For Sale: 1966 Alfa Romeo 2600 in Katwijk, Netherlands

Why am I so besotted with Alfa Romeo, really? I ask myself that question regularly, usually when I've wandered into the showroom on some flimsy pretext to 'just have a look'. The answer is never the same. Sometimes it's the line of a wing, sometimes the sound of an engine on a cold start, sometimes simply that scent of old leather and petrol fumes that catapults you straight back to an era you never even consciously lived through. My grandfather held the Alfa Romeo dealership on the Heilooerdijk in Alkmaar. As a boy I wandered between the Spiders as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Only later did I realise I'd had a sort of car-lover's Disneyland as my playground. The 2600 Berlina is a car from a time when I wasn't even a twinkle in anyone's eye, yet it fits perfectly into the picture my grandfather would have sketched had you asked him about Alfa Romeo's golden years. The scene: the early sixties. Alfa Romeo has just moved from small, artisanal runs to larger volumes, but the DNA remains undiluted. The 2600 is the big brother, the flagship, the car in which you drove to La Scala as the director of a Milanese textile mill or as a Roman barrister. Six cylinders in line, 2.6 litres, twin overhead camshafts. At a time when the competition was still trundling along with side-valve engines, this was a pure technology demonstration. The design came from Bertone, then under the direction of a young Giorgetto Giugiaro. Crisp, elegant, without frills. No excess of chrome, no American influences, just Italian sobriety with a touch of self-assurance. The 2600 Berlina was never the loudest Alfa, never the fastest, never the most coveted. But it was the most grown-up. The car with which you signalled that you'd made it, without having to shout about it. Right, back to the 2600 Berlina on offer here. This example was registered in Rome on 13 January 1966, purchased by M.A.I.A., a company dealing in agricultural machinery and industrial vehicles. The purchase price at the time: 2,700,000 Lire. Converted to today's purchasing power, that would buy you a rather nice flat in an Italian county town. The car remained in Italian hands for decades, went via Rome to the countryside of Molise, and made the crossing to the Netherlands in 2015. The colour is Bianco Antico, a beautiful shade of grey that suits the era perfectly. The interior is leather, as it should be. The 130 bhp from that straight-six sounds modest by today's standards, but bear in mind: this is 1966. The Autostrada del Sole had only just opened, speed limits were all but non-existent, and with this power you belonged to the fastest ten per cent on the road. The manual gearbox, the pure mechanics, the direct contact between driver and machine: that is driving as it was once meant to be. What I personally find so lovely about this car is the combination of status and modesty. The 2600 Berlina was never vulgar. Not a car for the nouveau riche, not a showpiece for those who wanted to be seen. Rather the conveyance of someone who knew what he had but made no fuss about it. A barrister who preferred to convince his clients with arguments rather than gold cufflinks. An industrialist who measured his success in quality, not in quantity. The documentation of this example reads like a slice of Italian bureaucratic history. The original Carta di Circolazione is still there, complete with tax stamps from the sixties and seventies. You can literally see when the road tax was paid, how the car changed owners, how life in Italy carried on while this Alfa quietly clocked up its miles. This kind of paperwork is rarely found any more, and it tells a story no modern database can match. Six owners in almost sixty years. That is loyalty. That is a car that was cherished, not worn out. It is ready to be driven. Who is this car for? Not for the Instagram generation that only wants to pose. Not for the investor who wants to lock it in a vault. But for the enthusiast who understands that a st