If that old cliché about being born Italian and male is to win first prize in the lottery of life has any truth to it, then surely being a man and driving a convertible Ferrari around the switchbacks of the Apennines, heading towards a long lunch at a beach-side restaurant on the Ligurian coast during the languorouslyschvitzing summer, must be akin to having all five winning balls in a line to sweep the EuroMillions jackpot.
Piloting a Ferrari, pretty much anywhere with the possible exception of, say, Moss Side or Darfur, always feels good. I've driven a 612 Scaglietti on an epic and dusty adventure across Rajasthan, an iconic F40 around the racetrack at Goodwood and have even been allowed behind the wheel of a very trusting pal's Testarossa on the mean streets of Chelsea. And while each experience was lush, leathery, tumescently sensual and boyishly grin-inducing, when it's at home, the new Ferrari California likes to deliver something rather different.
Perhaps it's the lack of oikish haters throwing rude gestures from the pavements, but in Italy, sensitive to the fact that it is being generally more appreciated, the famous prancing horse on the side of our navy-blue California GT relaxed a bit, breathed easier, underwent a subtle transformation and became an indigenous animal, behaving as Romans do/always did: on heat, priapic, coquettish, flirtatious. To put it bluntly, when it's driven in Italy, a Ferrari suddenly seems a whole lot randier.
And wouldn't you, if you got so much adoring attention? In central London, where GQ keeps its photocopier and pencil sharpener, Ferraris purr at red lights on every junction and are lined up boot-to-bonnet in the parking bays. We are spoilt rotten for 599s and 458s, and our relationship with such exotica can sometimes be a bit matter-offact casual.
Drive a Ferrari in Italy, however, and you soon realise what a rare thing it is to clock one on its home turf. In more than 400 miles of driving, through town and country, even in cosmopolitan Rome, we didn't encounter another. Not one. Which is probably why village pedestrians actually applauded the California, petrol-pump cashiers dished out compliments with their till receipts, traffic wardens forgave parking violations and policemen waved us through a coned-off section near the Colosseum.
On the outskirts of Pisa, while we cruised along the autostrada at a steady 60mph, a chap in a distressed Renault Clio kept up alongside us for a good mile and a half, hanging out of his window and staring at the car like a moon-faced fan boy. All he wanted was a smile and thumbs up: on receipt of which, he kissed his fingertips in appreciation and sped off. I reckon he was around 44.
And the girls liked the California, too. Maybe because it is a glam-slam convertible and not exactly what you'd call an anorak-ish purist's Ferrari.
While it'll do 0-60mph in four utterly fabulous, buttock-clenchingly life-affirming seconds, it would be hard to argue a case for this being a race-ready car in the grand old tradition of classic Ferraris that Enzo built to fund his Scuderia racing team.
An automatic gearbox is terrific point-and-shoot fun, but renders the car about as demanding to drive as the arcade version of Out Run - a delightfully silly red-line LED light show blinks on the steering wheel every time you floor it.
The V8 engine is in the front to make way for the retractable roof (the California is only available in a cabriolet - a first forFerrari), which adds weight and reduces rigidity but still manages to find enough room in the back for a set of golf clubs.
That said, the Maranello factory's skilful accommodation of the balletic hood mechanics has made the California look serendipitously sexier; curvaceously hard-bodied with StairMastered haunches and a tush that is positively Kardashian.
All this poke, practicality and prom-queen styling has helped make the £152,000 California a complete sellout since it launched back in 2008. Still, any lascivious urges must be put politely aside when watching a California grand tourer being put together at the Maranello factory, because this is a truly quasi-religious experience. In the shadow of Renzo Piano's incredible, cathedral-sized "Galleria del Vento" wind tunnel you pass into a rarefied, red-tinged atmosphere that is oddly monastic. It's an unhurried combination of dazzling, robotised construction, machine engineering and gentle, manually administered tweaks with a long-handled Allen key. There's no hammering or clanking. Just the odd high-pitched hum, whizz or whirr. I've been to rowdier dentists.
Overhead, like a vast Calder mobile as directed by Michael Bay, the hollow aluminium bodywork shells of various models - 458s, Californias, brand-new FFs - swing slowly by. Don't stare upwards too long though, because on the ground you have to watch your back for the silent runnings of that low-riding droid wagon, ferrying an HR Geiger monster of an engine block - all black tubes and intricate, silvery cylinder work - to what they call thematrimonio (wedding) area, where chassis, body and equestrian muscle are united via a combination of hydraulic choreography and a few careful blasts of a power-spanner.
Walk further down the line, and in a hermetically sealed glass box like a futuristic reptile house, an apparently intuitive robot is fitting windscreens, first administering the adhesive sealant, then picking up the glass before offering it up to the void above the bonnet. I could have watched this mesmerising miniature space odyssey all day.
Incredibly, despite its global profile, despite Ferrari SpA dominating most of industrial Maranello, Ferrari remains, and feels, very much like a boutique operation. Until a couple of years ago the production line was only making 27 cars a day (compared with, say,BMW, which produces 1,300 a day), but a new factory built to cope with anticipated demand for the California has upped production by 50 per cent. And according to Ferrari chairman Luca Cordero di Montezemolo, "Sixty per cent of buyers who have ordered the car have never bought a Ferrari".
Why the big push, why the increased commitment and investment? Ferrari has a new first-time-buyer customer base in the Far East programmed into its fiscal sat-nav. The marque now sells 500 cars a year in China compared with just six in 2004, making it Ferrari's second-largest market. Then there are the women: it is said that only one in 20 Ferrari customers is female. The brand is hoping that the romance of the open-top, electric roof of the California might get them shopping for more.
But let's not start alluding to the idea of the California as a girl's car. The original and very gorgeous Ferrari 250 GT California Spyder, built from 1957 to 1963, was driven by the likes of Steve McQueen and James Coburn. (Back in 2008, Radio 2's Chris Evans paid a record £5.5m for Coburn's old California 250 GT.)
More than 50 years after those original cars were built, the California still appeals to a certain type of male. My friend, Justin Portman, a wealthy man who dates supermodels and winters in Punta del Este, Uruguay, was an early adopter. Ashton Kutcher and Hugh Grant are also in the new owners' club. And as soon as I eased myself into the California's Poltrona Frau leather driver's seat, I wanted to join up, too.
I pulled on a red Ferrari cap (feeling that this was maybe the one and only time I would be justified in wearing such a thing), hit the start button, grinned like a goon when the engine yowled in action, took a right out of the Maranello factory and headed for the hills.
The plan was to drive to Rome via Forte dei Marmi. Why? Because Forte dei Marmi is the nearest thing the European continent has to a Californian-style resort. Ray Charles used to do cabaret here, summerhouses look like something from The Graduate, the town is built on a grid system, while the sandy strip is atypically long, wide and handsome, served by 90 immaculate beach clubs with names like Bagno Bruno and Atlantico. It's more Santa Monica than Portofino.
We reached Forte dei Marmi by driving over the Apennines on roads that generously delivered The Italian Jobopening-credits switchbacks I'd hoped they would. Doing multiple hairpins is an undeniable blast of a way to spend any morning, but in the afternoon, back on more level territory, the California handled the yonic tunnels of the Ligurian coastline like a supercharged marital aid, shafting its way through each glorious, cylindrical soundbox with the passion of a hot and heavy one-night stand.
I smiled like a little kid every time the combination of semi-darkness, noise amplification and pull-focus acceleration kicked in, thrilling to the disorientating configuration of - in quick succession - the open road, tunnel, light and shadow that the Italian equivalent of the Pacific Coast Highway so elegantly provides. Tupac Shakur was right. California...knows how to party.
Ferrari California
You need to know: Designed as the grandest of grand tourers, this is only available as a cabriolet - a first for Ferrari. Relaunched at the Geneva Motor show with an updated, more powerful V8, the new model is 30kg lighter than the car at launch in 2008.
Engine: 490bhp GDI V8
Performance: Top speed 193mph, 0-62mph in 3.8secs
Price: £152,000
Originally published in the July 2012 issue of British GQ.
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