1979 Volvo Tundra: The Swedish UFO That Almost Was

Oct 09, 2024

#Featured #Volvo

Ah, Volvo. Solid, dependable, built like a Swedish outhouse. You think of tanks with heated seats, don’t you? But in 1979, something strange happened. Volvo got a little wild—like a librarian on a Friday night after one too many lingonberry schnapps. Enter the Volvo Tundra concept, the love child of Swedish practicality and Italian flamboyance, penned by none other than the legendary design house, Bertone.

Now, let’s set the scene. It’s the tail end of the ‘70s, and Volvo is known for producing solid, no-nonsense boxes on wheels like the 240 Estate. But behind closed doors, the Swedish brand wanted to spice things up, hoping to woo the world with something a bit more daring. Enter Bertone, famous for sculpting everything from Ferraris to Lamborghinis. Their task? Take the trusty, dependable Volvo 343—a box on four wheels designed for people who like safety and predictable handling—and turn it into something… different.

So, What Did Bertone Do?

Bertone’s answer was the Volvo Tundra, a sharp, edgy coupé built on the underpinnings of the Volvo 343. Picture it now—a wedged shape that looked like it had fallen straight out of a sci-fi flick. Bertone wasn’t playing it safe, not in the slightest. The Tundra boasted a sleek, short bonnet, wide doors, and slender pillars holding up a light-filled greenhouse. The glasshouse was one of its most striking features—there was more glass than the Louvre’s pyramid. It was as if Bertone wanted you to drive through Sweden’s never-ending winters with enough daylight in the cabin to keep you from going completely mad.

And those lines! The swage lines running down the wings were like subtle creases on a well-tailored suit—just enough flair without being obnoxious. But it wasn’t just about looking good. This was a design exercise that spoke to the future—decades ahead of its time, with a nod to efficiency, minimalism, and that clean-cut, 'Nordic chic' Volvo would eventually lean into much later.

But Why the Volvo 343?

It’s a valid question. Volvo’s 343 was hardly the sportiest thing to throw under a coupé. Known for its sturdy engineering and rear-wheel-drive layout, the 343 was a practical, if rather unexciting, hatchback. But for Bertone, it was the perfect blank canvas—a solid mechanical base with reliability oozing out of every seam.

While the Tundra wasn’t about speed, it was about redefining Volvo’s image. You didn’t need a fire-breathing engine for that; you needed design that would slap the competition sideways. And Bertone nailed it, sculpting something compact yet elegant—a medium-sized saloon that made you forget all about Volvo’s usual reputation for making things that could survive a nuclear blast.

The One That Got Away

Sadly, the Tundra never made it past the concept stage. Maybe it was too radical for the Swedes at the time, too un-Volvo for a brand known for straight-laced sensibility. Whatever the reason, it never reached production, which is a shame because it was a glimpse of what could’ve been—a Volvo that wouldn’t just keep you safe, but would turn heads doing it.

Instead, the Tundra became a bit of an orphan, a tantalizing ‘what if’ in automotive history. But its design DNA didn’t disappear completely. If you squint, you might spot a bit of the Tundra’s rebellious streak in the Citroën BX, which, in a strange twist, borrowed heavily from the Tundra’s look after Volvo passed on the concept. Imagine that—a Swedish-Italian concept car inspiring a quirky French saloon. Talk about international collaboration!

The Swedish UFO That Never Landed

The Volvo Tundra was an audacious experiment that was miles ahead of its time. It’s as if Bertone took a sensible Swede out to an Italian nightclub and dressed it up in something far too daring for its own good. It was a glimpse into a future where Volvos weren’t just safe—they were cool, futuristic even.

In an alternate universe, maybe we’d all be cruising around in sleek, glassy Tundras, living in a world where Swedish steel and Italian flair formed the ultimate automotive marriage. Alas, it wasn’t to be, but for a brief moment in 1979, Volvo flirted with the wild side, and the result was nothing short of fascinating.