a $125,000 Maserati is hardly something to cry about. This was my new mission, one that I felt privileged to tackle despite its genesis.

They say that having the right tools for the job makes things easier, so, in theory, my 11-hour drive would be a breeze. The spec sheet said it all: Maserati’s Nettuno twin-turbo V6 pumps out 523 horsepower and 457 lb-ft of torque and is paired with an eight-speed automatic transmission and all-wheel drive. Although it weighs 4,650 pounds, it only takes 3.5 seconds to hit 60 mph and 9 seconds to hit 100. For the sake of keeping my passport, I wouldn’t be exploring its top speed: 180 mph.

More relevant to my situation, however, were the Grecale’s GT qualities. A luxurious cabin with comfortable seats, a spacious trunk, and excellent visibility all around. Six-level adjustable air suspension with adaptive dampers would keep things nice and plush regardless of drive mode, of which there are five: Comfort, GT, Sport, Off-Road, and Corsa. Depending on surface quality or desired handling dynamics, I could fine-tune the driving mode and suspension settings independently of each other, though GT mode was more than adept for my journey. If anything, this was the ideal Gran Turismo scenario.

The Long Road to the South

Landing at midnight has its perks, though it has its drawbacks too. Positives: Paris’ famously hectic passport control line was only nine people deep. Negatives: there wasn’t anyone around to ask for help when I couldn’t locate the right parking garage, and the lights apparently worked on some sort of timer, so I had to use my iPhone’s flashlight to find a matte-gray car in the dark.

This was my first time in a Maserati in a long time, so I had to get up to speed with its controls and everything you need to familiarize yourself with ahead of a long drive. Things have changed—and improved—since 2019 when I drove a Levante Trofeo. For starters, the engine start button is mounted on the steering wheel à la Alfa Romeo. There’s also a dual touchscreen setup now to control the climate, media, navigation, and vehicle settings. Of course, there’s wireless Apple CarPlay, which in conjunction with Google Maps, makes traversing foreign roads a breeze.

Roughly a day and a half behind schedule, I left the airport and ventured into the midnight traffic. I set the Grecale to Comfort mode because I was, well, quite tired. Plus, the chillest driving mode is always the best way to get to know a car, especially a high-performance one. Soft steering, smooth shifts, and a supple ride—all I needed was some water and snacks.

My route took me southeast around Paris and toward Dijon. It was the wee hours of the morning so it didn’t take me long to get out of civilization. The skyglow grew dimmer and dimmer in the rearview mirror, though I was grateful for the Grecale’s killer headlights. Multi-lane highways morphed into two-lane roads and passing required venturing into the oncoming traffic lane—never a fun thing to do, especially on a road you don’t know and when it’s pitch black. The automatic headlights did their job toggling between low and high beams as needed, though at some point I was the only one on the road, so I just left the brights on. Those traffic signs warning me about deer kept me on high alert.

Two hours in and I was beginning to get comfortable with the Grecale. I had tweaked and saved my seating position for optimum comfort and figured out the adaptive cruise control, headlights, wipers (for the occasional splash of washer fluid to clear bugs off the windshield), and deciphered what each of the two touchscreens did. The setup made sense and was easy to operate, with Apple CarPlay on the 12.3-inch top screen and climate controls, seat massage settings, and ambient lighting on the 8.8-inch bottom screen. When not using CarPlay, the top screen displays a dressed-up version of Stellantis’ Uconnect, which is mostly fine. Adjusting specific settings like sound, screen preferences, user memories, and other less-common features took a bit of time to figure out, but it wasn’t a big deal. Everything I needed to drive the Grecale and have a good time behind the wheel was easy to figure out.

The EPA rates the Grecale Trofeo for 18 mpg city, 25 highway, and 20 combined. With about a quarter tank of fuel left, I pulled in for a 10-minute break, a fill-up, a snack, and a cappuccino. Over $100 in fuel later, I was back on the road. It was almost 3 a.m.

A little while later, I had finally reached Dijon. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to stop and explore their, uh, mustard. The A6 didn’t actually go through it but it’s the closest I’ve been to what I hear is a lovely city. Maybe next time. Not long after Dijon, I hit the town of Beaune, which is where the road finally points directly south. Up until that point, I had been heading mostly southeast. Beaune is known for its medieval architecture but mostly for being the epicenter of the Burgundy region; y’know, as in red wine. Again, maybe next time!

I got a nice jolt of energy after my first stop and driving past a few towns broke the monotony of the dark landscape. I was feeling good. I switched from Comfort mode to GT and felt the car lower a bit. The animation on the screen in front of me confirmed it. Nothing changed massively, really, especially since I was holding steady on the highway. Throttle response felt sharper and that was quite welcome as I still had to pass via the opposite lane. Shifts were crispier but most of all, there was more noise coming out of the exhaust. Like the rest of France, the Grecale Trofeo was waking up.

The dark skies began to lighten and visibility improved. The road in front of me resembled an empty runway and the temptation to summon all 523 horses increased. My right foot dug deeper and deeper, the speedo on the head-up display keeping me informed of my actions. Blasting down a French motorway at undisclosed speeds with the lofty goal of reaching the shimmery waters of the Côte d’Azur as quickly as possible, I scanned my mirrors for other cars and, of course, the boys in bleu; but nothing. My right foot remained down.

The Levante Trofeo I drove years ago had a Ferrari-derived twin-turbo V8. This wasn’t that, and my ears could tell the difference. However, this is a great-sounding V6 by all standards. It’s throaty, it’s loud, and if you play your cards right with the accelerator and paddle shifters, it’ll sing like an adolescent Pavarotti. Set to Corsa mode, the engine is loud and brash and full of attitude. Even on the highway, its personality changes as you flip through the drive modes. Corsa is a bit overkill for most driving situations, but it does squeeze everything out of the Grecale Trofeo. It took me by surprise the first time I gave it the full rigatoni on Corsa, slamming me into the back of my seat.

The sun was out now and so was everyone else who had a morning commute. My speedy countryside drive had come to an end and it was back to Comfort mode for the stop-and-go morning traffic in Lyon. Known as the gastronomic capital of France, the charming city is dominated by the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière, which sits on a hill overlooking the river-connected city. Some of France’s most renowned chefs have either come from this area or have restaurants here, such as the legend Paul Bocuse. For me, however, it was gas station food for breakfast.

European gas stations and truck stops are typically very nice, but in this area of France, they were first-class. While pumping some fuel, a Ferrari FF pulled up at the pump next to me. He waved, I waved, we carried on. A few minutes later while I was parking near the food court the same Ferrari pulled up again and parked next to me. “Awe, that’s cute,” I thought. The driver wanted to chat about the Grecale but I don’t speak German and he didn’t speak English (or Spanish). Bummer.

This gas station put a fancy mall food court to shame. [Ed. note: They’re called food *halls* now, Jerry. -CT] There were several fast food options and nicer sit-down restaurants within. I opted for the school cafeteria-style place, where prime rib, potatoes, and salads were being served. Of course, lots of desserts and cheeses and everything else France is known for, including wine. Once I sat down to eat, I realized I was the only adult who wasn’t drinking red wine with their meal. It wasn’t even noon!

Back on the road, I felt like I was on the final stretch of my drive, though I really wasn’t. I still had almost halfway to go and was starting to feel the effects of transatlantic travel followed by an ambitious road trip. I decided to take it easy and enjoy the Grecale’s luxury amenities. I popped open the panoramic roof, cracked the windows, fired up the AC (and ventilated seat), and turned up some tunes. The optional, 1,285-watt “Sonus faber” sound system boasts 21 speakers throughout the cabin, which were more than enough to blast my favorite Bad Bunny, Metallica, AC/DC, and Taylor Swift tunes. The massaging seats were also a nice touch, keeping my lower back and thigh muscles from getting too tight.

I had explored the Grecale’s performance and luxury, but now all I wanted was to get to my hotel. After one or two more stops, I appreciated the more basic side of this Maserati, such as the fact that things just worked. The surround-view cameras would activate when I’d creep into a parking spot or a gas pump, auto stop-start and drive mode settings would remain the same when I got back into the car, and CarPlay was never glitchy. These little things can be challenging for high-end Italian vehicles.

One thing I didn’t like from the start that I still didn’t like six hours later was the shifter—if you can even call it a shifter, really. Four buttons sit between the top and bottom infotainment screens: P, R N, and D/M. Taken from Lincoln’s awful playbook, the buttons don’t offer any feedback when you push them, so I often found myself pushing them twice. So they’re actually worse than Lincoln’s. In the case of “D,” if you push it twice it actually toggles it into “M.” I’d start driving and not realize I was in manual mode until the thing wouldn’t shift! For such an elegant and ergonomic interior, this is almost insulting.

A Head-Turner

At last, I was in the land of the uber-wealthy, where yachts the size of small cruise ships are everyday fare, commuting via helicopter “is just easier,” and black Amexes are the norm. Well, I was almost there. Before reaching Monaco, you must go through Cannes, the Antibes, and Nice—places known for their modesty and burgeoning middle class. Just kidding, quite the opposite. Everywhere you turn there’s a Lamborghini Urus or Ferrari Purosangue. G-Wagens are for the nannies on school runs. Cayennes are for, well, the unimportant. Nearly every parking lot looks like it’s hosting a Cars & Coffee, and it’s not just cars. The private jet parking area at the Nice airport was so crowded it looked like a Best Buy on Black Friday. Max Verstappen’s famously obnoxious, lion-liveried jet was there, too.

Yet even surrounded by this heavy-hitting crowd, the Grecale stood out. Whether they were locals or tourists, they’d all turn and look at it. It’s a handsome thing, surely, but let’s face it, it’s no MC20. And as much as I like many of its design traits, I find its face a bit too bubbly. The profile and especially the rear end are quite handsome, but there’s something about its froggy eyes. It seemed others disagreed with me, however, because I caught a few people snapping photos. I couldn’t help but laugh when I caught a woman standing in front of the car taking a photo while I was taking an interior photo of the dash. We’ll forever be in each other’s photos.

Then again, this was a reminder that even in today’s crowded luxury crossover segment—one that can feel a bit dull—the Grecale stands out. While chatting with Maserati design boss Klaus Busse about the Grecale and the newly launched GranCabrio Folgore, he emphasized the proportions that make a real Maserati; the lines across the hood, how the fenders bend across the wheel arch, and of course, the grille and Tridente. The Grecale may not be a supercar, but it possesses some of that aura.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

I pulled up to my hotel and admired the breadth of ultra-luxury cars and supercars parked at the Hôtel de Paris. Located right next to the Casino de Monte-Carlo in the heart of the Principality, it’s some of the best car-spotting in the world. Much to my surprise, the Grecale earned a spot up front, sandwiched between a Rolls-Royce Cullinan and a Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren (both modified, nonetheless).

I had done it—my drive was over. What was supposed to be a fun weekend in France morphed into a travel nightmare, but one that turned out to be fun in the end. I could only thank the Maserati Grecale Trofeo for that. It salvaged whatever little positivity there was in me and expanded it over 11 hours of driving. And isn’t that what a car should be able to do? In the end, it’s all about driving pleasure, and that can come in many forms. Either way, it was time to take a much-needed shower. Two days later, I’d have to do it all over again.

Next stop: Le Mans.

Email the author at tips@thedrive.com